#the ineffability of writers getting distracted

[zodiactalks]

Most IMAGINATIVE Zodiac Signs Ranked

Having a vast imagination is a beautiful quality that we should value! It allows us to find creative solutions to our everyday challenges, express our inner world, and deal with boredom or monotonous life events.

Having a wide imagination means that your mind and your emotive self, come up with unconventional thoughts when confronted with everyday reality. This can occur during daytime, in dreams, surrounded by many people, or when you are left alone with your reflections.

It can be a tremendous asset if coupled with writing, painting, or some form of artistic activity.

However, it can also lead us to get distracted and idealize certain people and situations that are not what they seem. 

Read on to find out which Zodiac signs are the most imaginative and which ones have a hard time letting go of their grip on reality.

#1. Pisces

Pisces spends more time fantasizing than in the real world! They idealize all situations to make them more pleasurable and avoid harsh reality.

Pisceans are the best artists of the Zodiac because they have one foot in the symbolic unconscious world. They can express the ineffable world of emotions in beautiful works of art, worthy of a museum.

These signs are artistic, creative, and empathetic, but sometimes they take their imagination too far! Instead of dealing with their responsibilities, they hide in the vast world of their mind.

They also tend to romanticize their relationships and become frustrated when they don't live up to their expectations.

#2. Aquarius

Aquarius lives in a completely different world from the rest of the people. These signs feel like aliens, black sheep among social groups, so they hide to feel more comfortable in their imagination.

When they share their brilliant insights with others, they must endure startled stares and whispers behind their backs. However, Aquarians are far more advanced than the rest of their contemporaries, and those who understand this admire their gifted minds. They may not let their feelings come out as openly as water signs, but they can imagine all kinds of fanciful circumstances without any effort. That's why they make good writers and filmmakers, as they come up with the best stories without any close replication.

#3. Cancer

Cancer is a water sign, which means they are introverted and feel more comfortable being alone in their room than interacting with many people.

These signs have a vast inner world that they do not usually share with other people. They spend most of the day in it and draw inspiration from their imagination to make beautiful works of art.

#4. Leo

Leo is an excellent actor and artist for a good reason! Their imagination and creativity are worthy of admiration.

These fire signs are spontaneous and come up with all kinds of unique ideas to make their daily routine much more entertaining.

Like Pisces, they sometimes get too imaginative and avoid dealing with the more mundane parts of life such as work, paying the bills, etc.

#5. Gemini

Gemini is gifted with a vast intellect that can cover several subjects simultaneously.

Their imagination is due to their quick wit and extensive knowledge. They are the best storytellers and enchant their audience with the incredible adventures they come up with.

#6. Sagittarius

Sagittarius is a fire sign that follows the passion of their heart rather than the stodgy logical conjectures of their rational mind.

These adventurers are highly imaginative in projecting their plans, as they always aim for the impossible and love to challenge reality.

Like other fire signs, they struggle to deal with their responsibilities and connect with the physical world when necessary.

#7. Libra

This aesthetic sign is ruled by Venus, the planet of beauty and harmony. Libra is not particularly creative but appreciates fine artwork and has excellent taste when dressing or decorating their home.

They can come up with the best ideas when planning a party, doing a makeover, or helping one of their friends dress up for a party.

This sign relates to fantastic artists and imaginative people who awaken their inner creativity and help them understand their situations differently.

#8. Scorpio

Scorpio has an immeasurable imagination when surrounded by people. They imagine what others are thinking about them or the conversations that certain people have behind their backs.

This sign makes such complicated assumptions about what is going on around them that it is frankly amazing! Scorpios are a bit paranoid and let their imaginations run wild due to their distrust of people.

If they were a little more down-to-earth, they would realize that no one is out to get them and that people are busy minding their own business.

#9. Taurus

Taurus is not very imaginative. These earth signs rely on what their senses dictate. What they see is what it is, and the rest is irrelevant.

This sign is hard to imagine scenarios because they are strongly anchored in reality and don't waste time guessing. They are fixed and stable, which hinders the development of their imagination, especially when they have to picture in their mind a situation that is not happening.

Although this is a good feature when working and planning their projects, Taurus lacks the creativity to be more flexible with unforeseen events.

#10. Capricorn

Much like Taurus, Capricorn does not waste time wandering around in their imagination. These signs are efficient and shy away from overly imaginative people who cannot put their feet on the ground.

Being imaginative requires flexibility, spontaneity, contact with your feelings, and enough creativity to observe reality from other perspectives.

Unfortunately, Capricorn has difficulty letting its sensitivity come to the surface and prefers to stick to the facts.

Capricorn is responsible and committed but struggles to enjoy works of art, movies, or any activity that requires them to let go of their rational mind.

#11. Aries

Aries is creative as they like to initiate exciting new projects or explore unfamiliar paths. However, they do not leave much room for imagination as they are constantly focused on what's happening here and now.

Their attention is fixed on their current challenge, and imagining scenarios can waste time in which others will take their place. Aries has a goal-oriented and clear mind and gets bored if they use their imagination to solve a problem. Arians are more practical and effective in dealing with their circumstances.

#12. Virgo

Virgo is analytical, scientific, and practical. They have a fixed routine and strongly disapprove of spontaneous plans or situations that are not neatly planned.

Their whole personality is at odds with the requirements of an imaginative person. Virgos rely solely on logic and rationality. They thrive on honing the same conventional method and feel uncomfortable when they must go off the beaten path.

