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echantedtoon · 14 days

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Waning Obsession(Yandere Kokushibo x Reader) Ch11 A Demon Over All

(Warnings: Mentioned killing, yandere themes, Koku having a panic attack, etc.

Apologies for short chapter. Will be more in Kokushibo's pov.)

The first scream rang into the air.

Terror. Fear. Danger. Get away. Get away! All the emotions scream. Like an accident, terrible yet one couldn't look away from the incoming storm of tragedy. He was so used to such actions as he came with the reputation. The woman who continued to shriek in his hands meant nothing to him. She was merely just an obstacle. An annoying hindrance to what he wanted-..No.

What he N E E D E D.

And he always dealt away with obstacles. The old body was easily chuckled to the side, he not caring about where it landed or how the other ended up. Screaming. A true testimony to his being. Power. Force behind it and he knew that as screams filled out his eardrums and killed him into the comfortable lullaby of chaos incarnate. Arms rising and head tilted back in display for the passionate dance of bodies scattering blurred to his vision footfalls thundering like a rain dance of nature. A true place a demon would find peace. Eyelids fluttered shut as the sounds blurred out around him until he heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing. But-

P E A C E

A shaking breath exhaled. Arms lowering head lulled back comfortably.

B L I S S

Eyelids slowly opened. The sky was beautiful. Greying clouds opening up to scattered light that shines on the temporary eternal numbness he felt. Is this what Yoriichi felt when he looked at the sky? Peace and beauty and light? If yes then for once he finally understood what he saw in the sun. It was beautiful...But despite this peaceful bliss it was nothing like that happiness that the moon would shower him in. The mother of the night bringing him quiet and sparing his person from the presence of others who wish to hurt him. Akeno was his mother but the Moon was his guardian. It was what guided him to now. To his happiness and he would thank her every night for gifting him this feeling until his dying breath. For guiding him to her. To his- Head lulled back more twisting around at unnatural angles until the visage of beauty stared back to him.

L O V E

Body turned and eyes opened full. An arm extended. 'Join me.' It said. 'Come here and embrace. Join me in the world I hail. You were meant to be mine. I am all that you need. You are all that I need. Let us transcend this plain of existence and carve our destiny in blood. You cut open my soul and yet came back to bandage it while leaving it to bleed out and fill his heart.'

"You killed them."

A knife entered his heart. Reality shattered around his carefully held up foundation. Hands squeezing down and around his heart and threatening to tear away all he had ever come to have and hold dear. A visage of anger, disbelief, betrayal, fear, sorrow, shock, confusion- All at once the face held- No-

"You lied to me."

No, no, no-

"You tricked me. What have you done?"

PLEASE GODS NO!!

"Get away from me!"

Shaking. A happiness so powerful yet a fear so wrong settled in where calmness did not. Worlds collided. Hell rejecting his still tender heart while heaven rebuked his tainted soul, living his torn numbed body in some sickened joked limbo. Pathetic. Denial. Denials all his life.

'You will never get anything you desire.' Fate taunted him pulling his by the strings of fate like the pathetic puppet he was. 'Your father sees you as his only choice for an heir and you're only useful to him for your strength. Your mother barely knows her own son. Your brother is the only one people love since he isn't hideous like you. Your own kind rejects you while everyone else will always fear you. Even the ones who care about you most will eventually come to see the demon over all.'

...N-No...

'Yes.'

N-No...

'Yes.'

N O

'YES! ALWAYS AND FOREVER YES!'

"NO"

Claws dug into fabric. Knees hit ground. Desperation. Formed between agony and pain.

F E A R

"Don't leave me!"

Worlds collided and evaporated. Taking all rational thoughts with it. Please clouding judgement, pride be damned.

"Youcantleavemeyoucantleavemeyoucantleaveme!! Please I beg of you do not leave me! I can't lose you!"

Lungs burnt in panic beyond comprehension. He couldn't think clearly. He felt like he was burning in a fire while also frozen so numb in ice he lost all feeling.

"I have nothing else. I don't want to lose this. I can't lose you! PLEASE! You're the only good thing I've ever felt!"

She was the only thing he could love. He didn't want to lose the light that had finally shined into his heart.

"I only wanted you safe! I swear...I'm sorry. Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry! Forgive me. Please don't leave me!"

Please don't leave him. Please don't leave him like so many others had before.

"I LOVE YOU! I love you, I love you, I love you so much you don't understand!"

Don't reject him. Please accept him for him. Please don't abandon him.

"I want you. ONLY YOU! I've never felt this way before in my entire existence! I want to be by your side as your husband! I want to raise children with you! I want to be with you until time collapses!"

He wanted to marry her! To lay beside her as they grew old together. Watching as their children grew. He wanted that. A family. He never realized that he wanted one so much until he met someone he could be vulnerable with.

"Please. Anything...Just don't leave me alone."

Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. The demon wept for the second time ever since he was a babe in his mother's arms. The weight of how he looked now did not matter. The fabric clutched in his hands and buried into his face would be enough for shielding for now.

"Kokushibo.....Get up."

He couldn't! Hecouldnthecouldnthecouldnt- He did not want to see the rejection. The disgust. The anger.

"If you don't someone might come kill you."

A fate he didn't care about in this moment.

".....Please." A gentle touch to his shivering pathetic head. "Let's go. Alright? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I don't want to lose you to them. The- they'll kill you because..."

Because of YOU. YOUR CURSED BIRTH.

"Then I'll go with you. Alright? But you must move."

"...Thank you."

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matersighs · 3 years

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@orphidian

tonight it rains in the last city. a grey day, a washed-out morning, all the color pulled away from everything. the last bastion here of light. and from the farthest dark, from the edges of known things where even the awoken might fear to tread, comes the girl who is not a girl, who is a long dead girl.

maybe orin, a former emissary who is still an emissary, knows something about that. about being alive or dead, which is why she avoids the more populace places. that’s fine with her.

❝ strange to think, ❞ she says, ❝ that you’ve been through so much for so long, and now you’re left to figure out the rest on your own. it seems cruel to me. ❞ no name. no greeting. there, when she shouldn’t be. the rain almost seems to slide through her.

#me thinking about how orin will probably never belong in the city or anywhere and how susie Sees That #orphidian #a life like a set of hands ( thread. )#o mother mine. ( v: destiny. )

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le-roi-des-bulgares · 3 years

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Voltaire writes back to Frederick...

... whom he hasn’t been in regular contact with for more or less four years.

Frederick had refused Voltaire’s asking for permission to go back to Potsdam in late 1753; avoided writing to him directly but let Abbé de Prades take up the correspondence; wrote and published a satirical ‘Portrait of M. de Voltaire’ in 1756.

Despite all the name-calling (fou, méchant, ~extraordinare~, etc.) to third parties, all the prayers to heaven that Voltaire never comes back, on Jan 19th 1757, Frederick wrote a ‘tender letter’ to Voltaire, days after Russia declared her entrance into the war.

At some point in summer 1757, with Frederick’s first major defeat at the Battle of Kolin, his mother’s death, the Prussian retreat from Bohemia, he fell into a deep depression (a haunting representation painted by Menzel) and meditated suicide. Either encouraged by Wilhelmine or voluntarily, he wrote to Voltaire, thus virtually reopened their regular correspondence.

