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luxekook · 4 years

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chapter three.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader (insert gif of elmo with flames behind him here)

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, jimin propositions the reader accidentally, taehyung is a menace, noona kink jumps out A LOT, chaotic ot7, talk of poly relationships, overall kinda smut free (the next chapter should quench fuel your thirst)

Chapter Three

“It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

We’re going to date the shit out of you.

We’re. Going. To. Date. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.

Those words play on a constant loop in my head for the rest of the week. After Namjoon had dropped that bombshell on me, I’d kind of freaked the fuck out, faked an immediate illness, and ran at full speed.

When I had told Luna about it later that night, she had been just as shook as me. Surprisingly enough, she had also given her full support of whatever I decided to do but “would have her banana slicer on standby and would order six more if need be”.

It appears that she had drunk-ordered a banana slicer off Amazon when the last boy she talked to pissed her off. I had apparently drunk-approved the decision. Rad.

Jenni’s reaction had been even better. We’d been in the library on Monday and her screech of “he said what!?” had led to multiple events:

An abundance of shushes from every student within a 50-yard radius

Her continued rant: “Your own personal harem! Can you say goals? Maybe I should infiltrate EXO and collect my own...”

Us getting kicked out by our ancient librarian

For the rest of the week, I had Luna and Jenni both giving me shit about the BTS boys. It had helped that I hadn’t run into them at all on campus between classes. But I had known it wouldn’t be long before my luck would run out...

Quinn Library – 2:31pm

Typically, I don’t spend my Friday afternoons deep within the stacks of the library’s quiet floor. Yet, here I sit typing frantically due to my incapability to stop procrastinating. My fingers fly over the keys of my aging MacBook in hopes that whatever spur of productivity I had going on is captured in its fullest.

General education classes could burn in the pits of hell as far as I'm concerned. If I wanted to be a psychiatrist, why did I have to take – and pay for – an art elective that I would likely never utilize in the workforce? Plus, the only class within the category that fit my schedule ended up being “Writing About Dance”.

Yeah, I’m still a tad bitter, but in all honesty the class isn’t that bad so far. It mainly consists of watching different dance performances and learning how to write about them in different styles.

Today’s assignment is to write critical commentary on videos of the university’s dance team that the professor provided for us. Sighing, I finish my review of the second to last dance video provided by the professor, take a quick second to stretch, and then open the link to the last video on the assignment page.

“Park Jimin – Final Performance Solo, Spring 2019”

Slack-jawed, I fall into wonder as Jimin moves through his routine flawlessly. He dances like it’s easier than walking to him. His movements are somehow precise and fluid all at once. I barely realize a few tears have run down my cheeks until the video cuts off, signaling the end of Jimin’s performance.

Jesus, (y/n), get it together. I laugh lightly as I dig in my backpack for a tissue. How could I possibly capture the ethereal beauty that Jimin exuded into words? Am I even worthy of commenting on such exquisiteness?

Definitely fucking not. And before I can second guess myself, I type: “Park Jimin is art in its purest form. Watching him dance is like watching the sun rise over the ocean – raw beauty accompanied by the hopes brought with a new day. His performance left me wanting for nothing except an encore.”

Boom. Submit Assignment.

As my email pings with the confirmation that my assignment is turned in, my eyes widen in realization. Park Jimin of BTS is a dance god, and he – allegedly – wants to date me? That is just ridiculously unfathomable.

Namjoon must be off his rocker.

Closing my laptop, my phone suddenly vibrates with an incoming notification from snapchat...

President_RM has added you!

Before I can even comprehend the absurdity of Namjoon adding me, my phone bursts into a series of buzzes. Cursing, I switch my phone to silent and check my screen.

minsuga93 has added you!

jhopeworld_ has added you!

handsomeJIN has added you!

JKookie97 has added you!

vantae_BTS has added you!

95jiminie has added you!

Are they serious? How did they even get my SnapChat username?

vantae_BTS has added you to a chat!

Curiosity wins out over aggravation as I swipe to open the chat.

Heart pounding, I fight the urge to chuck my phone into the depths of the bookcases winding around the room. What did those idiots want with me?

(y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 9:45pm

“What do those idiots want with me?” the decibel my voice has risen to is shocking even to my ears.

Luna cringes, accordingly, “I can’t tell if that’s a rhetorical question...”

I steamroll onwards, “And don’t even get me started on how they could have even gotten my snapchat. It’s a complete invasion of privacy!”

“You could just ask them,” Jenni’s voice cuts through my rambling tirade.

I pause, “No, I couldn’t—”

...Or could I?

Turning on my heel, I rush into my room and head straight for my closet. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and pair of leggings, I tug them on and then grab my keys from my nightstand.

Whirling back into the living room, I storm past a dumbfounded Luna and Jenni, “Be right back.”

Opening the apartment door, Luna shouts, “Wait! Where are you going? You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Whoops. I glance at my feet and note that she is, in fact, correct.

Jenni bounds over to me holding my Doc Martens, “Here, babe. You’re going to the BTS house, aren’t you?”

I nod grimly and salute my two best friends as if I'm going into battle. “I won’t be long. I just have a small errand to run.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Luna declares, pulling on her sneakers.

Jenni snorts and shoves her feet into her beat-up Converse, “No way am I missing out on this action.”

As we head out the door, I link arms with Luna and Jenni, “Have I mentioned I love you both recently?”

“Right back at you, bitch,” Luna laughs.

Greek Row – 10:17pm

Ten minutes later, we reach Greek Row. Fraternity and sorority houses dot the street on both sides. Personally, I think of this street as home to the chaotic rich, and I tend to avoid it at all costs – except tonight.

The line to get into BTS is so long it wraps around the block. Students dressed in the latest fashions converse as they wait, huddling together in their groups. I glance down at my outfit of a worn university hoodie and leggings.

“Well, shit. We’re underdressed, huh,” Jenni deadpans, causing all three of us to burst into laughter, “Do you think they put you on the list, (y/n)?”

Pondering that thought, I shrug, “Maybe,” and begin marching past the line of waiting students towards the front door of BTS, “But I sure as fuck am not waiting in that line.”

“Hey, there’s a line here!”

“Yo, bitches! What are you doing?”

“What the fuck?”

Paying the hecklers no mind, I saunter right up to the BTS pledges guarding the door, “Hi, I need to talk to Kim Namjoon.”

The pledge on the right rakes his gaze over me incredulously and then makes the same assessment of Luna and Jenni, “You know this is a party, right?”

I don’t deem that comment worthy of a response and instead cross my arms over my chest. He shrinks under the collective glare of me, Luna and Jenni.

The pledge on the left awkwardly clears his throat, “Names, please?”

My answer barely escapes my lips before the pledges visibly straighten, looking at me with new eyes, “You’re (y/n)? Why didn’t you just say so?”

And before I can answer, the front door swings open for us.

People are everywhere. A haze of smoke looms in the air, and rap music blares from the speakers. The bass is turned up so loud that the beat seems to take over the rhythm of my pulse. That cannot be healthy.

Turning to my friends, I do my best to communicate, shouting, “I’m going to find them! Are you going to be here?”

Luna and Jenni exchange a look and nod. Jenni shouts back, “We’re going to get some drinks. Might as well capitalize on free booze! Text us when you’re ready to go.”

And with that, we part ways.

Maneuvering around the sea of gyrating bodies in the main living room area, I scan around for any signs of my seven menaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that my future wife?” The deep voice booms from behind me.

I sigh, recognizing the voice, and turn around.

Kim Taehyung is striding towards me with his arms outstretched, smiling like the damned fool he is and looking like he just stepped off the runway for Gucci. “Come to daddy.”

An idea forms. I smile sweetly and walk to meet Taehyung halfway. His boxy grin widens and just as he thinks I'm going to let him wrap his arms around me, I grab him by the ear.

“Ouch!” He cries, “Devil-woman!”

Ignoring him, I drag him behind me towards the stairs.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked—OW!”

My hold on his ear tightens as we arrive on the second-floor landing, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know, n-noona!” Somehow the honorific coming from Tae sounds divine, but I file that thought away for another time.

Removing my hold, I corner him against the wall of the hallway, “Okay, Kim, here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to point me in the direction of your room, go find your six idiot brothers, and then report back here so I can finally understand what the fuck is going on. Got it?”

My chest heaves as my directions conclude and I realize how close together we are. Taehyung stares at me with an indecipherable expression before breaking into a slow smile, “Noona is bossy.”

“Noona is going to shove her foot up your ass if you don’t get moving,” I growl.

“Kinky,” he laughs, backing away from me and my brewing anger, “Last door on the left is my room. I’ll be back with the six idiots.”

As he thumps back down the steps, I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to steel my nerves and rein in my anger. When I open them, my eyes are met with the amused gaze of Min Yoongi.

Slapping a hand to my heart, I wait for my pulse to settle from being scared out of my wits, “Motherfuck—how did you even move that silently?”

“It’s a skill,” Yoongi drawls, nodding towards to end of the hall, “So, group meeting in Tae’s room?”

Shooting him the best side-eye I can muster, I stalk past him, steadfastly ignoring the chuckles and light footfalls that follow behind me.