Virgo feels awkward around highly fanciful people and prefers to wander through the labyrinths of the rational mind rather than the uncontrollable worlds of the imagination.

#Zodiac #Zodiac Signs #ZodiacFacts #astrology #astrology signs #Aquarius #Aries #Cancer #Capricorn #leo #libra #Sagittarius #Pisces #taurus #scorpio #Gemini #virgo

[marisferasiop]

Tfw you wanna dive headlong into a fic you've read before, a comfort fic I suppose, and then you remember after clicking that it hasn't updated since like fucking October 2020 and the last chapter was a cliffhanger.

😐😒😔

#good omens #ineffable idiots #ao3fic #oh no #the ineffability of writers getting distracted

[angelsnuffbox]

Hello! I have no idea if I'm doing this right! Whould you be open to recieving an ask about your deleted works later? And if not you still have so many lovely fics! I love your works dearly but the one I'm currently rereading is "Tadfield's Finest" : 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 11, 13 and any other question you would like to answer.

Hi anon! Yeah, deleted works are alright if there's anything you'd like to know more about :)) 2: What scene did you first put down? I can only write fics in proper sequence so the very first scene lmao 3: What’s your favorite line of narration? I think the part where Aziraphale shelters a soaked Crowley with his umbrella and Crowley tells him how he got that bruise on his cheek! “Slipped and banged my head on the sink, alright?” Crowley grumbled, averting his gaze. It was the most uncool thing he’d ever seen Crowley do, but his heart still stirred at the sight. The flash of anger he’d had mellowed down to light amusement, slipping easily into a kind of fondness that could only be justified by someone so madly in love as he was. He liked it, Crowley admitting this to him.  It made him feel like he had a piece of Crowley with him. 4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? “Don’t want you to think I’m doing it because I’m nice.” His (Crowley's) cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “I do it because it’s you. I mean, surely you know that.” 5: What part was hardest to write? I honestly don't remember anymore which specific scene was the hardest for me but I think a more general answer would be ALL the smut scenes because this was my first smut fic ever and each time I posted an update I was SO nervous about what people would think about it. 9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic? Umm so confession i guess but Tadfield's Finest came from an older idea I had for a Bill Masters/Alec Hardy fic that never came into being 😂 I chickened out of writing it and then later on decided to rehash the whole thing as a Good Omens human AU, so I guess you can imagine an alternate version would be somewhat the same story but with Hardy as Crowley and Masters as Aziraphale 11: What do you like best about this fic? I love that it's a mix of a lot of my interests! Ineffable Husbands, Broadchurch (STILL my favorite show ever), detective/mystery fics (because before GO i mainly wrote for murder mystery genre fandoms), and high fluffy romance with a happy comforting ending. It's also the fic that really got me into writing Good Omens, so even though I periodically forget this story I'm still very fond of it for being a huge step for me as a fanfic writer :) 13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading? This was so long ago so I don't remember exactly, but I THINK it was a lot of Japanese 80s city pop. Off the top of my head, some songs I recommend are 'Misty Mauve' - Tatsuro Yamashita, 'Tell Me, Tell Me' - Mariya Takeuchi, and 'Dream in the Street' - Noriyo Ikeda When writing, I also like to look for 2 to 3-hour compilations of city pop music like this one :)) I find that when I listen to English songs it distracts me cause I'm also writing in English, so Japanese is always my go-to for that 😂 (and also, because I'm formally studying Japanese, it kind of helps me learn the language by osmosis) Thank you so much, anon! You made me relive a lot of happy memories with this x Tadfield's Finest Ask me about any of my fics!

#az speaks #ask meme

[eli-kittim]

Know Thyself

By Author Eli Kittim

——-

Through the study of books one seeks God;

by meditation one finds him.

(Padre Pio)

According to the Greek writer and geographer, Pausanias, the ancient Greek aphorism “Know Thyself” (γνῶθι σεαυτόν) was a maxim inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Throughout the centuries, people have studied the physical and metaphysical world through science and philosophy. But how can a person study himself or herself? By turning inward! In the Phaedo, one of Plato’s famous dialogues, Socrates explains that the senses are incapable of informing us about the true nature of reality, and thus are not to be trusted. One needs to look beyond the senses in order to find meaning and clarity. Socrates says to Simmias:

Did you ever reach them [truths] with any

bodily sense? – and I speak not of these

alone, but of absolute greatness, and

health, and strength, and, in short, of the

reality or true nature of everything. Is the

truth of them ever perceived through the

bodily organs? Or rather, is not the nearest

approach to the knowledge of their several

natures made by him who so orders his

intellectual vision as to have the most exact

conception of the essence of each thing he

considers?

Later in the Phaedo, Socrates begins to expound on what we today would call “silent meditation.” Remember, this is not India. This is 5th to 4th century BCE Greece! Gautama Buddha happens to be Plato’s contemporary. Socrates begins to describe the practice of meditation as follows:

He who has got rid, as far as he can, of

eyes and ears and, so to speak, of the

whole body, these being in his opinion

distracting elements when they associate

with the soul hinder her from acquiring truth

and knowledge – who, if not he, is likely to

attain to the knowledge of true being?

Over 500 years later, the Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus would also base his entire philosophy on meditative silence. So, given that Socrates (Plato’s teacher, who coined the phrase “Know Thyself”) lived in the 5th century BCE, it is difficult to say if this contemplative practice originated in the East or the West. Let’s not forget that Plato is deeply indebted to an older mystical philosopher named Pythagoras (6th century BCE), who was probably one of the first great and well-known mystics in the west!