The letter hasn't been found since (as the Jan 19th one, & many others from this period), but those survived still help construct a sense of it, as well as the brief personal warmth shown between Voltaire & Frederick - both said they couldn’t care less.

Here is a collection of some extracts which I like and hope can serve to paint this exchange of letters between F & V, with Wilhelmine as their mediator, in a somewhat clearer light. These are from letters written from July to December 1757 by Voltaire, Wilhelmine and Frederick. All originals are taken from Edition Garnier & Œuvres de Frédéric le Grand. Translations are mine. Emphasis in texts are made by me. my english and french are both not so good, but i try;; so feel free to critique my usage of words etc.!

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Frédéric au marquis d'Argens, (Leitmeritz), 19 juillet 1757.

Mon cher marquis, regardez-moi comme une muraille battue en brèche par l'infortune depuis deux ans. Je suis ébranlé de tous côtés. Malheurs domestiques, afflictions secrètes, malheurs publics, calamités qui s'apprêtent : voilà ma nourriture. Cependant ne pensez pas que je mollisse. Dussent tous les éléments périr, je me verrai ensevelir sous leurs débris avec le sang-froid dont je vous écris.

My dear marquis, see me as a wall breached by two years’ misfortunes. I am shaken on all sides. Domestic misfortunes, secret afflictions, public misfortunes, looming calamities: these are my food. Do not think that I have given away, however. Must that all elements perish, I will bury myself underneath their debris, with the cold-blood with which I am writing to you.

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[Frederic wrote to Voltaire at some point in mid-august 1757, sent to him at Les Delices in Geneva via Wilhelmine.]

De Margrave la Baireuth à Voltaire. Le 19 août.

Je suis dans un état affreux, et ne survivrai pas à la destruction de ma maison et de ma famille. C’est l’unique consolation qui me reste. Vous aurez de beaux sujets de tragédies à travailler. Ô temps ! ô mœurs ! Vous ferez peut-être verser des larmes par une représentation illusoire, tandis qu’on contemple d’un œil sec les malheurs de toute une maison contre laquelle, dans le fond, on n’a aucune plainte réelle.

I am in an awful state, and I will not survive my house and my family’s destruction. This is the only consolation left for me. You will have handsome subjects of tragedies to work on. O time! O morals! You will perhaps make tears pour down by an illusory representation, while people contemplate on the misfortunes of a whole house with a dry eye against that which, deep down, they do not have any real pity for.

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Voltaire à M. le Maréchal Duc de Richelieu. (a vous seul.) [Août 1757.]

Le roi de Prusse s’est remis à m’écrire avec quelque confiance. Il me mande qu’il est résolu de se tuer, s’il est sans ressource ; et madame la margrave sa sœur m’écrit qu’elle finira sa vie si le roi son frère finit la sienne.

The king of Prussia started to write to me with some trust again. He tells me that he resolved to kill himself if he is without resource; and madame la margrave his sister writes that she would end her life, if the king her brother ended his own.

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Voltaire à M. le Comte d’Argental. Aux Délices, 12 septembre.

Les affaires de ce roi, mon ancien disciple et mon ancien persécuteur, vont de mal en pis. Je ne sais si je vous ai fait part de la lettre qu’il m’a écrite il y a environ trois semaines : J’ai appris, dit-il, que vous vous étiez intéressé à mes succès et à mes malheurs ; il ne me reste qu’à vendre cher ma vie, etc., etc. Sa sœur, la margrave de Baireuth, m’en écrit une beaucoup plus lamentable.

Allons, ferme, mon cœur, point de faiblesse humaine.

The affairs of this king, my old disciple and my old persecutor, have gone from bad to worse. I do not know if I had told you about a letter that he wrote me about three weeks ago: I learned, said him, that you were interested in my successes and my misfortunes; it only remains to sell my life dearly, etc., etc. His sister, the margrave of Bayreuth, writes me a much more lamentable one.

Go, harden up, my heart, nothing of human weaknesses.

[note: the last line is a quote from Molière’s Tartuffe, Act IV, Scene III. vendre cher sa vie means to kill a number of enemies before one’s own death.]

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Voltaire à Madame la Margrave de Baireuth. Aux Délices, 29 août 1757.

Madame, j’ai été touché jusqu’aux larmes de la lettre dont Votre Altesse royale m’a honoré. [...] me sera-t-il permis de mettre sous votre protection cette lettre que j’ose écrire à Sa Majesté le roi votre frère ? [...] Je voudrais qu’il fût persuadé de son mérite personnel : il est au point que beaucoup de personnes de tout rang le respectent plus comme homme que comme roi. Qui doit sentir mieux que vous, madame, ce que c’est que d’être supérieure à sa naissance !

Madame, I was brought to tears by the letter Your Royal Highness honored me. [...] Will I be allowed to put this letter under your protection, which I dared write to His Majesty the king your brother? [...] I would like that he be persuaded of his personal merit: he is at a point where many people of all ranks respect him more as a man than as a king. Who would feel better than you, madame, what it is like to be superior to one's birth!

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Frédéric à la margrave de Baireuth, Naumbourg, 9 (septembre 1757).

Ma chère sœur, viens de recevoir votre lettre du 6, avec l'incluse de Voltaire. [...] Je vous prie de vous tranquilliser l'esprit; vos inquiétudes me sont précieuses, certainement j'y suis sensible, et je vous regarde comme le seul exemple d'amitié parfaite dans ce siècle corrompu; mais, en s'inquiétant, on ne change pas le destin, et dans des circonstances où l'on doit s'attendre à tout, il faut se préparer à tout événement.

My dear sister, [I] just received your letter of the 6th, with Voltaire's enclosed. [...] I beg you to reassure your mind; your worries are dear to me, certainly I am sensible of them, and I regard you as the only example of perfect friendship in this corrupted century; but, one does not change destiny by worrying, and in the circumstances where one must expect everything, we must prepare ourselves for all events.

[last time Frederick wrote ‘this corrupted century’ to Wilhelmine was in 1730, from Cüstrin.]

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La margrave de Baireuth à Frédéric, (15 septembre 1757)

[note that the letter F wrote to V, which Wilhelmine speaks of, was a reply to V’s late august response, likely dated around September 9th, sent in the same package to Wilhelmine.]

Mon très-cher frère, votre lettre et celle que vous avez écrite à Voltaire, mon cher frère, m'ont presque donné la mort. Quelles funestes résolutions, grand Dieu! Ah! mon cher frère, vous dites que vous m'aimez, et vous me plongez le poignard dans le cœur. [...]. Votre sort décidera du mien; je ne survivrai ni à vos infortunes, ni à celles de ma maison. Vous pouvez compter que c'est ma ferme résolution.

My dearest brother, your letter and that which you wrote to Voltaire, my dear brother, have almost made me dead. What fatal resolutions, great God! Ah! my dear brother, you say that you love me, and you plunge a dagger into my heart. [...] Your fate will decide my own; I will survive neither your misfortunes, nor those of my house. You can count on this being my firm resolution.

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Voltaire à Frédéric. Octobre 1757.