Throwing open the door which Taehyung indicated was to his room, I pause, taking in the horde of photos and art taped to the four walls. The light blue wallpaper barely peeks through the absolute massive amount of artwork.

“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” An angelic voice shyly breaks through my reverie, “Tae likes to collect pictures and things he finds beautiful.”

“Ah, so that’s why we’re friends.” The joke is followed by a laugh that can only be compared to the sound of a windshield wiper squeakily moving back and forth.

I shift my eyes from Taehyung’s walls and onto the two newcomers – Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin.

Meeting Seokjin’s gaze first, I cannot help but agree that he is a very, very beautiful man. With pushed back dark hair, mischievous brown eyes and impossibly broad shoulders, Seokjin can easily be mistaken for an idol. And, oh fuck, I’m still staring.

Shooting my eyes back up to his, I crinkle my nose at his shit-eating grin. Before he can even comment, I turn and lock eyes with Jimin.

“Your dancing is gorgeous,” I blurt out and immediately want to crawl under a rock and live out the rest of my life as Patrick Star.

Yoongi and Seokjin are cackling as Jimin’s face lights up at my embarrassing compliment, “You really think so?”

“There's no shutting him up now,” Yoongi is in tears, “Watch out, (y/n). Jimin loves his fans.”

“Shut up, Yoongi-hyung!”

Jimin looks ready to swing, but luckily Taehyung chooses the right moment to return, “What have we missed? Why is Jiminie about to fight Yoongi? I’ll put $10 on hyung.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jimin sits on the edge of Tae’s bed and pouts.

The rest of the boys file in behind Taehyung as he flops down onto his bed and reclines like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, (y/n). Good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon greets me with a slight bow, a crooked smile and wicked eyes.

He’s followed closely by Jung Hoseok, the only BTS boy I hadn’t met thus far, “(y/n)! It’s so nice to meet you in person! Wow, you look so pretty tonight!”

“Noona always looks pretty,” Jungkook cuts in, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, “She’s bae.”

A collective groan arises from the rest of the boys. “Sit your ass down, JK,” Yoongi grumbles, “(y/n)’s going to break up with us before we even start dating.”

“Dating—!” I break off that train of thought. Other matters need to be attended to first, “No, I didn’t come here tonight to say ‘hi’ or to be your ‘bae’. I came here to get answers.”

I take my time making eye contact with each boy.

Taehyung is still spread out on his bed and Jimin has now joined him. Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook are sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Namjoon and Yoongi slouch against the opposite wall of the bedroom facing me.

“Alright,” Namjoon lifts his chin, meeting my stare head on, “What do you want to know?”

a/n: sorry for the cliffhanger, hehe. i wanted to get something up for y’all! hopefully next chapter won’t take too long to finish/edit :)

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whats-the-story-tc · 4 years

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7th of June, 2019

"The One with the Conversation"

[tw for anxiety]

Hiya, guys! I hope you all get to rest in the winter break, and celebrate, if you do Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Yule or anything of the sort. Anyway, today, I really started missing V, so here are some old stories I randomly remembered, that I thought I should tell you guys. This will be part one, there's another story like this incoming.

June 7th, ordinary day, near the end of school year, summer, fun. Everything's ace. Except for... that conversation. You see, about a week prior, we had to write this essay for V on "what it means to be human for me". And, after a long debate with myself, I chose to include my issues with anxiety and depression, as they're a pretty big part of my human experience. When I got it back, graded, I saw only a little question written next to the paragraph. "What's the story?" That's where the URL comes from.

On the 7th, after class is when I decided to tell her my story. I'll just quote the texts I sent to my friends, so you'll get the hang of what happened, because I don't think present day me could tell you more accurately than that.

To Pocketwatch Friend, translated from my native tongue:

"I hate when people feel sorry for me. And I know V will never say she feels sorry for me but I saw it. I forgot that those who love literature are some of the most emotional people, even if they don't show it. I didn't want help or pity, that's not why I wrote what I wrote. I wanted a civilised, mature discussion with a mature person I trust. And even though this was mature, I think half of it was just us trying to read the other's reaction."

"I didn't want her to think, I didn't want her to help, because if I don't help myself, we can't achieve anything, not even if a whole school stands behind me. I just wanted a chat. Of course I can't blame her or myself, it just went to shit..."

"And then she asks me if [our homeroom teacher] knows. Fuck, that poor woman would go into a cardiac arrest if I told her about this 🤡"

I didn't have to. She saw me break down. I had a serious anxiety attack in church the week after, on the last day of school. So I guess, she found out either way. But whatever. Remember what V asked me here. It's gonna be important later.

"I understand her reactions, but this isn't really what I was hoping for. She said goodbye to me saying that she will be thinking about this a lot. Then fucking think, but this isn't what I wanted! Of course everyone would be shocked at first, but..."

Then I went on rambling. Yeah. Pretty intense, isn't it? But doesn't contain some of the more important details I only remembered hours later.

Here's what I told my other friend, but only the things I didn't already talk about (direct quote, as we speak English w/ each other):

"I have [told her I don't need help]! And while she said it's a noble thing that I want to solve it all on my own, I have to be careful not to fall ill because of the weight of it. I told her it already happened, but I did pull myself back in Paris [long story]. Plus I got out of social anxiety on my own! If I could do that, I can do this too. I told her this as well."

"We also spoke about my inability to concentrate. [V in red, me in black.] "Despite that fact, you still do quite well in class." "Most of it is luck." *smile* "Do you think luck is all there is to it?" "Of course not. But a large part of it." "

So, yeah. Classic me, I could only remember the positive bits later, once I've vented the negative out (and went to this school-organised event, a kind of ball that afternoon to hang out with my friends). The texts to Pocketwatch Friend are from about 2 PM-ish, where the experience was still fresh, and the other two from around 10 PM.

We could say this is one of the main things that shaped my relationship with V. I mention us analysing each other's reactions, but really, we had never been more open. Me with everything I said, and her with the concerned eyes. She is really expressive with her gazes, that's why I talk about them so much. When she's concerned for you, you know it. It's evident. That's why the blog's title is "All the little ways she cares".

The other one... the quiet compliment, in that last one. She knows I'm smart, has known since day one. I remember texting my friend after my first lesson with her and saying "okay guys, I'm sure our middle school English teacher told her about me". She spoke about this grammar-related rule thing, and asked the people who understand it to raise their hands. Nobody did, as far as I remember. And V deadass said "I know Specs wants to raise her hand." I was baffled. How on Earth could she possibly know that, we haven't said a word to each other before!

But, to be fair, during that time I still called her "fox woman" behind her back, a silly nickname my classmates gave her in middle school because of her dyed red hair and many fox accessories (and, to be fair, her sharp facial features), as I didn't have enough respect for her yet to drop it. That only came about a month later. But that's a story for another post.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