Plotinus follows Socrates’ advice regarding the path to self-knowledge and the philosophy of Being. He insists that the soul must discard all form, image, and thought. It is through concentration, away from the sense world, that we reach the “One” (i.e. God). And the self discovers this when it is annihilated. In other words, a person loses his/her identity during the supreme mystical union with the “One.” it’s as if the person has been “ ‘seized’ by an elemental force and swept into liberation by mystical frenzy” (Thomas Merton). Plotinus says:

shut your eyes . . . and wake

another way of seeing, which everyone has

but few use.

The “awakening” in the presence of the “good” is a result that is accomplished by removing multiplicity through the process of negation (which later became known as “apophatic theology”). That is to say, there is a detachment from the many to the One. The disciple must proceed by way of negation. Rather than positing what the One is, the practitioner gets rid of all knowledge and begins by contemplating what the One is not. This practice has been alternatively called “silence” or “stillness.” It is a way of putting away all otherness and reaching an ineffable union with the One (or God). In the mysticism of Plotinus, the student must not chase after the good but wait quietly til it appears.

Unfortunately, since the time of the Renaissance and the Age of Reason, the contemplative aspect of the Platonic tradition is no longer discussed in modern academia. Plato is often taught as a cold, rational thinker whose insights are solely derived from discursive thought. However, Plotinus thought that he was simply clarifying Plato’s teachings. According to Wikipedia:

Plotinus was not claiming to innovate with

the Enneads [his book], but to clarify

aspects of the works of Plato that he

considered misrepresented or

misunderstood. Plotinus

does not claim to be an innovator, but

rather a communicator of a tradition.

Plotinus referred to tradition as a way to

interpret Plato's intentions. Because the

teachings of Plato were for members of the

academy rather than the general public, it

was easy for outsiders to misunderstand

Plato's meaning.

Plotinus lived in Alexandria, Egypt in the 3rd century CE. Over 150 years earlier, another Platonic philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, had done the same:

Philo of Alexandria had written on some

form of ‘spiritual exercises’ involving

attention (prosoche) and concentration and

by the 3rd century Plotinus had developed

meditative techniques.

(Wikipedia)

According to Plotinus, the One is not simply an intellectual concept but rather something that can actually be experienced; an existential experience where one goes far beyond all multiplicity. The individual eventually reaches a state of tabula rasa, a blank state where everything is deleted, so to speak, while the person merges with the One. The self is dissolved, completely absorbed into the One. But in order to reach this stage, “the Proficient’s will is set always and only inward” (Enneads I.4.11). This process eventually leads to ecstasy:

The essentially devotional nature of

Plotinus' philosophy may be further

illustrated by his concept of attaining

ecstatic union with the One (henosis).

Porphyry relates that Plotinus attained such

a union four times during the years he knew

him. This may be related to enlightenment,

liberation, and other concepts of mystical

union common to many Eastern and

Western traditions.

(Wiki)

In Greek, Henosis is the term for mystical "union.” In Platonism, and particularly in Neoplatonism, the aim of henosis is union with the ground of being or absolute reality: the source or the One (τὸ Ἕν):

Henosis for Plotinus was defined in his

works as a reversing of the ontological

process of consciousness via meditation

. . . toward no thought . . . and no

division (dyad) within the individual (being).

Plotinus words his teachings to reconcile

not only Plato with Aristotle but also various

World religions that he had personal

contact with during his various travels.

(Wiki)

Plotinus, and his successor Proclus, influenced many great philosophers and theologians, such as Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Husserl, Heidegger, Barth, Bultmann, and others. Plotinus’ meditation is not unlike that described in Ps. 62.5, which reads: “For God alone my soul waits in silence.” According to Wikipedia, “Plotinus' final words were: ‘Try to raise the divine in yourselves to the divine in the all.’ “ Meditation, therefore, is the method by which we not only grasp the essence of true Being, in the Platonic sense, but also how we find the sure way of salvation, in the Biblical sense:

Be still, and know that I am God!

(Psalm 46.10)

——-

#knowthyself #plotinus #padre pio #pausanias #delphi #socrates #Plato #γνῶθισεαυτόν #apollo deity #phaedo #mysticism #thomas merton #philo #meditation #mysticalUnion #ApophaticTheology #silence #stillness #Enneads #the one #ελικιτίμ #thelittlebookofrevelation #elikittim #το μικρό βιβλίο της αποκάλυψης #Bible #neoplatonism #ontology #philosophy #pythagoras #contemplation

[pictsies-crivens]

The Tattoo Post

It's been a couple of weeks in coming, but, it is time I gathered my thoughts together and wrote about the tattoos I got 2.5 weeks ago, and the reasoning behind them. I'll cross-post on Twitter at some point. Apologies, it's a long one.

Here they are:

The explanation: a sad tale of the end of a marriage, now ten entire years ago. The original tattoo, on my upper arm, a birthday gift from my spouse to match their own. I won't go in to details, but we shall say the events surrounding The End caused an episode of extreme depression, and the thoughts that will inevitably accompany such episodes.