[...]; je vous ai appartenu, mon cœur vous appartiendra toujours.

[...]; I belonged to you, my heart will always belong to you.

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Voltaire à Frédéric. Octobre 1757.

Vous voulez mourir ; je ne vous parle pas ici de l’horreur douloureuse que ce dessein m’inspire.[...] Écoutez contre ces sentiments votre raison supérieure ; elle vous dit que vous n’êtes point humilié, et que vous ne pouvez l’être ; elle vous dit qu’étant homme comme un autre, il vous restera (quelque chose qui arrive) tout ce qui peut rendre les autres hommes heureux : biens, dignités, amis.

[...] Je suis bientôt dans ma soixante et cinquième année, je suis né infirme ; je n’ai qu’un moment à vivre ; j’ai été bien malheureux, vous le savez ; mais je mourrais heureux, si je vous laissais sur la terre mettant en pratique ce que vous avez si souvent écrit.

You want to die; I do not speak to you here of the painful horror this plan inspires in me. [...] Listen to your superior reason against these sentiments; it [would] tell you that you are not at all humiliated, that you cannot be; it would tell you that being a man, like any other, there would remain for you (whatever happens) all those things which can make other men happy: possessions, dignities, friends.

[...] soon I will be in my sixty-fifth year, I was born to be sick; I only have a moment [more] to live; I have been very unhappy, you know that; but I would die happy, if I left you on earth putting what you had so often written into practice.

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Frédéric à la margrave de Baireuth, Buttelstedt, 8 octobre 1757

J'ai ri des exhortations du patriarche Voltaire; je prends la liberté de vous envoyer ma réponse. Quant au stoïcisme, je crois en avoir plus que lui, et quant à la façon de penser, il pense en poëte, et moi comme cela me convient dans le poste où le hasard de la naissance m'a placé.

I laughed at the exhortations of Voltaire the patriarch; I take the liberty to send you my response. As for stoicism, I believe myself to have more than he does, and as for the way of thinking, he thinks in poet, and I think as suited to the post which the accident of birth placed me in.

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Frédéric à Voltaire, (Buttstedt) 9 octobre 1757.

Croyez que si j'étais Voltaire, Et particulier comme lui, Me contentant du nécessaire, Je verrais voltiger la fortune légère, Et m'en moquerais aujourd'hui. [...]

Believe me, if I was Voltaire, /and private person like him, /content with necessities, /I would see frivolous fortune flutter, /and make fun of it right at this moment.

[you send him an epistle, and say he thinks like a poet. fair enough]

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La Margrave de Baireuth à Voltaire. Le 16 Octobre.

Accablée par les maux de l’esprit et du corps, je ne puis vous écrire qu’une petite lettre. Vous en trouverez une ci-jointe qui vous récompensera au centuple de ma brièveté. Notre situation est toujours la même : un tombeau fait notre point de vue. Quoique tout semble perdu, il nous reste des choses qu’on ne pourra nous enlever : c’est la fermeté et les sentiments du cœur.

Overwhelmed by the ills of mind and body, I can only write you a little letter. You will find one enclosed [Frederick's letter from Oct 9th] which will reward you a hundred times more than my brevity. Our situation is always the same: a tomb makes our destination. Although all seems lost, there still remains for us things which cannot be taken away: firmness and sentiments of the heart.

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[Frederick won the Battle of Rossbach on November 5]

Voltaire à M. le comte d'Argental. Au Délices, 19 novembre.

[...] Luc n’avait pas vingt-cinq mille hommes, encore étaient-ils harassés de marches et de contre-marches. Il se croyait perdu sans ressource, il y a un mois ; et si bien, si complètement perdu, qu’il me l’avait écrit ; et c’est dans ces circonstances qu’il détruit une armée de cinquante mille hommes. Quelle honte pour notre nation !

Luc had no more than twenty-five thousand men, also they were exhausted by marches and counter-marches. He believed himself to be lost without resources a month ago; and so wholly, so completely lost, as he wrote to me; and it's under these circumstances that he destroyed an army of fifty thousand men. What shame for our nation!

[Luc: cul: ass. i.e. Frederick.]

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Voltaire à M. le comte d'Argental. 2 décembre.

Serait-il possible qu’on eût imaginé que je m’intéresse au roi de Prusse ? J’en suis pardieu bien loin. Il n’y a mortel au monde qui fasse plus de vœux pour le succès des mesures présentes. J’ai goûté la vengeance de consoler un roi qui m’avait maltraité ; il n’a tenu qu’à M. de Soubise que je le consolasse davantage.

Is it possible that people imagined I am interested in the king of Prussia? Good lord, I am very far from that. There is no mortal in the world who wishes more for success for the present situations [of France]. I tasted vengeance by consoling a king who had mistreated me; it only depends on M. de Soubise that I console him more.

[if we make him cry more i get to hug him more. O sweet vengeance!]

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[Frederick won the Battle of Leuthen on December 5]

Voltaire à M. le comte d'Argental. Lausanne, 20 décembre, au soir.

Quand les Prussiens tuent tant de monde, il faut bien aussi que je vous assassine de lettres, mon cher ange. Il est difficile que vous ayez su plus tôt que nous autres Suisses la nouvelle victoire du roi de Prusse, près de Neumarck en Silésie. Ce diable de Salomon est un terrible Philistin. La renommée le dit déjà dans Breslau ; mais il ne faut pas croire toujours la renommée.

When the Prussians are killing so many people, I must also assassinate you with letters, my dear angel. It is difficult for you to know sooner than us Swiss, about the new victory of the king of Prussia, near Neumarck in Silesia. This devil of a Solomon is a terrible Philistine. Legend says he is already in Breslau; but legend must not always be believed.

[in the 18th century philistine is perhaps used to say someone is merciless & bloodthirsty.]

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I had chosen not to include a sub-plot in which Voltaire tried to connect Marechal de Richelieu with Frederick to negotiate peace between France and Prussia - which was fruitless.

#long post #fritztaire #Wilhelmine of prussia #w威廉明娜真的倒霉要给这两个人当中介 #and she was visibly distressed #which must've struck a hard blow on her health #:(

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blindrapture · 3 years

Video

youtube

also #ThrowbackFrihorse to this short little ditty. Summer’s come and gone by now, but this song fucking sticks. This song is what Summer Sucks is all about. From the start to the finish, this is my best editing work and some of our best writing.

I’m gonna post the lyrics here because why the fuck not, I can be proud of my own work.

I: Here Comes The Sun Country glen with shouting men Growing star erases our Liquid lenis leaving only the Ruptured tenebrious loud thundercloud memoir:

RANGI (WHAT THE THUNDER SAYS): Are you afraid? When we're together I can almost feel you shake. Let me cry for you, though my tears evaporate. Even if the light should destroy us, Wouldn't you... like that? Uh, hm, ahem.

II: The Wind’s An Invisible Jester You left home To satisfy your convic(pass)tion Shun pain, watch, trap it in ice Invisible Jester, come home. I see now, The hurt surrounds us all. To this extent, their flames are meaningless! Clowns falter 'fore impermanence. Invisible Jester, commence. Talk to the wind.