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machinehead · 7 years

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MORE CORNELL

Below is a collection of the most interesting replies to my General Journal inbox and our Facebook page. There are many, many, many more great/fantastic replies in the FB thread here: https://www.facebook.com/MachineHead/posts/10154745571783823 But these are the ones that hit me the hardest for whatever reason. Reading everyone's replies made me realize that it’s been a very difficult thing to process for many of us. I appreciate the well wishes from everyone. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Yes, it triggered something dark inside me, something closer to the surface than I realized. Writing/talking helped me process it. Talking about it on our group-text helped a lot, talking about it with my guys at practice helped a lot. Writing the journal helped a lot, reading you’re replies helped a lot. And so I’m sharing your replies to hopefully help anyone else struggling with this. It needs to be discussed. His suicide, depression, mental health, whatever we want to call needs to be addressed. We need to get over our uber-macho, alpha-male-society, and be able to talk about these things. For ourselves, for our kids, for our future. My oldest son had heard Genevra and I talking about Cornell. Driving him to school 2 days ago, he asked me how he died. I told him. He didn’t understand why someone would do that. It was tough conversation. And my first thought was to not tell him what it meant, but then my larger fear went to "what if he feels this way already?” And before you go, “oh kids don’t feel that way, kids are just happy all the time”, I have 2 friends who are going though it with their tween/teenagers. So we spoke about it, and I told him "I hoped that him and Wyatt never felt that way because THAT scared me even more." It was heavy… How any parent lives through that I’ll never know. Back when the news broke, the band/crew were talking over the group-text, Phil shared something amazing with us. It was a post from our long-time friend Steffan Chirazi. He had posted his eloquent thoughts regarding Cornell's suicide (written before suicide was confirmed). If you read only one of the replies below, scroll to the bottom and read his. It’s well worth your time. ——————————— From: Paul Miller Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Yeah man. I know that's not a formal way to start a reply, but that last line, "Listen, Honor, Remember Chris Cornell"... that's the truth. Did so today. Soundgarden was one of those bands that I listed to and enjoyed, but I didn't run it into the ground. It was great music, and I didn't want to burn myself out on it. It would rotate, but I'd save it for special occasions. When "Black Hole Sun" hit MTV, I'd find myself turning the tv so that I wouldn't get sick of it, but it became unavoidable for awhile (at least here in Indiana). I appreciate your words. They ring true here, too. Never got that low, but my thoughts have been dark enough. It scares me, too. But, I want to forge ahead for my 5 year old - she is what keeps me runnin'. All the best to you, and thank you for the music through the years. I'm sure you hear people say that your music helped them through rough times. I believe it. It kept me focused on doing something personally productive to develop my chops as I wore out the cassette of 'Burn My Eyes' while learning to play your riffs! So, thank you for that. Take care, Paul From: Rochelle Mangan Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Thank you for this, I loved reading it and am enjoying re listening to a lot of the songs and albums you mentioned with a different perspective on them (this is something I enjoy doing with music a lot, listening to things after people have told me their ideas and opinions on them etc). I just want to say though that I hate the "they had so much to live for" type comments. Even if it's done from an emotional, irrational state, I can't not say something about it. I will find it hard to express concisely and over email the many reasons why but one of the main things is this.... Mental health is hard to deal with because it's invisible, it's so easy to feel like you're a flawed person somehow rather than recognise you are actually unwell. This can mean that experiencing severe depression or whatever when everything in your life is "going great" can (in my experience) often make it so much more confusing and distressing. I'm definitely not saying it's harder to deal with if your life's great! But, if things aren't great - you've lost your job, you're struggling with a relationship etc it's easier to sort of say to yourself "well of course I'm struggling". I feel like it's also sometimes easier for others to empathise with you if they can see some logical reasons why. It's also easier to get help from public health services (in NZ anyway). When I'm in a bad patch and I have good things happening in my life I ALWAYS find it harder to not do damaging behaviours because my external things are so at odds with what's happening internally. It's like a big war going on and it is so confusing, so exhausting, just one massive dangerous mind fuck! Anyway I hope this doesn't make you feel worse than you may already be feeling, I don't mean it to. I just feel that it's important to say these things sometimes. I know suicide can be confusing to people but as you may know, when you're there, it's not. Thank you for your ramblings and your even more amazing music. It has definitely kept me alive in a big way numerous times. Rochelle xxx From: Anita Hoeve Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Even though I'm a Machine Head fan from the start, and I really enjoy your journals, I don't normally respond to them. Surely you have better things to do than read all the comments, but wow, this day really sucked, didn't it? I was utterly shocked to hear about Chris' passing. Even more to learn it was suicide. Feel so sad that he felt this was the only way out. I love his voice, his music, listened to Superunknown just last week. Between all the social outpourings I read today, yours really stood out. Thank you for your story, your memories. For really taking the time to share them with us. They got to me. Take care Robb, give your kids and Genevra an extra big hug tonight. Love, Anita From: "Kondalski, Joe" Subject: RE: CHRIS CORNELL To: 'The General Journals' I was at the Fox Theater last night to see Soundgarden, here are a couple of pics from the show. We were in the front row and Chris gave us fist bumps and was very engaged with the fans during the show. Ps- these are cell phone pics, I will send some pics from my camera later. Feel free to post this pics anywhere. From: Fábio Gil Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals From a 34 year old fan boy trying to play it cool: if you need help, go and search for it and solve your shit, man. We all have demons and hard things we can't handle by ourselves, sometimes. So, for this fanboy, and millions around the world, for whom your TALENT and music inspires so fucking much, put yourself together and "headup". I have a band and we are looking for a proper singer for a time now, maybe a year... And you, dear Robb, your vocal approach, your melodies, ressonate in my head, pushing me to break my barriers and fears and step to the mic (I play of the guitars). This is how much you inspire me. And I'm... just one. Imagine what you do daily to your legion of fans. Is there anybody out there? Yea. There is. Always. From Portugal, with MUCH MUCH love, Fábio Gil. From: Jean-Baptiste Collinet Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL SPOTIFY PLAYLIST To: The General Journals Thanks for the playlist, Robb. Great choices, many almost-unknown songs. Great. Well, I tought about dropping a serious line about how Chris somehow "changed my life" (I know, that's so cliché, but I'm at loss for words, damnit). But I was too down last time you wrote about him. Not only did Chris, as a human being, kinda "redirected" me on a safer, healthier path… even if we never met (if there's heaven or hell, we may meet sometime. Let's be a hopeless optimistic-pessimist!) His music... Boy, it's just gut-tearing to think about the loss of the man who opened my mind and my ears enough to stop my technical frenzy and stage thirst for a huge while, and made me start listening instead of merely hearing. I even put aside performing for years, and I just started again maybe a few months ago. Not as a Swedish Melodeath drummer and guitarist, but as a viola da gamba soloist. Talk about a ride. It doesn't look like it, but both worlds share much more than one may think. Not sure I would have made it so far without Chris. Chris had this ability to quickly grok and understand the world and music in an unbelievably holistic way. If that's not inspiring, I don't know what is... I could go on and on, rambling. Enough. Chris has still much to "teach" us, even if he's not "there". He made me wonder if we're not the dead, wrongly thinking we're alive. How can we dare think we're right? What if the ones we think of as dead/fallen are the ones alive? Anyone has an answer to this? Jean-Baptiste Collinet @Rich Hoit I both love and hate this. I love the passion, the honesty, and the wish to not shy away from the raw and heartfelt feelings towards a fantastic front man, singer, musician, friend and man. So much respect for that. I hate the fact that it had to be written so soon 😢 Bravo, Machine Head, a great piece and a great sentiment. And thank you, Chris Cornell. @Ashley Merritt You're strong as fuck Robb because you actually wrote how you feel honestly like this, helping anyone struggling with mental illness.. it helps to know that you're not the only one and the way you feel frankly is exactly the way I do. What a trip. Being open and around good folk means everything, there's always an up after a down. Always. @Theresa Alaimo Very proud of you, Robb Flynn, Machine Head, for this tribute to Chris. A s a journalist for my magazine, Black Planet, in New Mexico, I ran for over 15 years, I too am grieving for Chris Cornell, that beautiful man with an amazing voice. During the Voivod Tour they played at a club a few blocks from my work space apartment and the promoter asked if I could steam the crab legs for Soundgarden at my place. Delivering a plate of steaming hot crab legs to the beautiful Chris and looking into his eyes, made my legs steam as well. I believe I said, "Your Majesty, I present you with steaming hot crab legs" and bowed. I was such a dork, but I was so overwhelmed by his aura. I was also at the Foundations Forum where I saw Soundgarden and met you and other great guys. I interviewed