I found myself one afternoon soon after The End, sitting on the floor of the new house I had rented with my teenaged children, setting up the television service. I saw Alex Kingston, who caught my eye, as we have the exact same hair (I call her my hair twin). She was standing in the midst of a group of soldiers, with a lovely young redhead, and a young fellow in tweed. The young fellow said, "I’m about to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous. When I do, jump." (Note: Whovians can probably guess I'm talking about Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone.) I remember being confused, as my dad watched Doctor Who when it aired on PBS and the Doctor guy certainly didn't look LIKE THAT. I finished watching the episode, then saw Smith and Jones (a Tennant one). Welp, I was hooked. I fell more and more for this quirky crazed show, finding other Whovians online and in the graduate classes I was enrolled in. If you notice the silhouette inside the TARDIS door, you'll discover who my Doctor is. Step the first to distracting my broken mind from it's singular focus on the dark.

I know, gentle reader, you're probably thinking, shut up, what about Crowley? Well, I'm getting there.

Step the second: I've randomly engaged with the work of Neil Gaiman through the years, starting with Sandman. I became a fan in earnest after watching Stardust (maybe 2 to 3 years after its initial release). It was in the quicksand slow-sink of my after-divorce that I found Good Omens. Gods, it was like taking in a lungfull of clear air after the near drowning in sorrow I was doing every day. I genuinely laughed, probably the first time since, well, you know, reading the paintball incident. Those ineffable idiots bring me such joy. I found Sir Terry Pratchett, DiscWorld, and the delirious giddiness his writing brings my soul.

I decided, a few years back, to cover up my tattoo that shares a similar pattern with the one on my former spouse. With what? Had to be something I loved, something that had brought me joy, one of those things that had been my life raft. The decision was easy. Doctor Who (space scene and the TARDIS, maybe Starry Night?) for the cover up, and the book cover image of Crowley (who, I had decided, was the greatest character ever conceived of in fiction). This perfectly imperfect and adorable thing right here, if you were wondering which book cover:

Well, I gathered the funds, and researched artists. I found the quite talented and cool as all get out David Cox (https://www.instagram.com/davidcoxtattoos/) and was all set to go, I was thinking, yes, this summer.

On May 31, the show dropped, and I saw a living, breathing Crowley. And my precious, impossible, enough of a bastard to be worth liking/knowing Aziraphale. (Yes, I'll probably tattoo something of him, though Michael Sheen is forever inked upon my heart now). The dam in my head with ten years of writer's block collapsed, leaving floods of words and stories in its wake. I'm writing again; I've found my (Ineffable) Muses. Searching out for my fellows in fandom here on Tumblr, I saw an art piece by the insanely talented @retrouvel.

I sent a message after a couple days thought, and asked if I could base our Crowley design off their idea. And bless them infinitely, they said yes. A bit of a change, because I wanted WINGS, and a more traditional tattoo look, but at heart, it was inspired by the amazing Retrouvel, and I can't thank them enough. Do note, he's still sideways, though not exactly sauntering. That's why I have flame haired Crowley. Apologies to Master Gaiman for the use of his fantastic line from Sandman #6 and the capitalisation of a letter that is not so in its original form. It is a favorite phrase of mine, for all its infinite possible connotations.

I'll end with this: Friends, when you're drowning as I was, find something, anything to cling to. I had my now adult offspring (hi kids didn't forget you), a lovely therapist called Misty, my Doctors😉 and my Gaiman and Pratchett; to them I still cling so very tightly. Remember, there's someone, probably more than just one someone, that wants you to stay. I'm one of them. Find your buoy, your life jacket, anything that floats in your ocean of tears and doubt (tell Rose to bunch over, there's room on that door) and bloody cling to it. Just call for it, send up a flare, rescue will come.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony janthony crowley #goodomens #gnu terry pratchett #peter capaldi #doctor who #tattoos #neil gaiman #apologies to neil gaiman #Retrouvel #hi nick frost i still love you the tattoo about you is coming soon #sandman #hi guys if you need help the trevor project is awesome #if youre looking for a place to donate money trevor project

[cosmicoceanfic]

34 for the fanfic writers questions

I almost went “aaaaahhhhHHHH QUESTION” out loud when I saw this so that’s how happy you made me.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

Hmmmm. I can’t think of anything I’ve published off the top of my head (not to say that there isn’t stuff! I just went “well what am I fond of” and my brain was like “good news! you don’t know about anything you’ve ever published), and everything I’m particularly proud of for WIPs right now are spoilery. So here’s this, which I think is still kind of amusing: ages ago I started a Man From Uncle fic that was a Good Omens AU, and I don’t think I’m ever actually going to finish it, but this is the opening scene from that, and something I enjoyed writing very much.

“Don’t you think we’ve switched off in our roles a little over the years?” Napoleon asks, lounging in the seat in the cafe.

Ilya glowers at him, arms folded in the empty restaurant, the rest of what the CIA and KGB are both assuming are “their people” have filed out. “I am not the one under the thumb of US government for art theft.”

“Hey, there was fighting Nazis involved. I’d think your people would be all over fighting Nazis.” Napoleon had actually been all over fighting Nazis himself. He has his limits, and Nazis are pretty high on the list of them.

“Fighting Nazis is good. Art theft is greed. Not good.”

“I don’t think you get to lecture me about this one, considering you’re working for the KGB.”

Ilya’s glower intensifies. Give him a flaming sword and he might even be intimidating. He’s probably intimidating to humans. To Napoleon he is, as always, a little amusing when annoyed. “I am mole,” he snaps. “You are working for the CIA and not mole for anybody. I win. You know I hate speaking English. Must you always be a pain in the ass?”

“It’s in the job description.” Napoleon tries to lounge further, just because he knows how much it irritates Ilya. “Oh, lighten up, angel. See the humor in the situation. They don’t even know we know each other and they teamed us up. She’s probably having some fun up there, playing her games.”