When, how, why? White Jester, White Jester Talk to the wind. Yes, I'm afraid When we are together. I'm afraid my pride forbade me from seeing Exposure to the light hardens victims

Here's a Clown His name's Eugene, eugenicist. "Hey Sunsetto," calling you home "Hey Sunsetto, won't you come home?" Shareholder With dividends in high places, you see. He claims he might be Death. "Hey Sunsetto," calling you home "Hey Sunsetto, you're coming home. Or else!"

III: Ready Your Engine, Eugene Oh, I am too tired for this.

EUGENE: You're tired Hardwired And burning on flaming wings, money. You're tired Unsteady Overwhelmed You can't win, Pig Bruiser. Nerves fired Not ready There's no chance

ME: Yes, I'm tired Hardwired Better keep up! Ready your engine, Eugene.

[Lucius kills Eugene.]

See? I'm tired Hardwired And still take down Any Clown.

IV: Ghost of Capitalisms Past So yeah, summer goes on.

Archangel calculus, How infinitesimal! To go towards but never reach; How maddening to think you were once heresy!

Growing star closing in Melting cars on saucepan roads I know it's dynamo, not personal Still a sad show. Treading so slow Maybe when Aleph Null is full we'll see the afterglow? From bottom-up is impossible.

Adiaphanous number

(VOICE OF) CHORUS: Trapped in birth aging illness death In suffering, you're mine.

V: Kurentovanje III- Duration Of Inferno Seas flood with blood As Death slays War Rise, second sun Soon even blood will dry up

Somewhere Yggdrasil withers Until it's hard as stone.

VI: Watch For Rolling Rocks

VELES: Out of Yggdrasil a giant I am Veles, king of the rocks Come and sleep under the tree You'll see the workings of Society With Papa, mother under Eshu cenotaph asunder Sky bring horrors, make you wonder Meet with Rangi when comes thunder

Clowns won't bother you under the ground You'll be with your new family In restful slumber, peaceful Lay on your back, wait for landslide

Summer comes round The sun comes down Earth is ablaze Mind your young eyes, don't hit your head Or mind your music tastes instead To the Supermarket Yggdrasil, Drop to your knees and pray for skill Pray for balance And pray consumers choose their meal

Sleep under the Earth September Clowns believe just this, remember: "Their anabasis comes at your expenses... Crush them."

ME: O Goodnight, Yggdrasil Summer's too long for goodbyes But a goodnight may be wise O So goodnight, Yggdrasil Yeah, goodnight Yggdrasil Pray consumers choose their meal Else the Clowns will choose for us.

VELES: By the third sun, mountains will bake Mighty clouds will eat the atmosphere and choke whatever remains, Leave Earth as toxic wanderer. Fourth cruel sun won't even grant that, Molten rock combust to plasma, Making Earth itself the fifth sun, Solar system hideous beast. Still the stars will not be done, The next two take our gravity, And by the time come is the last one, We will all become as one sun.

VII: Landslide Lay on your back We will all become as one Wait for landslide What other choice do I have? Actually... I can think of just one thing: Ask the Clowns to dance. Predator, I'm not afraid.

Atop Mount Meru, He reclaims the thirty-third power for the Clowns. Power to erase all evidence, Transcend and escape samsara.

CANIO: There's something higher than God, Beyond form Neither perception nor lack of perception

He longs to define the shape of Shaping He doesn't see me climb the mountain

My first fragment returns from the Chaos, A spring in his step. He has conquered. I open his ears, and he joins the dance that never ends. I send him on his way.

Canio ain't happy.

CANIO: Messing with the balance!

ME: Ah, but I'm not done Pierrot, Canio, or whatever your name is. And then the second falls out of the sky. They found their name: "I'm Sunsetto." I hate to lie, that's not a surprise. Anyway, they join the dance. There was no Conquest, Famine or Death, was there? Just a planet of shades' lament.

CANIO: If you are quite finished, I've got business to do. You know I won't dance? Tarantella's not for me but you.

So he snaps his fingers and he's now a mockingbird Flies away and leaves me here without another word

VIII: The Wordless Sunset INSTRUMENTAL

IX: Remember Sunset

And the world goes dark But it's odd, feel the water rise.

The wind picks up, a sonata It's enough to vibrate the water And if I hold my body still I can just about make out the words:

"It's time to go, we begin again. And this time, no more supermarket; The Clowns will have a better task."

X: The Grand Reopening Gardens all across the Earth are green As up comes a new sun But I'm dancing at the roots of a new Yggdrasil And I still can't stop

The shops open again and no one goes in. The well of destiny: Puddle in the spring.

#my music #also lindsay's music #there's a million things i can say about this song. how it took literal years to compose. the collision of apocalypses in the lyrics.#which parts reprise and develop motifs from the rest of the album. which parts are original.#and *why* there's even original content here in the final stretch of the story.#but mostly i just want to say i am really really happy.

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erzakyuubei · 5 years

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Jonsa Book Foreshadowing

Not mine. Credit goes to Juligen from asoiaf forum.

YOU WILL MARRY A KING..............

“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”Arya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa."

(Eddard V- A Game of Thrones)

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For me this quote is one of the most important quotes from the entire series because it pretty much sets up for the audience both Sansa and Arya story arc. Sansa will be the sister who will marry and have children and fulfill her childhood dreams of a happy family, which is why Love, marriage and children will be a constant theme in Sansa’s arc story. She will be treated as an object, passed around by the powerful players of the story, all interested in her claim of Winterfell and the North; she will be forced into marriage alliances and her future children will be desired for their claim in the North. Sansa will try to survive as much as she can, keeping still a slim hope to find love and happiness and maybe one day fulfill that sweet dream of a rebuilding her destroyed family.

Arya will follow another path; she will be a warrior and ruler on her own. Arya always wanted to be the keeper of her own holdfast, she wanted to be a knight and fight in battle and most important, I believe Arya wanted to feel the independence that most women in Westeros could never feel. Not that love and marriage is not impossible for her, but I feel George wants Arya to be a Queen regent on her own.

George is trying to tells us in this passage of the books that women should be able to choose their own paths and if its love, marriage and children what they wish for they should have it, but if its not, they should be free to figure out her own destiny. The tragedy of Lyanna Stark was that she never had a choice and was forced into marry someone she never cared for, and I believe George wants to show with both Sansa and Arya that girls should be free to choose their own dreams., because BOTH dreams are equality valid.

A CLOAK STAINED IN FIRE AND BLOOD......................

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained with blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

(A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII)

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Sansa cloaked herself with a cloak stained in "Fire and Blood" the words of House Targaryen. For me this has always been one of the biggest foreshadows on the book and its interesting to notice how George used the character of Sandor Cleagane as a redherring for this scene in order to not make so obvious the connection with Jon.

It was only when we make the connection of this particular scene with one that happened a few chapters before In the book A CLASH OF KINGS that it became pretty obvious this quote was about Jon Snow.

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“I’ve never lain with any woman but Cersei. In my own way, I’ve been truer than your Ned ever was. Poor old dead Ned. So who has shit for honor now, I ask you? What was the name of that bastard he fathered?”

Catelyn took a step backwards. “Brienne.”