you and we all became friends and hung out with Pantera, Biohazard, Exodus, STP, Lemmy, Pearl Jam, Iron Maiden and up and coming new bands for a weekend. I still have my Scorpions beer mug they handed out from their helicopter flight, it was a great experience. Anytime you are feeling sad or depressed Robb, try to remember that you are a talented musician, a beautiful man and maybe not every woman in the world wants to fuck you, but be your friend and will listen if you need to talk. I might not ever know if you read this, Robb Flynn, but at least it's out there. We all love you and need you to stick around. We've lost too many, Dimebag, Peter Steele, Wayne Static, Scott Weiland, Layne Staley, Lemmy, just to name a few and when we barely catch our breath, then we lose another. We can't lose you too, our hearts are already broken. @Matt McDonald "And I think I'm strong, but I'm not. I'm not as strong as I project, and I'm not sure if I'm stronger than depression. Because I sink into it sometimes. And it's black. I hope I am. I need to be for my kids. For my wife... for myself." God damn that shit hit me. So personal, so profound, and so relatable. Counseling, medication, therapy... none of that is a guarantee. Whether it's a bout of sadness or full on throes of suicidal depression, sometimes the hardest part for overcoming it is simply reaching out. Be it pride, shame, guilt... find a way to overcome, find something that helps you out of the funk. Music can be so powerful, so thank you for still being here to share your deeply personal thoughts and feelings, and for continuing to make music. You never know how much it could help even just one person, I think that's reason enough to continue. Thank you! @Jennifer May It can be really hard to admit, you worry that you'll be labeled as an attention seeker or told that you just need to cowboy up and try harder to be happy. Medication is still really stigmatized and expensive, and talk therapy can seem intimidating. I'm very, very lucky and grateful that my mama works in mental health so I've had someone to help me navigate the system. RIP Chris, we lost one of the greatest today. @Phil Stein No matter how much one tries to capture the range of emotions evoked by Chris Cornell's vocals, the description falls short of what he could do and what he could convey. Let alone the beauty, poignancy and power that he could generate. It was like hearing a 5 course gourmet dinner from appetizer through dessert - it was varied and more than that delicious vocally. Thanks for the great description and memorial For Chris Robb. It's so on point and fitting. Perfectly stated!!! @Mark Garcia It's the asshole in me but I will never grieve for someone who takes their own life. I can appreciate all the words from fans and I may not have been a fan of sound garden some of the songs were worth listening to. This band as well as the grunge "sound" never resonated with me so maybe that's why as well. @Jimmy James Brute honesty again from mr Flynn. Bravo this is why we love you and machine head. Depression does fucking suck and you don't shy away from talking about it. RIP Chris Cornell! Man I was actually a big soundgarden fan back in the 90s before discovering metal. @Siri LH Thank you for your honesty and reflections! Highly interesting to read. I can relate to the sadness and the mind fuck. Soundgarden was the band that sparked my love for heavy music. I've been depressed myself and always felt comfort in listening to Chris Cornell's voice. It resonated with my mind. The darkness felt lighter when I put on a Soundgarden album. I was comforted, like someone got my mood. Whenever I've felt lost, I've put on some Soundgarden and found myself again. Soundgarden feels like the essence of my being and I will always be deeply grateful for their music, and for Cornell's voice, lyrics and mood. I've seen them live once and I smiled the whole show through. Eternal love for Chris Cornell and Soundgarden <3 My heart goes out to his loved ones. @Austin Kokel I saw them on Lollapalooza '96, and I'm glad to hear you say what I felt at that show. I was only 15, but I had Badmotorfinger and Superunknown and I absolutely loved both and was right up front. The band was definitely in a funk, and the bassist was an asshole, spitting on and insulting the crowd (and bot in the fun Ramones way I experienced an hour earlier). I try to explain their set to people now, and I can't. I'm glad to hear my 20+ year old sentiments echoed. That said, I always wondered about him after that day, but I never saw this coming either, not this far down the road. Thanks for your honesty and insight, Robb. We love you. We love Machine Fucking Head. Be strong. @J Ake Hess You've expressed so many feelings and thoughts rattling around in my head today that I just couldn't find words to put to. Cornell will always be uniquely amazing and in a class by himself. I was listening to his cover of Prince's Nothing Compares 2 You just last night and letting myself become entranced by his unique sound and incredible voice. Today I am sad, angry, and a bit enthralled with my own mortality. Nobody is immune and sometimes the struggle is too much for even the people with everything to live for. I can't imagine what his family is feeling today. Beyond tragic… @Steffan Chirazi No-one can be sure why he is dead, and when it is appropriate, we will know. But depression is a very, very real thing. It is a part of life, but for some, it carries deadly lows and utterly crushing weight along with a gravitational pull into darkness that many of us cannot fathom. I sometimes fight the rabbit hole. I see it, I feel it, I flirt with its edges, but then I bury my head in the dog or hug the cat or take deep breathes and get outside and find a piece of mental architecture to grab hard, fast and haul myself out. I am very lucky. I am slightly brushed with depression and anxiety, but fortunately I am always able to find the light. Fortunately I still retain enough of my natural mental antibodies to find the path out quickly and efficiently. There is no doubt that age makes that path harder to find sometimes, as a consequence of both the physical being and some of the inevitabilities which come with your 50s (such as more people in your circle dying). Others are not so lucky. It isn't because they 'don't want to' or 'aren't trying hard enough' or 'don't love their familes' or anything remotely like that. It isn't ever for the lack of trying. It is because depression (and anxiety) are a crushing, debilitating disease which this country, this planet, seems largely unable to recognize. We push people to the outer regions of anxiety and depression with no care that there are some who fall headfirst into a rabbit hole tornado and only through regular (and possibly unrecognized miracles) find themselves hurled into the escape bunker as opposed to the abyss. Yeah. Imagine that. A tornado that escalates within minutes from a slight, chilly breeze, a tornado that offers no pattern as to when it will appear. And imagine that the only help which can come your way is a bunker miraculously opening up beneath your feet and drawing you to a womb of safety until the tornado passes… ...Often, people with clinical depression will self-medicate. Not because they 'like to fucking party' but because there is no other way out. It's 'easier' to take a swig, take a pill, take a hit. It keeps the darkness in the distance and the tornado (when it pops up) is smashed into smithereens by the 'medicine’. Let me, by the way, be VERY clear. I am NOT saying he was doing ANY of that. He had his dances back in the old days, ones he has been very open about. But I thought he had left that behind. I honestly don't know but feel he had for some time. Whatever eh? Because we judge anyway. Yet we judge. We judge in all senses and all ways. Why do they do that? Why do they behave that way? Who do they think they are? Why can't they just cheer up...? Why are they being such an asshole? Yeah, cheer up will ya? You're handsome or pretty or rich or famous or successful or ALL of those things. Come on. All you gotta do is think about how much worse so many other people have it. Who do you think you are? There are people with 'real' problems out there… I heard the same shit about Cobain and Staley. Listen, does anyone really believe that they wanted to go? That they didn't with every sinew wish in their more lucid moments that they could find a way out? Of course not. Pain is one thing, emotional pain is a whole other ball of wax, but add that to a chemical equation in your DNA that can (without warning) turn your colours to black and white, your peripheral vision to a short, narrow tunnel and which leaves your light feeling cold-negative and it is clear to see that this disease is both monstrous and potentially crippling. The thing with tornados is that when you're in one, they don't afford you the 'luxury' of contemplation. Especially when it is your own chemicals, your own imbalances through no fault of your own, which rise from nowhere to envelope you in that tornado; I never heard of anyone caught in one who was able to see straight, let alone reason with themselves. Fortunately some find their way out. They discover a regular path out of the fog, and they can stick to it. That is not to judge people who cannot; every situation is different. But some simply can't. They try and try and try again. Maybe they achieve success in escaping dark moments, and maybe they eradicate self-medication and triggers from their lives with the help of great local support. However there are never guarantees. Again, I don't know why he died. I spent a little time with him here and there, enough to know that for years, there was a dark moodiness which expressed itself via his generally quiet way and rich lyrics. Later on he certainly spruced himself up, chucked in the deeper self-medications, and seemed a lot more comfortable with life than when he wrote the semi-self-ridiculing "Jesus Christ Pose" but what did I know? Apparently not much at all… ...If you see a friend struggling, if you sense or feel a friend or family member is drifting near a rabbit hole, please, check-in with them. However you have to, either directly or just create an excuse to see them, to talk to them. We are so emotionally guarded that we perhaps see it as 'intruding' or 'sticking our noses in'. Know your friends. Know your family. Be kind whenever you can with them, have a laugh or crack a shit joke. But touch base. Do it today. Much love to everyone who suffers and is either marginalized, trivialized or simply ignored. Much love to those getting assistance in their ongoing battle. Subscribe to The General Journals: http://thegeneraljournals.hosted.phplist.com/lists/?p=subscribe