“Is ineffable,” he says stiffly. “You shot at me.”

“You tore the back off my car.”

“You did not care about car. I care about being discorporated.”

“I bet you’re a really good pickle jar opener.” Napoleon leans back. “If you knew I was smuggling art, wouldn’t it have really been up to you to thwart my wiles? Bad form, Ilya. You’re letting down your team.”

Ilya flips the table over and storms off. Napoleon grins.

I feel much better than I did last night when I was asking for distractions but I will still accept questions!

#ocean answers asks #ocean speaks #my fic #the man from uncle #fic stuff #Anonymous

[bearfeathers]

Ineffable Bureaucracy, human!AU

They meet when Beelzebub, running late for a meeting, hits Gabriel with their car. High on pain medication and flashing a smile that he thinks is smooth, he says they can make it up to him by going to dinner with him.

Beelzebub wonders what they've gotten themselves into when they see Gabriel waiting for them at a table, 30 minutes earlier than they'd agreed and looking like a golden retriever with his tail wagging. But he's not quite so bad once they start talking.

Gabriel is an agent at a publishing company, Beelzebub works in advertising. It turns out they have... well, employees in common. Crowley works for Beelzebub and Aziraphale works for Gabriel. Crowley wouldn't shut up about the author he'd started dating. The whole office knows. Gabriel and Beelzebub wind up having a good time bitching about their employees. Aziraphale is a great writer, but it's nearly impossible to get him to keep his deadlines. Crowley is creative, just easily distracted.

Beelzebub is alarmed to find they actually kind of like Gabriel. They'd agreed to a second dinner and a third and a fourth and a fifth. They'd always kind of considered themself aromantic—this stuff just doesn't really interest them. But something about Gabriel is growing on them. Like, he's very intelligent but also kind of an idiot at times and that's weirdly endearing to them? Plus he's not pushing for anything. He seems entirely happy with their dinners (and dessert, Beelzebub loves dessert).

Beelzebub is the one who asks if he'd like to do something else, like go see a film. And the dumb golden retriever look is back. Gabriel talks through the whole movie, which Beelzebub can't decide if it's nerves or if he's just Like That. And it's kind of annoying. But kind of cute. Just a little cute.

They may both be bosses, but Beelzebub tends to be more laid back, whereas Gabriel is very Type A and high energy and sometimes has to remember not to power walk when they're together. Sometimes it's nice to not have to think of what to do or what to eat or plan things out, but there are definitely a few times that Gabriel oversteps his boundaries and Beelzebub shows their teeth. It takes a while, but they find a balance where Beelzebub learns when to step in and Gabriel learns when to step back.

Gabriel gets hit by another car (and Beelzebub learns this is the 8th time in his life this has happened to him). And Beelzebub jokes with Crowley that this new one might replace them. But Beelzebub is actually kind of for real nervous about that. Which Gabriel finds funny. And then apologizes for laughing when he finds out Beelzebub had actually been worried. He likes Beelzebub and he likes what they have and whatever Beelzebub is comfortable with that being, he's okay with. Because he likes them.

Gabriel absolutely gets pegged at some point. Dude has "BOTTOM" written all over him.

Beelzebub hadn't ever really planned on having a relationship—god, they just seemed like so much work—but this is kind of nice??? It's like it happened without them noticing and suddenly they're doing all these little domestic things like making them both coffee in the morning or doing their laundry together or going antique shopping together and it's just... nice. Weirdly, unexpectedly nice.

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #guys i could make a whole romcom script out of this lmao #I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THEM

[millennial-star-gazer]

Tantric Flames: Chapter 8: Tantric Art of Seduction

Tantric Flames

Nalu lovefest 2019 Prompts:  Magic, Worship, Reckless , Forbidden and Cravings (All Implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing:Nalu (Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary:  One look, one smouldering hooded gaze, one word, one fiery kiss, one magnetizing touch was all he needed for her to completely unravel at his mercy alone, succumbing to the sinful temptation of her inhibitions, his love, his feral passion, his raw, insatiable desires, his "Tantric Flames". Originally an Submission for Nalulovefest 2017 (on previous accounts) in which Natsu gives his mate a tantric massage-after much persuasion- she won't soon forget when it turns into so much more. Also previously featured in Nalu lovefest 2018 (on current accounts) , as well as Nalu Week 2017, Nalu Fluff Week and Nalu lovefest 2017 (as stated) with first three chapters on my previous celestialgeekmage accounts . Previous chapter was also an entry for nalu week 2019. ( Nalu-centric) (Slight Au).

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Chapter 8: Tantric Art Of Seduction

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A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the long-awaited 8th Chapter of Tantric Flames and second entry for  @nalulovefestofficial​ 2019. Anyways, this said chapter is packed with plenty of sizzling Nalu gooodness which I hope is to your liking. Special thanks to my amazing and talented friend/mutual  @kaycha1989   -aka @kaychawrites - for acting as a beta and helping with the edits! Be sure to check Kayla and her excellent writing out  on tumblr, FF and A03! (Google Kaycha for FF and A03 if off tumblr). Now, without further ado, here's chapter 8-enjoy!

(Note: Scroll Down past the cut/read more button for  corresponding kinks and the actual chapter).

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Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

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1. Tantric Flames

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Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized Word(s)

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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"Seduce my mind,

ensnare my heart,

capture my soul,

and my body is yours completely."