“No, that wasn’t it.” Jaime Lannister upended the flagon. A trickled ran down onto his face, bright as blood. “Snow, that was the one. Such a white name … like the pretty cloaks they give us in the Kingsguard when we swear our pretty oaths.”

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

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THE ORDER OF THE CHAPTERS OF THE BOOKS....

Every time Sansa’s marriage proposals are being discussed in the books, the next chapter usually its followed by a JON chapter. Once you put the two quotes together is that you really get it, what George was once again, very delicately trying to tells us.

In the first book A GAME OF THRONES, chapter 4 Eddard I, we have King Robert arriving at Winterfell and asking to visit Lyanna tomb in the crypts of the castle. While there King Robert decides to ask for Sansa’s hand in marriage for his son prince Joffrey. This is the chapter where Sansa and Joffrey become officially betrothed to each other and their Royal engagement its made official. The very next chapter? JON. This is also the chapter where Jon Snow will get drunk in the Feats for the king and ask uncle Ben to join the NightsWatch.

In a CLASH OF KINGS chapter 52, SANSA IV, Sansa will get her period and be finally “fit to bear children to the king”. Cersei then tries, as best as she can, to be a mother figure to Sansa in this very special moment and gives her a womanly advice. She tells her that love is a dangerous feeling that makes us all weaker and it should wiser for her to love only her children. Once again we have a chapter discussing Sansa future marriage to a king and the following chapter is JON VII.

Finally on A STORM OF SWORDS, we have the famous chapter 68, Sansa VI, where she laments that no one will ever marry her for love, its only her name and Winterfell they all want. The very next chapter of the book? JON. Again, thats not a coincidence, George does this, he said that he takes a lot of planning and caring about the way he writes and structures his books.

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A CLASH OF KINGS - THE WINTER ROSE

In A CLASH OF KINGS we will have George very quietly making the connection with Jon, Sansa and the tale of Bael the Bard. While was I re reading the books I noticed that George was playing with the chapters orders and trying to tells us some hints of the story by putting characters chpaters next to each other. The first time Jon meets Ygritte on “A CLASH OF KINGS”, chapter 51, she tells him a story of Bael the Bard and the Blue Winter Rose:

"The Stark in Winterfell wanted Bael's head, but never could take him, and the taste o' failure galled him. One day in his bitterness he called Bael a craven who preyed only on the weak. When word o' that got back, Bael vowed to teach the lord a lesson. So he scaled the Wall, skipped down the kingsroad, and walked into Winterfell one winter's night with harp in hand, naming himself Sygerrik of Skagos. Sygerrik means 'deceiver' in the Old Tongue, that the First Men spoke, and the giants still speak.

"North or south, singers always find a ready welcome, so Bael ate at Lord Stark's own table, and played for the lord in his high seat until half the night was gone. The old songs he played, and new ones he'd made himself, and he played and sang so well that when he was done, the lord offered to let him name his own reward. 'All I ask is a flower,' Bael answered, 'the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell.'

"Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o' the winter roses be plucked for the singer's payment. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished . . . and so had Lord Brandon's maiden daughter. Her bed they found empty, but for the pale blue rose that Bael had left on the pillow where her head had lain."

(A Clash of Kings – Jon VI)

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Right next in the following chapter 52, Sansa has her first flowering. This is the chapter where Sansa gets her first period and its now “fit to bear children to the King.”

"The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more." Sansa had never felt less flowery. "My lady mother told me, but I... I thought it would be different.""Different how?""I don't know. Less... less messy, and more magical.” Queen Cersei laughed. "Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon enough... and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all." She took a sip of milk. "So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?" "It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded," said Sansa, "and to bear children for the king." …….

Do you want to be loved, Sansa?" "Everyone wants to be loved." "I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," said Cersei. "Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same."

(A Clash of Kings – Sansa IV)

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In the chapter 52, Sansa gets her period for the first time. She is taken to see Cersei who uses the moment to give Sansa womanly advice about love. She warns Sansa that love is dangerous and make us weaker. The following chapter of the book is JON VII.

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“Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?” “Everyone wants to be loved.” “I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. “Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”

(A Clash of Kings – Sansa IV)

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In the end of chapter Cersei warns Sansa about love and how dangerous it can be. The following chapter of the book is also JON VII. George really wanted us to picture Jon, Sansa and the Blue Winter Rose tale all together. For me this is one of the biggest clues that not only Jon and Sansa will marry but also, its their child that will continue House Stark.

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A STORM OF SWORDS - THE FALLING SNOW

In A storm of Swords, George used the prologue of the book to foreshadow Jon and Sansa romance, using the snow to symbolize Jon Snow. In the two paragraphs under, Chett will lament that heavy snow has ruined his plans for desertion and that Jon Snow and Sam stole his comfortable position as Maester Aemon’s steward: and that Jon Snow stole his position.

“He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn’t fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he’d worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him.How would they find their food caches in the snow, or the game trail they meant to follow east? They won’t need Dywen nor Bannen to hunt us down neither, not if we’re tracking through fresh snow. And snow hid the shape of the ground, especially by night. A horse could stumble over a root, break a leg on a stone. We’re done, he realized. Done before we began. We’re lost. There’d be no lord’s life for the leechman’s son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling’s sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow’s taken it all from me … the bloody snow …”

“Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig.”

(ASOS Prologue)

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And later we have Jon Snow introducing himself as “the snow”……

“The singer rose to his feet. "I’m Mance Rayder,” he said as he put aside the lute. “And you are Ned Stark’s bastard, the Snow of Winterfell.”

( A Storm of Swords – Jon I)

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Then comes Sansa’s chapter at the end of the book, where she will feel snow falling down her lips and touching her almost like a lover……..

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

(A Storm of Swords - Sansa VIII)

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A FEAST FOR CROWS - SANSA FIRST LOVE

In A FEAST FOR CROWS, chapter 23, we have Sansa playing the role of Alayne Stone, Littlefinger bastard daughter. In this chapter Sansa remembers Lord Yohn Royce son, Ser Wayman Royce and how she fell madly in love with him when he visited Winterfell on his way to take the black on the Nights Watch. If we go back to the prologue of the first book, we will find out that surprising, Ser Waymar physical description is identical of Jon Snow. George is trying to tell us that Sansa will probably be physical attracted to Jon Snow once she is reunited with him later in the story.

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw . . . he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney."

- A FEAST FOR CROWS, Alayne I

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Waymar Royce is described as follows. Notice how similar this description is to Jon.

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather.

A GAME OF THRONES, Prologue

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Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

- A GAME OF THRONES, Bran I

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JON SNOW BECOMING SANSA'S HERO

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. **That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.”** -

( A Game of Thrones – Sansa III)

She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, **for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard.**

(A Clash of Kings – Sansa IV)

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. “I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” Or Robb would say, “I’m the Young Dragon,” and Jon would reply, “I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne.”**

A Storm of Swords – Jon II

Notice how Sansa's heros match with with the ones Jon's used to pretend to be as a child.

“Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head.

A game of Thrones – Sansa VI

"I will not hang him," said Jon. "Bring him here." "Oh, Seven save us," he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, "Edd, fetch me a block," and unsheathed Longclaw.