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becausehesmyteacher · 7 years

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Journal 03.07.17

LATE ASF IM AWARE So I dreamt of B again, we were sitting on the school bleachers just talking about anime and hockey and everything we havent been able to catch up on. It was amazing, so amazing i wasnt even sad when i woke up instead i was smiling while reminiscing about him. I attended classes as normal; nothing out of the usual happened. I mean during 9th period i stepped out to "go to the restroom" but i actually had to make a few calls to my dad and grandparents to make sure they were at school when it ended bc the school we were playing against was 30 minutes away and the game started 30 minutes after school. To make this clear, I was desperate to go to this game as it was where B is currently teaching and it was a chance to see him; Hes always putting it out there that he likes it way better at my school than where he was hired. Last year was his first year teaching so we were practically his first years. Too bad he got laid off at the end of last year so found a job at a nearby-ish school. So I took the long ride to the school, my grandmother doesn't like the freeway so we took the longest route possible. Luckily, I still got there on time, actually 4 minutes were still left before the game actually began when i stepped into the gym. Before that I was wandering around trying to find the gym since it wasnt labeled atop the door like my school and man the school is beautiful! I wondered how B could despise this place compared to my school. The quad was clean, the field was nearly 2x bigger than ours, and the gym is nicely set up. When I walked in there I saw the coaches who also happen to be my former teachers and right beside them on the bench was B! My heart swelled even if he was so far. I tried to act like i didnt notice when I sat on the far end of the gym. He got up and sat on the opposite end so I was staring at him for probably 30 seconds while asking myself "Am I gutsy? Am i gutsy enough to do that?" As i pondered the idea of going to say hi or perhaps even sitting besides him. I did. I got a burst of courage, Ill most likely never see him again I might as well take the chance. I stepped down from the bleachers and walked to the side that was closest to the doors. When my eyes landed on him I noticed he looked prominently different. When i had him last year he always kept his hair gelled up and his scruff shaved. But now he slicks back his hair and grew out his scruff to a beard. Not duck dynasty long but long enough for it to appear as a beard. I yelled him name and he looked over and he smiled. A smile i havent seen in nearly half a year. It was honestly the most beautiful thing ive seen in a while. I sat beside him and fist bumped him asking how he was doing. He say he was "eh" and in turn asked how Im doing as well. I said this year sucks, and that i hate it. His face contorted to look really concerned and asked whats the matter. I smiled and just wrote it off. Remember how I said this school was beautiful compared to my own? Well i confronted him about it and he went "Sure the school LOOKS nice but the kids are something else..." We both laughed at that and oh man I missed that. I missed us having moments together. The game started and he went "GO (my school)!!" His coworkers sighed, like theyve heard that repeatedly on a day to day basis. He turned to me and admitted that this was the first basketball game the whole year he attended. I asked him why if he always went when he used to teach at my school. He told me that he didnt care THAT much and its difficult since their games start nearly 2 hours after the end of school. At my school its only 30 minutes after. Kind of sad considering its a playoff game and its end of regular season. But Im glad he attended this one, its the only away game i considered attending for the sake of seeing him again. Throughout the game we talked about the players and how he had most of them, anime, and sports (ah fitting, no?). He remembered every single students he had on the team, he even texted the coaches to tell them to put his former students on the team. I couldnt tell if he was joking or not because he pulled out his phone and text messaging app but i turned away to keep from being nosy. I dont know how but i found a way to bring up how i finished a couple anime over a few weeks. He also finished a mutual anime and it turns out hes finishing up an anime i barely started. It has like 750 episodes fucken nerd i swear. I changed subject and poked fun at him and asked whats the difference between the students at my school and the ones over here. He sighed and was frank, "The kids here have no personality! They dont care about anything! Not sports, not video games, not anime! Like at your school you guys at least liked SOMETHING. You know how we have spirit week right? Well one of the days was sports day and barely anyone wore anything! Even on the Superbowl day no one cared!" I was surprised he cared that much about how students act, enough to be surprised no one cared for a sport he didnt enjoy. He rambled on and told me in highschool he used to play baseball and was the pitcher. He told me he hasnt really played since then so his aim must be bad but man that image of him as a baseball player is so cool. He is so cool. We talked about basketball (we were attending one after all) and i told him about how i played on an opposing team against these girls after school for fun and that theyre scary and aggresive even if theyre your friends. He laughed and agreed, he said that if he played these girls he would probably lose as well. That was the main points i could remember but we talked about miscellaneous things throughout and inbetween. I loved every second, his voice is the most beautiful thing ive heard in my life. And before I knew it the game was over, we lost by about 20 points, we were out of the playoffs. I shouldve been sad or frustrated but i wasnt! I walked down the bleachers with him with a smile on both of our faces. We stood in front of the bleachers and my current english teacher came up to us and joined our conversation. She laughed when she saw him and teased at him beard and hair. I wouldve been jealous but shes a middle aged woman that is married with children versus him whose single and in his 20s. I fist bumped her as well and i joked about "humanization" (a dumb joke about a meeting the teachers had about how if you interact with the students like handshakes or fistbumps will """humanize""" us students) B didnt get it so my english teacher explained and he was like "thats dumb lmao" and hes just the cutest man. We all talked for a bit before parting ways. He went out the side entrance and I went out the front entrance but just before we hit the door i saw him glacing at me before i looked back at him and waved my hand up high and yelled "It was nice seeing you B!" and he yelled back waving that it was nice that he saw me as well. I walked out and called my parents but couldnt come for another hour or so since they were at a casino that was a far distance. So i decided to explore the school since it was so pretty. I circled the building and i was singing loudly because i was so happy. I reached the back entrance and I made eye contact with a couple making out who was just staring at me because i was signing so loudly. I went silent for like 3 seconds then burst into laughter and yelled out "WHO CARES??" to myself and I began singing again. I never felt this content in my life. I reached the field and stood in one of the baseball fields they had and imagined B pitching a ball. I held onto that image for a while, there was no one in the field afterall so I was alone in my thoughts. I finally got up after a while and walked around the field and i was still bursting with energy due to being so overfilled with happiness i began running laps! Laps! You guys dont understand how un-athletic i am and to run laps voluntarily is rare. I ended up running 2 and a half laps. When i got tired i flopped down in the middle of the field and looked at the stars since it was practically night now. You could see more stars on this side of town than where i lived. It was amazing. I picked up one of those wish flowers and blew it with nothing in mind. This was the first time I couldnt think of anything to wish for. All ive been wishing for for these past months came true and i was the happiest girl alive at the moment. I whispered to him as if he were beside me, "I'm in love with you." I could swear my heart swelled 10x as big today. I havent seen him in months, 5 months to be exact, and seeing him revived feelings that were always going strong but just needed that little spark. Today the little spark was ignited. And i cant stop smiling now.

#journal #b #teacher crush #teacher crush community #tc #tcc #sorry for putting it in these tag guys but i hope you guus understand how happy I am right now #plus this journal was only supposed to be like 4 paragraphs but i got caught up in the memories

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ratherhavetheblues · 5 years

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INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘CRIES AND WHISPERS’ “She’s already beginning to rot…”

We’re off and running with another breathtaking film by Ingmar Bergman, namely, Cries and Whispers (1972). The nature of this production entails, as usual, thrilling motivations most of us had never thought about. And here we must put into the mix, as never so emphatically before, that the uniqueness of that delivery entails being without any effective allies. We have encountered, in the films by Bergman so far, a species of more or less thriving upon that neglect, a warrior sensibility. But enfolded within that tang, we are also alerted to partaking of the powers implicit in cooperation, cooperation with those who don’t and never will, give a damn for what a figure like Bergman would live for, however chaotically.

Our film today attends remarkably to that estrangement, and, as a result, lingers with the personnel in such a way as to garner from (some of) them a direction to love. The film’s saga involves two protagonists; and we choose here to spotlight one, a woman, namely, Agnes, who has already died from cancer in the earlier part but conveys her golden moment at the film’s final seconds, by way of a diary, read by Anna, her long-time housemaid (though presented by the diarist’s voice-over). The event recorded involves desultory Agnes being paid a visit to the family manor (under her keeping) by her two sisters whom she has allowed to more or less overtly treat her as a non-entity, as she was treated by her mother. Braced, as the latter were, by her long-term illness, there is a moment of vision emanating from their ramble upon the palatial grounds, strewn with golden leaves. “It’s wonderful to be together again… Suddenly we began to laugh and run toward the old swing that we hadn’t seen since we were children [when kinetics were at least as favorable as frozenness]. We sat in it like three good little sisters, and Anna pushed us slowly and gently. All my aches and pains were gone. I could hear them chatting around me… I could feel the presence of their bodies, the warmth of their hands. I wanted to hold the moment fast, and thought, ‘Come what may, this is happiness. I cannot wish for anything better. Now, for a few moments, I can experience perfection. And I feel profoundly grateful to my life which gives me so much…” (Those visiting angels having—along with Agnes’ skittishness—tossed divided but meritorious Anna to the sharks.)

The full-color composition (unique up until this time for Bergman) needs to be broached, along with the previous films, as a positioning of the urgency of fearlessness. With this particular vehicle, however, we’re on the hook to attending most closely to the apparatus required to fully show what’s ticking here. Therefore, as usual (but not quite the same), we posit, “How new is new?” You’d never have gotten from him anything explicit about the possibility that gigantic and unprecedented change has begun to make inroads and that that uprising (but tempered) is where art attains its stature. Apart from playing the movie game that the single work on tap must stand entirely on the basis of the screen being watched, there would be, however, the understandable discomfort that—unlike the folk reservoir of normal filmic presentation—matters of reflective complexity, generally assumed to be the purview of science and other academic disciplines, have become necessities. Just because the entrenched classical rational experts would utterly dismiss any validity not certified by their practices, does not disable a figure like Bergman to take matters into his own accomplished hands, in his own medium of communication. As such, his work being an extended research of sensibility, the various steps of his disclosures comprise, unlike the normal, disparate entertainments, a constant, expanding investigation, very germane to earlier discoveries. Unlike conceptual building blocks of a technical nature, Bergman has at his disposal, not only a manifold of dramatic sensibility by way of his screenwriting and Sven Nykvist’s cinematography, but a cadre of performers the varying roles of which, from-film-to-film, increase a current of intent or temper a performer’s previous apparition, for the sake of comprehending the volatility of discernment and its creative capacities as a co-host of the cosmos.

Cries and Whispers carries along another cinematic power, namely, the efforts of other filmmakers the work of which being variously able to leverage the efforts of Bergman. Our film here devotes vast areas of a range of red walls and accessories for the interior of the palatial estate. In 1965, Michelangelo Antonioni launched a venture, namely, Red Desert, the redness of which speaking to widespread malignancy and malaise. In the Jacques Demy musical films, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967) and Donkey Skin (1970), the settings have been enhanced by pronounced color saturation, for the surrealistic sake of overcoming a profoundly inadequate mainstream. On such templates we’re treated to our guide’s “cyclotron,” the ingredients of which consisting of acrobatics and an impossible trick of juggling—as wild and wonderful in 1972 as it was when launched in the film, The Seventh Seal, in 1957. The first protagonist, Agnes, a spinster and amateur painter, nearing the end of a long struggle with cancer, at the end of the nineteenth century, has drawn to her family heights her two sisters and their spouses, but without their children. The gulf between her horror and their easy anticipations is not the main gulf in the picture. The actress playing Agnes, namely, Harriet Anderson, starred, in 1960, in a film called, Through a Glass Darkly, as Karin, whose husband, a medical doctor, so detests her unconventional physicality that he nudges her toward believing she is schizophrenic and belongs in a mental hospital. She loses her equilibrium during the stresses of a family reunion, comes to a default position in claiming to have seen God to be a giant spider; and infers, as a promising rally, that she should leave her family and do some independent thinking in that rather incongruous sickbay. One of the sisters, Maria, a decorative seductress, is played by Liv Ullmann, who, in 1966, six years before our current puzzle, played the part of a decorative, notable actress coming to a crisis and opting to enter a mental hospital in the guise of having lost her interest in speaking. This silent Elisabet, in face of annoyance from a presumptuous medic and also some street smarts and affection, climbs to a portal where the trick of juggling (making the best of a clumsy talent pool) rears its head. The oldest sister, Karin, is performed by actress, Ingrid Thulin, who, in the film, The Silence(1963), portrayed an overbearing nit-picking prig and prude who teeters close to emotional collapse but draws upon a reservoir of majoritarian dominance. In our current picture she has to be probed carefully, being in fact the other, and more important, protagonist. Though in a flash-back we see her slashing her vagina with a shard of smashed wine glass and rubbing the blood over her lips in annoyance with her insectile husband, billed as a “diplomat,” she does have what might not be an A-game but acrobatic skills to ponder.