(Varga Crystal: The Lisbon Collection)

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"The scent of your arousal— My God Luce…"

Natsu lips were at Lucy's ear now; oh so close that she could feel his breath on the shell. "It's growing stronger again."

"So intoxicating. Ya' gettin' turned on just by fantasizing about me, huh?" The deep rumble in his baritone along the rapitorial flash in onyx-green shot an electric thrill through Lucy's veins ."The thought of me and what I can do getting you all hot?"

"Mhmm, " Was all Lucy could utter in response, too distracted to manage much else.

"You are, huh? That's hot. Though I can't help but wonder ..." Hands rested just above her panty line, so close, so maddeningly close where lazy digits traced patterns that the mage just barely bit back a moan of carnal aggravation from the pulsating ache.

"How much stimulation can you handle before it becomes too much? Just think of how easily I could drive ya' wild with my touch alone .. my hands, my fingers, my tongue all working my magic until you're finally seeing stars."

Another electric rush of fire shot straight down to Lucy's already heated core from his sinful words ; so intense that Lucy found herself unable to stifle the keening noise escaping her throat .

"Dammit Natsu don't tease me!" said wizard protested, breathy voice lifting into a whine. "You know what that does!"

"But why not Luce?" Natsu fired back, nibbling at the shell of her ear. That gravely baritone of his was somewhere between a velvet purr and growl that always sent an assault of feel-good shivers down her spine. "No real shocker here that we both know how much you love it despite your claims. It'd be so easy— good payback too. Me driving ya' to brink just to deny that letting it finally happen when I'm damn good and ready. Such a devious little minx you are— teasin' and riling up a dragon like that and an alpha one too. .

"Yes, yes, I agree— very devious of me. And you're definitely a dominant alpha dragon and demon too-no question about that."

"How kind of you to notice." He let out a deep, throaty, chuckle that sent a burning heat across Lucy's skin. "Good for you to know when to surrender to a mighty dragon-demon too. God you're so hot, sexy and adorable— all flustered like this. The most precious of my hoard. completely at my mercy. Makes me want ya' even more than I already do. Seems only fair I return the favor, right?"

"Uh... no. I don't really agree ..."

"Course' you don't, Luce. Kinda' difficult from your position. Least' I have you all to my myself for a good chunk of the day. Should leave plenty of time for me to have my fun with ya'. Should I...nah." Natsu opted right then and there to deposit a scorching wet kiss with a well-timed nip and suck, on the patch of skin below Lucy's ear, overloading her already heightened senses.

"There," he remarked with a touch of that irresistible shit-eating grin she could detect in his voice. "That should give you a lot more to think about."

"You're a smug ass, you know that?"

"Mhm... yeah— but you absolutely love it when I am. That's not all, no. I know what else gets ya' all hot and bothered. All those hickeys you can't ever seem to get enough of..."

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Fic Tag Squad:

@fuck-yeah-nalu @fortheloveoffandomevents @nalubookclub @nalulovefestofficial @nalulovefestofficial @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents  @nalulovefestofficial @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents

@petri808 @magnolia726 @ccrispy

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A/N: That's Chapter 8 folks! Definitely shorter than some of the others though the next one will be up ASAP. Please let me know what you think by leaving a review and/or comment! Reblogs and shares would be much appreciated as well! Oh and Don't forget to check out my other nalulovefest entry (Fire And Gold), the rest of my writing and submissions from other lovefest participants! That's all for now folks. Until next time-take care!

#nalu lovefest #nalu love fest #nalulovefest #nalulovfestofficial #nalu love fest 2019 #fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #e.n.d natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #etherious natsu dragneel #dom natsu #lucy heartifilia #future lucy dragneel #sub lucy #tantric flames #my writing #millennial star gazer writes #millennial stargazer #reblog

[lindstromm]

Different anon, I just wanted to say I'm glad someone asked and thank you so much for the update on L&X,AaL. I had been just about to message you myself because I've been dying for the next chapter, so that you for the sneak peak and I'm glad to know you're working on Ch 12 and in fact through Ch 17! It's amazing that your writing style is to plan and to write ahead so much, good luck and thank you for what you're doing for the fandom!

Hi! Thanks! That’s so kind of you! Really made me smile and it’s been a rough few days, so thanks!

I must confess that planning ahead has not gone according to plan on this story AT ALL. I intended Lensherr & Xavier, Attorneys at Law to be this low-key series about civil lawyers dealing with ordinary stuff. Logan’s military pension was going to be an episode. Scott’s problem at work was going to be an episode. I had other mutants with other legal issues in the works (Azazel got picked up for a visa violation because he teleported into a country without going through customs; stuff like that). The relationship was going to be this slow burn in the background.

Then Edie showed up. Edie, bless her sweet little heart, she never makes trouble, right? She’s always the sweetest, most loving mother to Erik in the world and that’s her whole role. Edie Edie Edie. Her backstory skewed the whole story sideways and this action plot is now blowing out the seams and I’m all, ‘THIS WAS NOT THE PLAN!’ and the story does not care about my plan. It’s going like this right now:

Story: THIS happens

Me: That is not THE Plan

Story: This isn’t Good Omens. You don’t get an Ineffable Plan. Do what you’re told.

Me: Fine. Be that way. I’m going to go write other stuff.

Story: You should learn to be a gracious loser when you don’t get your way.