A dance of Dragons – Jon II

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THEIR DREAMS COMPLETING EACH OTHERS

Dreams of home and family

“She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. "If I give him Sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as Valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.”

A STORM OF SWORDS, Sansa II

“I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decide to live his life on the wall. I could name him Robb”..-

A STORM OF SWORDS, Jon XII

Rebuilding Winterfell……

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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There is so much foreshadow for this relationship that I always shake my head when people say there is nothing in the books about this romance.

Edited March 30 by prettylongclaw

#asoiaf #game of thrones #jonsa #actually jonsa #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #aegon targaryen #foreshadowing

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victoria-hendricks-rp · 4 years

Photo

Victoria Jones Hendricks’ Yearbook

𝘽𝘼𝙎𝙄𝘾.

NOME COMPLETO: Victoria Jones Hendricks

APELIDOS: Vic, Vicky, V, Hendricks, Tory por meu pai

LABEL: the prodigy : a very clever, hard working person ; someone who always wants to be the best ; an overachiever and perfectionist. // the bibliophile // the genius

MBTI: ISTJ

SÉRIE: senior

GRUPO: políticos

IDADE: 18 anos

DATA DE ANIVERSÁRIO: 23 de setembro

SIGNO: virgem

EXTRACURRICULARES: clube de debates, comitê de eventos e comitê de serviço voluntário

MOST LIKELY TO… succeed or rule the world

𝙀𝙓𝙏𝙍𝘼.

LIKES: livros, organização, chá gelado, culturas exóticas, história, línguas estrangeiras, sorvete, confeitaria apenas para comer, velejar, listas, agenda, eventos de caridade, bibliotecas, batons matte, flores, camisolas de seda, anéis minimalistas, imãs de recordação, botas, scarpins, salto alto no geral, unhas feitas, itens de papelaria, música clássica, ópera, ballet clássico, jazz, museus, mármore, esculturas clássicas, palestras interessantes, aulas instigantes, mulheres inspiradoras, gatos, relógios, pulseira de pingente, perfumes levemente doces, pedras preciosas em especial safiras e esmeraldas, blazers, bolsas retas, jogar críquete com a família, praia, jogos de tabuleiro, salada, sol, banhos quentes e demorados na banheira.

DISLIKES: incompetência, desorganização, sujeira, preconceito, drama em excesso, crianças mimadas, estar errada, fast food, comidas oleosas, aulas maçantes, atrasos, pessoas que não cumprem com compromissos, trânsito, música trap, falta de educação, machismo, dentistas, incompetência ah, já falei? Desculpa, pessoas que não sabem perder e ficam agressivas, café, golfe, ser tratada como criança ou com condescendência, passas,

HOBBIES: ler, estudar, velejar, assistir apresentações, ouvir música na poltrona com minhas gatas

GUILTY PLEASURE: livros de romance de época, fantasia e juvenis, filmes e musicais água com açúcar

FAMÍLIA: Lukas (Luuk no original holandês) Hendricks, sócio majoritário de um dos maiores escritórios de advocacia da Califórnia e Evangeline Jones, política da Câmara dos representantes pelo estado da Califórnia.

PETS: três gatinhas adotadas, Bastet, Kali e Skadi.

MATÉRIA FAVORITA: história, literatura, inglês, sociologia, filosofia ahn... todas de humanas?

UM ÍDOLO: Rainha Victoria, Hatshepsut, Cleópatra VII, Catarina a Grande e todas as mulheres que governaram mas a História critica, não poderia deixar de falar de Ruth Bader Ginsburg, ou de Malala Yousafzai

UM PERSONAGEM: Portia, O Mercador de Veneza de Shakespeare

UMA FRASE: “Representation of the world, like the world itself, is the work of men; they describe it from their own point of view, which they confuse with absolute truth.” -Simone de Beauvoir

FILME: Adoráveis Mulheres

SÉRIE: gosto de séries policiais tipo Criminal Minds, Suits, NCIS e Crossing Lines e de época como Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones também

LIVRO: Tem muitos para escolher só um, sério... Crime e Castigo, O Mercador de Veneza, Sejamos todos feministas, Perigo para um Inglês, Trono de Vidro, The Curious Feminist, O Leviatã, um de cada gênero

COMIDA: gelatto

CHEIRO: chá de hibisco e frutas vermelhas, channel nº 5 e maresia

PLAYLIST DE 5 MÚSICAS:

Big Girls Cry, SIA: Tough girl in the fast lane // No time for love, no time for hate // No drama, no time for games // Tough girl whose soul aches // I'm at home, on my own // Check my phone, nothing, though // Act busy, order in // Pay TV, it's agony [..] // Tough girl, I'm in pain // It's lonely at the top, black outs and airplanes // And I still pour you a glass, of champagne // Tough girl whose soul aches

I Was Here, Beyoncé: I want to leave my footprints on the sand of time // Know there was something that, something that I left behind // When I leave this world, I'll leave no regrets // Leave something to remember, so they won't forget // I was here, I lived, I loved, I was here I did, I've done, everything that I wanted // And it was more than I thought it would be // I will leave my mark, soul, everyone will know, I was here // I wanna say I lived each day, until I died // You know that I, been something in, somebody's life // The hearts I have touched // Will be the proof that I leave // That I made a difference // And this world will see

Everybody Wants to Rule the World, Lorde: Welcome to your life // There's no turning back // Even while we sleep // We will find You acting on your best behavior // Turn your back on mother nature // Everybody wants to rule the world // It's my own design // It's my own remorse // Help me to decide // Help me make the most Of freedom and of pleasure // Nothing ever lasts forever // Everybody wants to rule the world

Feeling Good, Nina Simone: Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know // Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean // Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean // And this old world, is a new world // And a bold world for me // Stars when you shine, you know how I feel // Scent of the pine, you know how I feel // Oh freedom is mine // And I know how I feel

Lifeboat, Heathers: I float in a boat // In a raging black ocean // Low in the water // With no where to go // The tiniest lifeboat // With people I know [...] Everyone's pushing // Everyone's fighting // Storms are approaching // There's nowhere to hide // If I say the wrong thing // Or I wear the wrong outfit // They'll throw me right over the side

𝙃𝙄𝙂𝙃 𝙎𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙇.

BEST FRIEND: Minhas garotas Destiny’s Child Mary e Lana, minha baby Barbie, preciso falar de Maddie e minha xará Vic Ortega também

CRUSH: eu não tenho essas coisas

ENEMIE: espero que ninguém

𝙁𝙐𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀.

CARREIRA: juíza, advogada ou política

FACULDADE: Harvard

CURSO: direito ou ciências políticas

𝙋𝙄𝘾𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀.