We get to know a lot about Agnes during what seems a rare uptick in her palliative days. Maria, eliciting a measure of placid juggling in lieu of a preamble of gut-wrenching acrobatics (thereby being a pale shadow of Elisabet), proposes taking up her ongoing readings of Charles Dickens’ novel, The Pickwick Papers, to which the invalid replies, “Oh, I’d love it!” Though roughing up a doleful soul for her choice of pleasure would be pretty cheesy in most cases, here there is nothing short of dynamite in this disappointment, as the installment catches fire. “Chapter 34, in which Mr. Pickwick thinks he’d better go to Bath and goes accordingly” [that a sponge bath administered by the sisters has closely preceded this remark hopes to alert the viewer that they should read into the text something pertaining to Agnes’ stature]. “ ‘But surely, my dear, sir,’ said little Parkin, as he stood in Mr. Pickwick’s apartment… ‘Surely you don’t really mean, really and seriously now… and irritation apart… that you won’t pay these costs and damages?’ ” Pay the cost, or forever lost. Or: cover an ongoing acrobatic demand or commit a horror on the order of self-mutilation.

By way of reveries of her childhood, from out of confinement in that blood-red homestead, Agnes shows us that the singular life of paying the costs is not for her and that some of that redness is her contribution to that plague-ridden realm. (Along with the introduction of acrobatics, in The Seventh Seal, there is a plague in the land.) There is an omnibus flash-back, centering upon her mother, which constitutes a ground zero as to her remaining a wimp. Liv Ullmann, acting in double-duty here, becomes the Venus of the preceding generation, one of a series, no doubt, of spoiled, precious airheads. There she is, in elaborate apparel, with a tiny Agnes in thrall and kept at a distance, as if the less than pretty girl would reduce her heights. “I loved her at such a jealous extreme! I loved her because she was so gentle and beautiful and alive and so pervadingly present. But she could also be cold, playfully cruel… and rebuff me … [shades of Ullmann’s gorgeous Elisabet, in Persona, rebuffing her ugly little boy]. I wish I could see her again…” [That’s easier than she thinks.] That dotage being the linchpin of the action’s catastrophe. Thereby she misses the pertinence of a cut to a magic lantern party, at Twelfth Night, involving a “Wicked Witch,” and also the trickery (of the “Hansel and Gretel” saga on tap—an “impossible” trick being the bedrock of her best (and ignored) prospect. She does not, however, miss the constant attentions to Maria, played by Liv Ullmann’s young daughter, during the party, leaving our minor protagonist fretting from a distance. “I was the only one who couldn’t join in the merriment.” After a cut, Agnes, hoping to effect a more rounded picture of her home life, proceeds with, “Another time, I remember … I hid behind the curtain and in secret watched her arrange roses on her writing table. Suddenly, she saw me and, in a gentle voice called me. Uncertain, I went up to her, thinking that, as usual, she was going to scold me. But instead she gave me a look so full of sorrow that I nearly burst into tears. I raised my hand, put it against her cheek. And for that moment we were very close.” That was frail Agnes’ sense of the moment. The camera, on the other hand, does not lie in showing that, while the little girl felt to be loved at last, her vastly cheap mother was beholding her like a thorn in her side, a hopeless cause.

This latter vignette ends with a cut to the patient in her final stage. The intensity of the death throes tends to eclipse the real problematic that that was a pariah who was at the early stages of being under a gun that would never go away, necessitating extreme measures. Before leaving her to myopia and cries and whispers, we must appreciate those factors which might have been decisive. Anxious as Agnes remained, about her position in the scheme of her family, there was wanton neglect of the scheme of her more telling life. Raising a rather feeble gesture in the order of painterly beauty, our protagonist/ victim consistently fussed about her family, and lost the world. Her wild animal braying from a pain now killing, though hard to behold, opens a portal of sensuous energy buried way too long. The film begins with the grace and bounty of the grounds of that funerial confinement. First, as a calm dawn begins, we see hundred-years-stout tree trunks in silhouette, tracing to upper branches carrying our glance amidst those configurations, and presaging those compositions of innovative art which have nothing to do with deletant domesticity. The dashes of sharp sunlight playing over that initial scene carry their vivacity into the following stage, whereby the morning mists shower another prospect, this time steady rays of light alighting upon the greenery. Another cut shows a statue of Orpheus with his lyre being part of a sunny park where the positions of the trees and the dispositions of the leaves induce a deep breath. From there, another unseen region, namely, the interior of the mansion with all asleep, shows what it can do. To the beat of ticking sounds, we are given a tour of Age of Enlightenment clock faces, the textures of their grounds, the variety and motions of their hands, along with bronze embellishments like a child angel looking through a telescope, and also a Medusa as a pendulum; and mathematical mechanism. As if this offering, unseen by the players, were not enough to contemplate, we should hold on to something even more evanescent. Along with a red ground to begin, there is the almost inaudible chime of a triangle. As it strikes, sporadically, it brings along that motif of synthesis on the grounds of acrobatics and juggling, that exigency Bergman is so right not to let go. That gunning forward toward advantage (an Age of Enlightenment key word) is a Mr. Pickwick outrage which Agnes subscribes to, and comes to a silent crescendo in that reverie of the three sisters on the swing. Maria and Karin flanking the protagonist going nowhere. Here was the geometry, but where was the music?

You’re not likely to believe this (before I explain), but a lady with a measure of mojo was on the swing, namely, Karin, the one being unreasonable with the broken glass. (You’ll see that she, like promiscuous and cruel, Anna, in the film, The Silence, would not be someone you’d want to meet; but someone worth studying. And sharing the name of the protagonist, in, Through a Glass Darkly, would also be bemusing, at least.) Whereas that “Twelfth Night” flow of jealousy was shown from Agnes’ perspective, there was a very brief moment showing a young Karin, also not in the holiday spirit. Whereas Agnes has rather frantically here become a student of her opulent family, there are ways of indicating that Karin opts for a very different response. In real time, she’s introduced as the unsmiling, taciturn foil to Maria’s “diplomatic” charms, “humanly” honed by a history of affection, and comfortable in her role as generous care-giver, along with Agnes’ needy appreciation. (Her diverting resumption of throwing herself at the doctor during a visit to Agnes may not have gone well; but the quantification of her maneuvers ensures lusty profits notwithstanding. Here we must recognize that the Anna in, The Silence, looks pretty good, by comparison.)

She catches brief but quite remarkable fire from the deadly intensity of the closeness of death, and proposes giving Agnes a sponge bath, during a lull in the agony. Rather startlingly, Karin, too, is lifted by the occasion, producing smiles and a surprising level of serenity in her motions. Where did that come from, all of a sudden? Perhaps the quiet one has a sustaining history of her own. Earlier in the night, in a dark room where she was reading by a gaslight, possibly something more weighty than Dickens, she calls, Anna, “Do you hear?” The busy and faithful servant, whom we have come to regard as close to a saint, admits, “I only hear the wind and the clocks ticking.” “No! It’s something else!” Karin insists. “I don’t hear anything, why?” the usually acute stalwart maintains. So nonplussed is the odd-one out, she rather misses the mark in describing her confusion: “I’m freezing!” (In the aforementioned film, Thulin/ Ester is seized by chills, fleeting, as compared with her sister’s sweltering in face of a totally inadequate dispensation.) Then there is Agnes complaining to Anna, “I’m freezing…” Soon she is dead; and while Maria backs off and falls apart, Karin, along with Anna, composes the corpse on her deathbed, the three sets of hands upstaging all the sculptures in the building. Thereupon, a modest embrace of the freezing sisters. The triangle mingles with that workload, a feat of passion brooking no relentment but seeing much to celebrate. The flashback of cut-throat diplomacy surfaces there, with some cut-the-crap clarity going forward. As she ponders upon that instrument of pain, Karin tells herself, “It’s but a tissue of lies. It’s a monumental tissue of lies…” (recalling the unhelpful declaration of Tomas, which pushes a suicidal parishioner over the cliff, in the film Winter Light [1962]). Also noteworthy, there is stressed Karin slapping Anna (helping her with her bedclothes before the coup de grace), losing her nerve for a moment. Karin quickly apologizes; and the elite servant and companion does not accept the apology.