Then there is all the other angst about writer choices I already made. Erik is neurodivergent in this story, and now I’m wondering if he’s accurate. I mean, I don’t actually have ADHD, but I am up close and personal with people who do have ADHD and insecurity is an issue for them. ADHD is hard, and people with ADHD kinda get trained to believe they’re usually the problem if something goes wrong. So I’m writing Erik as insecure because of his ADHD and Erik is always supposed to be arrogant and over-confident. I think it works? But maybe it doesn’t?

Plus, the big social issue I tackled in L&X:AatL is workplace sexual harassment because the #MeToo movement happened in this modern AU. Since then, coronavirus has killed thousands, torpedoed the economy, and now racial tensions have exploded. I can’t work any of that into the story. I’d already written it up to June 2020 (Hey! I caught up to myself) and nothing like that has happened. Do I have to acknowledge any of that? No, that won’t work.

So the real reason I have to write so far ahead of what I’m publishing is because stories go sideways and I need enough lead time to work that in and foreshadow things. Because outlines don’t matter! Scenes do what they want and I just run after them shouting “hey! you need foreshadowing! get back here!”

Have you read Survival Instinct yet? That’s my XMFC fix-it fic that is already finished. I put the XMFC characters and plot in a blender, added a paternal Logan to hug Charles and piss off Erik, KEPT ARMANDO ALIVE (this cannot be emphasized enough), let Erik indulge his flair for dramatic entrances, inflicted Charles with another helmet, gave Raven a chance to be a good sister, read a book about the Cuban Missile Crisis, likely got myself put on an FBI watchlist for googling things like “how to steal a nuclear reactor from a submarine” and managed to produce a couple of really good action chapters. Seriously, chapters 15 and 16 took me eight weeks of daily writing.

There, I distracted you, right? You can read Survival Instinct!

Thank you for your listening to my writer angst explosion. I feel better for getting that off my chest. I actually did write a scene since the last anon asked (Logan had a major disagreement with autocorrect and cannot text with his claws out). Progress!

That was my entire lunch break. I’m going back to work now.

#ask box #cherik attorneys at law #writing update

[sunsetacademia]

A Qualitative Query About Quarantine Wellness

It’s been a month since I’ve been to school. A week since I stopped working. Since I lost all momentum. I keep being told we’re living in unprecedented times, but that’s only half true. As a result, I’ve retreated away from my household and into my world to preserve and nurture what remains of my psyche.

I’m a breakfast person now. Each morning I make myself an egg sandwich, not because it’s my favorite dish - although it is quite good - but because it’s the only thing I know how to make. I expect my culinary repertoire to expand.

Writer’s block has plagued me since the beginning of my quarantining. It has dammed the mere memory of melodies emerging from my mind. I fear not one poem, song, or verse will be completed as long as I’m left in this state. As the Pythia once said, the water has dried up. I trust, with fleeting faith, this drought will be short lived.

I’ve been enveloping myself in music to compensate for my lack of creativity - or, perhaps, to distract myself from my impending demise, but I’ll get to that later. The songs on my playlists have consisted of finger-picked guitar strings in the foreground of an organic, orchestral landscape, all to accompany a warm, soft, lilting voice. I like to imagine it creates a barrier between me and the discordant energy that intrudes upon my efforts to cultivate peacefulness.

I am spiritually afflicted, to put it mildly. There’s something - a presence, entity, or individual - leaching from me any meager vitality I still possess and obstructing my vision. I seem to have misplaced my intuition - or perhaps it is being hidden. I have a notion as to what the source, cause, and solution may be, but no definitive answers - save for the recitation that never ceases in my mind: mischief is afoot.

To demonstrate my next point plainly: I am seeking validation, gratification, and intimation - but that doesn’t entirely capture the depth of my frustration. Although I’m never far from a familiar face, I’m ineffably lonesome. I greatly wish for someone to hold, and, greater still, to confide in someone in a manner that only lovers can achieve: without reservation or vexation, but within complete honesty.  I’m painfully conscious of my isolation, which has verily devolved from a vacation into an unusual form of cerebral provocation. Perhaps nurturing a houseplant will fill the void of partnership for a short while, I tell myself.

 I’ve been inspired to write my Last Will and Testament. Just to be sure. I feel as if I - we, as people - are on the precipice of a great reckoning, and I, the Eagle Scout that I am, intend to be prepared to go down whichever path I am ushered. The Tower indicates the disruption of long-standing foundations to make way for new growth - just as pine forests are borne of ash, so, too, are new beginnings. Taking into account my belongings - and what few I have! - and where they’ll arrive in the event of my death has been a grounding experience. I’ve been preparing my goodbye for a long time - but never before have I been as disposed, yet simultaneously, as resistant to say farewell as I am now.

I truly shouldn’t complain about my circumstances. I have no reason. I am well provisioned, comfortable, and working to be healthy. Why, then, does joy elude me when it is all I’ve sought?

#Quarantine Thoughts #Rambling #journal

[ununniliad]

Writer's Block Person #40: "Too Much Time Inside My Own Skull" Part Two

Last time:

From within the helmet came a voice, swallowing, struggling to get the word out. "Skull..." They threw their head back and howled. "SKULL WRITER'S BLOCK PERSON!"

Now [still early March 2018]:

"Oh, heck." Whisperion pushed herself up with her staff and got to her feet. Something not-so-nice had actually come out of Writer's Block Person's psyche. What should she do?

Keep her word. Fight alongside it. She pointed her staff, and energy flowed into her friend's distorted form; she could feel it distorting along the way, but they shook themselves out and howled again, replenished.