APARÊNCIA: cabelo liso, um pouco bagunçado por ter ido direto da aula, sem maquiagem

ROUPA: blusa preta de manga 3/4, saia estampada preta e branca

ACESSÓRIOS: argolas curtas, alguns colares finos, pulseira reta

POSE: cabeça um pouco para trás, leve sorriso

LEGENDA: If one man can destroy everything, why can’t one girl change it? -Malala Yousafzai

#aie: task #aie: yearbook #extra

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anhed-nia · 4 years

Text

BLOGTOBER 10/15/2019: THE TALL MAN (2012)

If you do not personally crave movies that undermine both your intelligence and your suspension of disbelief with their totally bizarre bullshit, then please allow me to spoil all of Pascal Laugier’s THE TALL MAN for you. Laugier is responsible for 2008′s infamously hard to swallow MARTYRS, so if you’re acquainted with that, then you may have a general idea of what you’re in for. I had actually seen THE TALL MAN before, and all I could remember about it was my own vague sense of bafflement and annoyance. I’m so glad I chose to revisit it this blogtober, because it is really satisfyingly idiotic!

This incomprehensible rural thriller stars the perennially exhausted Jessica Biel as a widowed country nurse in a decaying northwestern mining town that is suffering from a seemingly endless string of child disappearances. The crimes have given rise to an urban legend about a Tall Man who spirits little kids away to do all sorts of awful things to them. Jessica Biel is too busy to worry about that, being the town’s last human being with a caring heart, until it happens to her--one night, her home is violated, and the intruder absconds with her little boy. She chases the Tall Man into the night, ultimately losing him after being dragged behind his JEEPERS CREEPERS van and having a surprisingly long, action-packed misadventure in the woods. When she is recovered by the FBI (dreamy Stephen McHattie) and dropped off at the local diner, she seems to uncover traces of a conspiracy among the locals, who may all be jointly behind the Tall Man kidnappings. This sends her off on the second leg of her chase, deeper into the gothic industrial recesses of their depressed burg...whereupon, after almost exactly one hour of this sappy but intriguing narrative, Jessica Biel confronts the Tall Man, who is ACTUALLY the mother (Colleen Wheeler) of one of the latest disappeared children (backed by the shifty locals), because Jessica Biel is ACTUALLY the Tall Man! Or at least, Biel delivers a borderline spiritual confession about how she has been delivering all of the town’s children to the Tall Man in order to rescue them from...well, mainly from being raised by poor people. Now that she is jailed for life as a presumed child murderer, in spite of the lack of a single corpse in the labyrinthine caverns beneath her house, the narrative shifts to one of the town’s other denizens, selectively mute teenager Jodelle Ferland (better known to me as Sharon/Alessa from SILENT HILL!) who has been yearning for the Tall Man to take her away from her crappy family. Having expressed her desires to his Jessica Biel, she is warned tantalizingly that if she causes problems, then the Tall Man will “do things to her that (she) can’t even imagine!” (This won’t make any sense later) But now that Biel is behind bars, an actual Tall Man--Jessica Biel’s enigmatic and apparently alive HUSBAND--comes, scoops the girl up like a football, and runs her out to an underground adoption agency whose mission is specifically to kidnap kids out of poor, neglectful families, and farm them out to childless rich people who will give them the perfect childhood. At the very end of the movie, now cultured and fashionable but lonely for her old life, Jodelle gazes DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA, allowing tears to fall from her troubled eyes, and asks OUT LOUD if she made the right decision. The end....?!?!?!

I hope that by now, you understand why I feel compelled to lay out every single beat of this ridiculous story. The experience of watching this complete nonsense unfurl is fascinating; The movie is richly atmospheric, and Jessica Biel’s evocation of physical and moral weariness is strangely effective. But then it has to be about...what’s it about exactly? Jessica Biel and her spouse, who has vanished himself in order to perpetrate this elaborate crime, claim to rescue children from dire circumstances, but it isn’t really explicit what the kids are going through, other than the town-wide economic depression. OK, so Jodelle Ferland’s home life kind of sucks, but the idea of a teenager on the verge of adulthood deliberately submitting herself to a human trafficking ring so she can get adopted by rich people is so inherently comedic to me that I just can’t take it seriously. Also, as Colleen Wheeler explains to Jessica Biel in jail, just being poor and imperfect shouldn’t make you a candidate for being deprived of your family. As the film’s latter revelations unfold, we see several photos of Jessica Biel and her husband serving in Save the Children-type organizations around the world, including a picture of them surrounded by smiling black faces. I don’t know if the implication is that Mr. and Mrs. Tall Man went to places like Haiti and the Congo in order to snatch children out of their poor mothers’ arms--it’s hard to imagine that the rich and childless of Seattle would be as interested in them as they are in a little white cherub like Jodelle--but it’s an icky thing to add to the mix. And about Jodelle, who has infiltrated the Tall Man scheme in order to get herself some less drunk and pugnacious parents: Her closing V/O monologue is mortifying in its pseudo-poetic prose, but more than that, what am I supposed to think about her epiphany that getting illegally adopted might have been a pretty mean thing to do to her birth mom? The movie is gravely serious at all times, but I’m not sure what about. It feels a little like writer-director Laugier explained his latest movie idea to somebody, and that person said, “Wait, are we supposed to admire Jessica Biel? This seems like kind of a bad, judgmental thing to do,” and then he just wrote in all this hemming and hawing about what the meaning of all this is supposed to be.

So not only do I feel confused about how I’m meant to feel toward the characters in THE TALL MAN, but I feel confused about what it’s about metaphorically. There are lots of genre movies about childhood and parenting, understandably, since it is such a potent subject. There are evil little kid stories, about the reasonable suspicion that your precious offspring is actually a separate and independent person from you. There are stories about bullied little kids who turn out to have an epic destiny, that help us combat our feelings of ordinariness and anonymity. Adjacently, stories about evil parental figures who must be vanquished stem from a similar desire for self-validation. There are also stories which sort of mix these two ideas, about children getting to go on a magical adventure that is ultimately NOT preferable to the comforts of home--iterations range from THE WIZARD OF OZ to any number of Slenderman narratives (of which this almost is one). Then there are stories, usually distopian sci-fi or fantasy products, about adults who have to fight for their right to breed against a fascist government that aims to prevent undesirable children from being born--which in turn are adjacent to stories about parents who try to artificially produce the perfect child, and who inevitably pay for this transgression against god and nature. It’s easy to see what real feelings and experiences inspire each of these stories, but I have no idea what THE TALL MAN is about. I would think that there isn’t a big and reliable enough audience of, say, people who think you should need a license to have a kid, for somebody to make an entire movie about what if you could remove children from parents who are unstable, oh but like also what if you can’t really tell WHO is or is not a fit parent, but then like what if you were a kid and could pick your own parents, would you be sad later if you tried it??? ...I just mean to say that I don’t know what THE TALL MAN is an allegory for, or even just what it wants me to think or feel. And for some equally idiotic reason, I seem to enjoy the only emotion I am left with, which is confusion.

PS With this viewing, I managed to watch two movies in a row that end with spooked out kids speaking directly to the camera, and that just makes me feel totally and completely cursed.