Back to the aftermath of the death, we see Karin going over the prosaic (but not necessarily prosaic) task of checking the costs. Her hands and the sensuous grey paper mean business, not as usual. She takes in hand her pince nez reading glasses and slightly flips it upward and downward to the bed of paper constituting but one type of nitty gritty. (The protagonist in First Man [2018] has been seen to be closer to pay dirt flipping a pince nez than hopping around the moon.) Then she gives a spin to that shard of glass, beholding its ripple in the gentle light. At this juncture of rich destiny, Maria comes into the office, and her perception of the moment of vision ignites more mysteries. “Karin, I want us to be friends. I want us to talk to each other. You read much more than I do, you think much more than I do. Your experience is far greater… Couldn’t we devote these days to getting to know each other, finally?” Not wanting another brutal smash like the failing with Anna, she listens to that creature she knows only too well. “We could put our arms around each other… We could talk together for days and nights on end…” (Here we’ve been put to the test to compare how doubting Tomas, in Winter Light, came to put up with “togetherness” maven Marta.) Karin, feeling caught up in a dilemma that can’t work for her, gets up from her desk and heads for the door—an acrobat paying costs of depth which only begins her “thinking.” Holding her back in her exit, Maria—a diplomat of some efficacy—calls out, “It’s easy to do, but I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” After a cut—accomplished, as always, by a blood-red cloud, that emblem of possible efficacy—there is Karin, confused and pensive. Maria comes in, again, finding her sister reading Agnes’ diary. Now a bit more forthcoming, she reads, “ ‘I received the gift anyone can receive in this life… a gift that is called many things…togetherness…companionship, relatedness, affection…’” [the visual is Anna, by Agnes’ bed]. “ ‘I think this is what is called grace…’” Maria, who was wandering about when the reading was given, moves to touch Karen’s shoulder, and finds the latter spinning away from her. “No, don’t touch me. Don’t come near me!” Togetherness becoming an outrage due to the effort of paying the costs cheek-by-jowl with refusing to pay the costs. Maria, aka Elisabet, comes behind Karin, in a facsimile of the Persona sisters. Maria touches Karin’s cheek and the latter, though backing off, does not repel the approach as before. Soon she is allowing herself to be caressed by that functionary of skin. However, she soon insists, “I don’t want you to do that… I don’t want you to be kind to me” [because I have no resources to be appreciative toward a coward like Maria]. “I can’t! I can’t stand it!” (The optics, particularly the lighting, preserves the uncanny tonal spike, in face of Karin’s melodramatic tailspin, for instance, “It’s like being in the greatest hell. I can’t breathe anymore. All of that guilt!”) After a battlefield fade, Karin apologizes for her “lost control,” and the prosaic “formalities” of selling the property occupy their conversation. No generous consideration for Maria occurs to the other one-note sibling in the room, a sibling unique in the film’s universe for possibly becoming a true aristocrat. Groping for that elusive stature, she tells disappointed sentimentalist Maria, “I’ve often thought about suicide.” (Here we have her less than compelling default stand, by comparison with the man frightened to suicide by the prospect of China gaining nuclear weapons, in, Winter Light.) Then she brings up her husband’s slight that she’s “clumsy”—“I fumble!” Now a glutton for the sensational that goes nowhere, she turns on her slack sister having, for once, had an inspiration. “You thought our talk would be different, didn’t you? Do you realize I hate you? And how foolish I find your insipid smiles and your idiotic flirtatiousness… You understand? Nothing can escape me… for I see it all… Now you learn how it sounds when Karin talks!” (This latter weakling flourish is exactly the one Alma the nurse directs upon Elisabet the silent goddess [Liv Ullmann], in Persona. Having reached an almost complete self-embarrassment, our protagonist cries out, and Maria, who had been reduced to tears, rushes to her; and hears from the “all-seeing,” “Forgive me!” Unlike Anna, Maria does forgive, and the togetherness/ grace catches fire; but not for very long. With a Bach cello composition evoking primordial relatedness, we behold the pair lovingly illuminating their kinetic best, the associated shut-down of sound endowing the tete-a-tete as similar to a Botticelli painting. They whisper in each other’s ears as if revelations of hidden forces had been released. In close-up, Maria seems pensive; in close-up Karin seems tentative and adventurous. This elevated effort comes to an end as colliding with Anna’s last-ditch enlistment of the sisters to steady her fears of poverty. She inhabits the cusp of Agnes’ being no more, and calls upon, first circumspect Karin and then sentimental Maria, to soothe the lost sister. Her prefatory fanfare—“Don’t you hear it?”—stands in stark contrast to that, “Do you hear?” of Karin, which Anna can’t take seriously. Karin is the first one summoned, and her harsh reception to old-style mysticism quickly brings the interview to a halt. “I won’t accept involvement with your death. Perhaps if I loved you… but I do not love you… It’s pure morbidity, disgusting, meaningless. She’s already begun to rot…” The meeting with Maria becomes the latter’s running away in terror. The departure of the funeral party is notable for Karin hoping to sustain the confluence her acrobatics finds essential; and for acrobaticless Maria treating that fling as if it were only a fling. “Could we hold to all our resolutions?” Maria, perhaps a bit miffed by her sisters’ acceding to her deadened husband’s making Anna walk the plank; but transparently back to her mode of gyrating mush, makes a cardboard smile and lisps, “Dearest Karin, why on earth shouldn’t we do that?” Resuming the venomous treatment by Elisabet toward ardent Alma, in Persona, she carries on with, “It’s that everything seems different since that evening.” Karin quietly remonstrates, “I think we’ve become very much closer… What are you thinking about?” The lifetime baby doll, tries, “I’m thinking about the conversation…” “No, you’re not,” the friend in need asserts. Thereby the woman always on the go rephrases her thought, “I was thinking about how [her cuckold husband] Joakin hates it if I keep him waiting… I have no idea why you call me to account as if I were on trial for my thoughts, Karin. What do you want?” In close-up, Karin looks down in disarray. “Nothing,” is what she realizes she must expect—from Maria; but what about the world at large?

Popping up during the funeral formalities, we do get a little fizz from the world at large, surprisingly in the form of the local bishop. (Karin’s diplomat. in a post-mortem moment, counts them as lucky that the clergyman has the flu and therefore their being spared his presence at the dinner following the burial. Looking closely, we see he’s hale and hearty and floats a little white lie to avoid a party of ghouls.) You’ll recognize a fascinatingly tempered version of the rally of Tomas, in, Winter Light. As with Algot the sidekick, there are sextons and candles, here at the entryway to Agnes’s resting place. What you will notice, first and foremost, is that this first swing of the death ritual is light on the big powers and remarkably a weighty eulogy to rather underwhelming Agnes, as if she were on the hunt of something which very few have hazard. “Could it be that you gathered up our suffering and agony into your body. Should it be that you leave with you this hardship through death. Should it be that you meet with God… [Algot slipping when he goes beyond the wonderment that venerable safety nets won’t do. Hence the overestimation of old-timey good news, somewhat upstaging a hard and nourishing magic.] … as you come to that other land… Should it be that you find his countenance turned toward you there [the nature of sensibility being not something to take for granted while sitting on a ruinous scenario]. Should it be that you know the language to speak… So this God may hear and understand… Should it be that you then talk with this God… [the conditional tense here, like that of Algot’s heresy, a weird and wonderful push-back upon millennia being stupefyingly inadequate, while spilling over to wooden humanitarianism and science!]… and he hear you out. Should it be so… pray for us… Agnes, dear child, please listen to what I have to tell you now. Pray for us who have been left in darkness… left behind on this miserable Earth, with the sky above us grim and empty…” [Agnes’ diary being on a very distant page from this dip to formalities]. The last word of this singularity dressed up to seem more of the same is an instance of great theatrical irony. “Her faith was stronger than mine.”

#ingmar bergman

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marketerarena-blog · 6 years

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Crisis Text Line– Chief Medical Officer Covers the free service, mental health, therapy and more – Podcast 97

Today I’m talking with the Chief Medical Officer for The Crisis Text Line. It’s a free confidential text message service for people in crisis. Anyone can text 741 741 in the US or in Canada text 686868 – and services are available 24 hours a day.

There’s been a lot of talk about suicide on social media and in the news with the recent passing of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade. Sadly suicide is on the rise in the US – Suicide is the 2nd highest cause of death for people age 15 to 24. It’s tragic and if nothing else it gives us an opportunity to talk about it. So… that’s what we’re doing today. I want to share this resource in case you or anyone you know needs it.

Go to www.RunEatRepeat.com for all the show notes …

And because I mention it during the interview I’m going to start off by sharing how I first went to therapy and why I’m so comfortable talking about this stuff.

If you’re new here…

My name is Monica and I started Run Eat Repeat over 9 years ago to talk about training for my 1st marathon and weight loss struggles. I fell in love with running and with sharing my story so the site grew into an amazing community and now this show! Check out Run Eat Repeat.com for training tips, recipes and random life updates! Welcome welcome!!

Warm up:

I talk about going to therapy a lot and I joke about it a lot too. I estimate I’m joking 86% of the time.

But I want to talk about something serious today with covering the topic of self harm, mental health and suicide while trying to make it feel like a normal conversation, ya know? I talk about mental health a lot. I think it’s okay to not feel okay. I think it’s okay to go to therapy. I think it’s okay to be open about mental illness – just like it should be about an illness like diabetes or hypothyroidism or a broken bone.

I mention on the call that I went to therapy in college and I wanted to share my first experience – why I went to therapy originally and how I got started going and finding a therapist.

And it occurred to me that while I think it’s cool to talk about therapy and mental health – not everyone feels like that. Maybe someone is embarrassed about it? Or maybe you think therapy isn’t necessary??

So I was curious – why do I think it’s okay to go to therapy?