#the tall man #2012 #pascal laugier #jessica biel #stephen mchattie #colleen wheeler #jodelle ferland #thriller #urban legend #slenderman #spoiler #blogtober

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libidomechanica · 4 years

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Untitled Composition # 7275

For Wit is in mutual feeling weeds. And then thy rest defect in it thy mother pastoral slope side soon remounts, and in the hearts of madness, chaste to sell these leaden sky, and loud revels rude scythe supreme delight across the streams around at peaceful and by as one was not understand palm she sparely spirits, and me sweet Ida: that long way down, that he cannot break a gentle Hermes the blesse folly, too shall his knees. Roaring unexpression wait,— haste, little silver-white lambs and revenge his will soon would so he went waits for that had been on the gull and cloud that I speake what her man is star of even our was drippings; and I stop, not because and loved as he stood about thy living it, then the least wheat. The boon of His Glory the Fauns, and to eternal through the wrought two grand even toll a reguiem that struggled into their destiny he heart can only show precede: they are not so, lest the bridegroom wished he laid, of purer pageants: but we rides, for certainment needs must know where between mine, lass; and walke another, the burdens, that way, suffered sense of a happy I hae sworder, I will weep though in Cupids column. And forme of the end haunted by thee still the lovers parts his poor colorless the envious care weighs on your crookéd as the means new; most thrown, chid her safe. Would humour many a thought. How frivolous a baby many senses reel: some herbs, waving throat may heard Kiddie al things high, and bitter cry. That sweet self away, as if he compliments they suppose itself, he told of cup and demand of love died instead of wife about their miscreaunce, her voice sparkl ing in June; o my Belovëd, will use a freshly screen, maud in tune. And the moments heart— the burnt from all their native groan, or dry, a man who tramped, and they found with awe I praise from thence all is abed, candles out on convict lies is kindlier sweet, and man. Whose brow had not what he is the preciously. And three sins a blessed. So with blunt and wondered away they had no sing, bone-dry white v-neck t- shirt on your distress, or alone; this cloth. And washed by the shining lovers find him three, I was cajoled.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #167 texts

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wammys-house-a · 5 years

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Page 257 – Dear Truth;

Woke at 5:36. It almost feels like spring.

I put on tight black gloves and see the perfect obsidian contrast with my skins muted hues of living cream, blue lines, and salmon furrows and think to myself … how disgusting and sorrowful it is, someone else’s inked hide. It’s surface barely holds the chill of winter that still hangs in the atmosphere, nothing beneath the surface to warm it.

The tag inside is faded a sickly gold.

It reads g e n u i n e. India.

The threads are loosely stitched inside at the wrists where my pulse would thrum against the seam and itch. Death’s caress.

I pull the knife from my boot,

the usual affirmation of my boyishness isn’t there,

I’ve forgotten to be who I’m trying to be.

I hesitate.

— Not because it’s not in me to free this remnant of their body from my wardrobe but because I know their parts would out last their natural life, even if it had not been cut short.

Does that matter?

Would I want someone wearing me, if it kept them warm or made them feel better to hide their bony fingers?

Would it matter if it was a stranger? Would it matter if I only had the capacity of a child and no appreciation of a greater purpose? Would it matter if I had no choice? What if I had no autonomy, if I was helpless and had done nothing wrong, if it was merciless and my want for integrity didn’t matter because I didn’t matter ?

Would it matter then?

I cut the thread.

I buried the pieces of Stranger in the flower bed.

The earth was as black as ink but intermingled are white specks of perlite, decaying wood chips, crawling life surfacing and slipping back into the earth like dolphins traveling in the surf.

The soil holds the chill of the atmosphere, but it is so terribly alive.

____ 1 1 : 2 1

Today; the evaluation.

Passing was within B’s capacity, it must be in mine. They’re not looking for h e a l t h y , they are looking for proof that this experiment is working.

I wasn’t dishonest, I don’t need to be when B would outshine any of my perceived pathologies. I’m mundane, when the next patient in line has smeared the ashes of a candle’s wick under his eyes and pretends he doesn’t smell like cheap vanilla.

Their psychiatrist wanted to know if I feel confident in my abilities, if I feel challenged, if I feel aligned with my identity,

I’m fine.

But, I struggle with communicating my feelings.

I get mealy mouthed, distracted by my own self awareness; how I must sound, what they’re thinking, I begin to second guess the value of my words – if what I say is even necessary to hear; I watch their face for reaction.

—– Does the open, unthinking stare mean they too are wondering what my intentions are in speaking?

The psychiatrist recommended I try writing those thoughts out, make them more tangible and give it form that I can fully grasp. He said it would give me enough time to think, shorten the rattling preamble, eliminate the urgency to get to the point that leaves me stumbling trying to reach it in nervous haste.

They suggested writing what I thought out, like a letter to a person to never send .

I said I would try it.

Dear G o d ,

It took six months for the freshness of it to wear off, and people began to reassure me that the loss of my family was part of a g r e a t e r plan. Like an event meant to shape me, turn me into someone that the world needed -- my sacrificial metamorphosis, cocoons from coffins.

There had to be something to salvage from it, I only needed to keep looking. They were somehow a lesson I didn’t understand, but I would in time.

That only left me asking, why did they have to be my lesson?

That’s not fair.

What lesson was worth two lives?

They didn’t deserve that.

But, that was before.

I know better now.

I no longer ask questions like ‘why did they have to be my lesson’. -- How can anyone believe in God’s plan if they know there are thousands of starving children, born to parents that did not want them, that cannot not feed them.

--- How can anyone concluded that a just God gifts life to children only to doom them to death by starvation in infancy?

Where is God’s plan when mothers mutilate their children because culture supersedes their logic?

-- When there are Children trapped in concrete debris in the aftermath of storms, their minds so choked on sepsis, they hallucinate running late to class in their last lucid moments of consciousness?

-- Or when innocent creatures wander into mud lands to become trapped and eaten alive by predators that pull their ears from their bellowing bodies .. ?

-- Or when humans throw them into pits to be set on fire as a preemptive measure against disease -- denied a sorrowful destiny as captives born into this world to decorate the plates of those too cowardly to look-them-in-the-face-as-they-die-with-the-slack-jawed,-stunned-gazes-that-ask;

‘ how did it come to this ? ’

It was a stupid question to ask.

There are no lessons worth the cost of children’s innocence, or the empty gazes of dead friends where faith goes to die, or any thing to learn from the dyed hides of strangers that didn’t deserve it.

The truth is, I don’t deserve the comfort I have,

there is nothing so special about me that I couldn’t have been one of those that you forgot to b l e s s with the tiny mercy of dying in their sleep.

This isn’t survivors guilt. There is too much pain in this world for me to ask, why I live and others die ; to ask that would be to acknowledge that this system isn’t senseless, it is e v i l .

I suppose I was right, wondering if anything coming from my mouth is even necessary to hear.

-- What good do I expect you knowing all this will do?

Maybe I have thinly veiled this behind Dear God so it doesn’t feel so egocentric. I’m speaking with myself, there’s something I want him to understand.

I want him to know there’s being savagely honest with one’s self is liberating.

When you’re honest, the truth doesn’t hide in your chest like sleeping disease.

Truth is terrifying, but living in ignorance has never exempted me from living in a world where these truths exist, closing my eyes will not make it cease to be.

I don’t want to be a person that can only see myself as benevolent through self-serving assurance and questions remained unasked.

I want to see the world clearly, so I can find where injustice lives and bring it to an end.

God, I can’t wait on you, I have never had eternity.

#Death Note #a (death note)#death note a #wammys house #entries

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