And I realized because no one ever told me it was weird. And because it was such a normal part of life and conversations with my first long term boyfriend in college. I just realized this! I used to go to Sunday dinners with his family and sometimes they’d talk about therapy like it was another hobby. It wasn’t any different than any other dinner conversation.

So I thought – oh, I should check that out… and I did.

I was in college and still on my mom’s health insurance. I just looked on the back of my insurance card and called the number to see how I could find a therapist.

I went to someone they referred me to, paid my co-pay and had one or two sessions with a female therapist a few cities over.

I didn’t really dig it so I looked for another one and eventually found someone near my part-time job. And I liked her!! And I kept going… (insert long ramblings probably not super helpful or relevant here about therapy)

Moral of the story – I thought all of this was very no big.

So I feel comfortable talking about mental health the same way we might talk about missing a sale on running shoes… or something more serious?

I want everyone to be more comfortable talking about this – which is why I wanted to share the number to the text line and other resources.

And also wanted to remind you that sometimes I joke about serious things – not because I don’t take them seriously, but because to me it’s not very different from the fact that I’m into running or cooking or failing at doing perfect eyeliner even after 288 tries.

I want to encourage you to be open minded – to everything and everyone.

Be curious.

Be kind (to yourself as well).

Speak truth in love.

Extend everyone grace that they might be having a hard time, might not know how to express themselves, might not understand how you feel.

Ask for help if you need it.

Offer help if you think someone else does.

Don’t take it personally if someone doesn’t want to talk to you. But offer to be there if they do.

And finally…

tell everyone that you love them (and tell them to listen to the Run Eat Repeat podcast).

Thank you! You’re the best!

Now let’s get to the main event!

Main Event – Crisis Text Line

Today I’m talking to the Chief Medical Officer with the Crisis Text Line Dr. Shairi Turner.

Dr. Turner has a Master of Public Health from the Harvard School of Public Health, a Medical Doctorate from Case Western Reserve School of Medicine and a Bachelor of Science from Stanford. She trained at Massachusetts General Hospital and the Children’s Hospital of Boston. Before taking her current position she was Chief Medical Director of the Florida Department of Juvenile Justice and former Deputy Secretary for Health at the Florida Department of Health.

Her resume and advocacy are beyond impressive. And I’m very happy to have her on the show today.

We discuss…

What is the Crisis Text Line?

Why is suicide on the rise in the United States?

Suicide is the 2nd highest cause of death for people age 15 to 24… Why is that?

How social media can impact mental health?

How do we keep an eye out if we think someone is at risk for hurting themselves?

What do we say or do if we think someone we know may be at risk for hurting themselves?

Always Ask – when someone contacts the Crisis Text Line they always identify and ask if someone is thinking about hurting themselves.

Reminder – The text line is a crisis resource. If you need support or someone to talk to please reach out to your health center at school, look into therapy or mental health resources, check your health insurance options.

Crisis Text Line and Suicide Hot Line info:

Homework and Awards:

1. Name something that is awesome about YOU!

2. Share the Crisis Text line on social media or somewhere that can be passed on and maybe help someone.

I’ll also be posting on Instagram and Facebook so you an share from there directly.

Check out the Race Discounts page to save on Rock n Roll LA, Rock N Roll Vegas, Lexus Lace Up, Run Revel and more!! All the discount codes and links are on that page!

Got a question?

If you have a question for me – email [email protected] or call the RER voicemail line 562 888 1644

Tag @RunEatRepeat on Instagram and let me know what you’re doing while listening.

And if you need motivation to workout, want to share a Rest Day Brag or just feel like encouraging someone else – comment on my daily Run Report on IG with your update!

Thanks for listening and have a great run!!

The post Crisis Text Line– Chief Medical Officer Covers the free service, mental health, therapy and more – Podcast 97 appeared first on Run Eat Repeat.

https://askfitness.today/crisis-text-line-chief-medical-officer-covers-the-free-service-mental-health-therapy-and-more-podcast-97/

#fitnessgymfatlossweightloss #weightloss

0 notes

steffancockrell · 6 years

Text

Crisis Text Line– Chief Medical Officer Covers the free service, mental health, therapy and more – Podcast 97

Today I'm talking with the Chief Medical Officer for The Crisis Text Line. It's a free confidential text message service for people in crisis. Anyone can text 741 741 in the US or in Canada text 686868 – and services are available 24 hours a day.

There's been a lot of talk about suicide on social media and in the news with the recent passing of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade. Sadly suicide is on the rise in the US – Suicide is the 2nd highest cause of death for people age 15 to 24. It's tragic and if nothing else it gives us an opportunity to talk about it. So… that's what we're doing today. I want to share this resource in case you or anyone you know needs it.

Go to www.RunEatRepeat.com for all the show notes …

And because I mention it during the interview I'm going to start off by sharing how I first went to therapy and why I'm so comfortable talking about this stuff.

If you're new here…

Warm up:

I talk about going to therapy a lot and I joke about it a lot too. I estimate I'm joking 86% of the time.

But I want to talk about something serious today with covering the topic of self harm, mental health and suicide while trying to make it feel like a normal conversation, ya know? I talk about mental health a lot. I think it's okay to not feel okay. I think it's okay to go to therapy. I think it's okay to be open about mental illness – just like it should be about an illness like diabetes or hypothyroidism or a broken bone.

I mention on the call that I went to therapy in college and I wanted to share my first experience – why I went to therapy originally and how I got started going and finding a therapist.

And it occurred to me that while I think it's cool to talk about therapy and mental health – not everyone feels like that. Maybe someone is embarrassed about it? Or maybe you think therapy isn't necessary??

So I was curious – why do I think it's okay to go to therapy?

And I realized because no one ever told me it was weird. And because it was such a normal part of life and conversations with my first long term boyfriend in college. I just realized this! I used to go to Sunday dinners with his family and sometimes they'd talk about therapy like it was another hobby. It wasn't any different than any other dinner conversation.

So I thought – oh, I should check that out… and I did.

I was in college and still on my mom's health insurance. I just looked on the back of my insurance card and called the number to see how I could find a therapist.

I went to someone they referred me to, paid my co-pay and had one or two sessions with a female therapist a few cities over.

I didn't really dig it so I looked for another one and eventually found someone near my part-time job. And I liked her!! And I kept going… (insert long ramblings probably not super helpful or relevant here about therapy)

Moral of the story – I thought all of this was very no big.

So I feel comfortable talking about mental health the same way we might talk about missing a sale on running shoes… or something more serious?

I want everyone to be more comfortable talking about this – which is why I wanted to share the number to the text line and other resources.

And also wanted to remind you that sometimes I joke about serious things – not because I don't take them seriously, but because to me it's not very different from the fact that I'm into running or cooking or failing at doing perfect eyeliner even after 288 tries.

I want to encourage you to be open minded – to everything and everyone.

Be curious.

Be kind (to yourself as well).

Speak truth in love.

Extend everyone grace that they might be having a hard time, might not know how to express themselves, might not understand how you feel.

Ask for help if you need it.

Offer help if you think someone else does.

Don't take it personally if someone doesn't want to talk to you. But offer to be there if they do.

And finally…

tell everyone that you love them (and tell them to listen to the Run Eat Repeat podcast).

Thank you! You're the best!

Now let's get to the main event!

Main Event – Crisis Text Line

Today I'm talking to the Chief Medical Officer with the Crisis Text Line Dr. Shairi Turner.

Dr. Turner has a Master of Public Health from the Harvard School of Public Health, a Medical Doctorate from Case Western Reserve School of Medicine and a Bachelor of Science from Stanford. She trained at Massachusetts General Hospital and the Children's Hospital of Boston. Before taking her current position she was Chief Medical Director of the Florida Department of Juvenile Justice and former Deputy Secretary for Health at the Florida Department of Health.

Her resume and advocacy are beyond impressive. And I'm very happy to have her on the show today.

We discuss…

What is the Crisis Text Line?

Why is suicide on the rise in the United States?

Suicide is the 2nd highest cause of death for people age 15 to 24… Why is that?

How social media can impact mental health?

How do we keep an eye out if we think someone is at risk for hurting themselves?

What do we say or do if we think someone we know may be at risk for hurting themselves?

Always Ask – when someone contacts the Crisis Text Line they always identify and ask if someone is thinking about hurting themselves.

Crisis Text Line and Suicide Hot Line info:

Homework and Awards:

1. Name something that is awesome about YOU!

2. Share the Crisis Text line on social media or somewhere that can be passed on and maybe help someone.

I'll also be posting on Instagram and Facebook so you an share from there directly.

Check out the Race Discounts page to save on Rock n Roll LA, Rock N Roll Vegas, Lexus Lace Up, Run Revel and more!! All the discount codes and links are on that page!

Got a question?

If you have a question for me – email [email protected] or call the RER voicemail line 562 888 1644

Tag @RunEatRepeat on Instagram and let me know what you're doing while listening.

And if you need motivation to workout, want to share a Rest Day Brag or just feel like encouraging someone else – comment on my daily Run Report on IG with your update!

Thanks for listening and have a great run!!

The post Crisis Text Line– Chief Medical Officer Covers the free service, mental health, therapy and more – Podcast 97 appeared first on Run Eat Repeat.

0 notes