The monstrous man rose up, tilting forward as if pulled by strings, and stared into Skull Writer's Block Person's burning gaze. "Ohhh, I see." The sneer came through. "You think your anger is special--"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" With two long steps, Skull Writer's Block Person crossed the distance between them, ramming their shoulder into the monstrous man and knocking him askew. "I DON'T CARE!"

The monstrous man staggered back. He laughed, but it had a haggard, stressed edge. "Yeah you do. Yeah you do."

Skull Writer's Block Person ROARED! Their claws lashed out, and sparks burst from the monstrous man's chest. "People like you just keep fucking with us and making things hard for no goddamn reason and I can't stand your bullshit anymore! I! Don't! Know! Why! You! Just! Don't! Be! GOOD!"

The monstrous man let out a grunt of pain, but it turned into a sardonic chuckle. Shadows surrounded his fist and he took a swing at Skull Writer's Block Person, who blocked it with a solid arm, then swung that arm out in a powerful, spark-flaring attack.

Holy cow. If nothing else, this transformation was having an impact. Whisperion focused on the battle, channeling the different flavors of darkness curling around Skull Writer's Block Person into light and life. Maaaaybe this was okay?

  In Writer's Block Person's head, it was not okay, and at the same time, it was glorious. It was fire and rage and righteousness and truth and helpless shouting at the void. And then they heard the void whispering back.

  There's so much pain to this, it whispered. The pain of people's suffering. If you let go of it, you could have this fire, this strength, without the pain... you could be strong... I made this one strong, but you could be stronger... get it?

For a moment, Skull Block Person stood, smoldering in place.

"Yeah," they said. "I get it."

With both hands, they grabbed the monstrous man, gripping the plates of hardened material on his chest, and ripped them away! "I GET that you want to FUCKING use me like you USED everyone in the FUCKING WORLD, you ASSHOLE!"

The man shouted in pain, real pain, sounding helpless, stumbling back. The unprotected-- material? flesh? was red-gray, and shadow streamed from it.  Skull Writer's Block Person lashed out along the unprotected flesh, and it bled bright, bursting in lines of blazing sparks. "You want to turn us all into your pathetic machines to make money or what-the-fuck-EVER and for WHAT? NOTHING!"

No... whispered a voice.

Whisperion's head jerked up - she heard the voice - recognized it, or rather, the way it threaded through the wrinkles of her brain - this was a demon.

For everything... For power... all the power in all the worlds... you could have it... could be mine... ours...

"Get. The fuck. OUT OF MY SKULL!" Skull Writer's Block Person grabbed the monstrous head, stared into its glowing green eyes, and blazed. Their eyes burned a red whose color went beyond the physical operation of rods and cones, an impossible hyperbolic ultrascarlet that burst right through the electromagnetic spectrum and into the metaphysical.

There was a sound that didn't exist, sheet metal being ripped apart overlaid with heavy static. The demon was screaming. The man's body was frozen in a rictus of shock, his face tight, without the glee, without the power.

Skull Writer's Block Person let go of his head, and he fell, boneless, to the pavement and the grass. They spread their arms and screamed at the sky. "STOP DOING THIS TO ME!"

"Drew, it's okay!" Whisperion tossed her staff to the side and raised her hands. "It's done, you can stop--"

"NO I CAN'T!" They covered their face with their claws, panting, great ragged breaths. She could see the tension in their arms, the little twitches that accompanied every movement. "It's not done, I, Whisperion-- you can feel it, right-- I--" Their shoulders went up and a series of shudders wracked their body. "Min-young, I gotta-- they're so awful and maybe I can fix it and maybe I can fight it because they're all out there and they're HURTING us and I HAVE TO STOP THEM!" They threw their head back and screamed, and leapt into the air, and out of sight.

Shit, thought Whisperion, this has officially gone Too Far. Someone had to snap them out of this. ...unfortunately, she didn't know how. Maybe if the demon--

She looked and nope. The monstrous man was gone. Well, double shit!

Okay, keep it together. Her staff blazed with light and she cleared the last of the darkness out of her system, clearing her head. They had a lot of allies; who among them would be best to stop a Writer's Block Person who had gone off and--

Oh, duh. Whisperion looked around. Which one of these was Distraction Damsel's house?

...well, probably the one with the lawn gnomes in hot pink and banana yellow, the snow sculpture of humanity swordfighting God, and the big sign that said "NOT THE HOUSE OF DISTRACTION DAMSEL, THAT'S FOR SURE" on the roof. Must be nice to live in a neighborhood without a homeowner's association.

Whisperion picked her way across the crazy-paving walk and knock-knock-knocked on the door with the window painted on it. "Hoy! Alarums! Calls to action! Distraction Damsel, I need your help!"

The intercom (disguised as a fake rock with a fake key under it) crackled. "Look," said Distraction Damsel, "I told y'all. I don't fight bad guys, I just fight heroes when they need fightin'."

"No, no, no," said Whisperion. "It's Writer's Block Person! They've gone berserk!"

A loud squee came out of the intercom, and then it went silent. Whisperion heard a door open and slam shut on the other side of the house, and Distraction Damsel ran out from behind a stand of rainbow flamingos. "Eee!" she said. "Kismessitude! :D"

Hey, wait, has Distraction Damsel been described yet? Wow, no. Okay, I'll do that now: She's a lanky black girl, speckled with vitiligo, with foofy pink hair, wearing purple glasses, a holofoil bodysuit, and oversized golden gloves and boots like in anime or Mickey Mouse. She wears a purple cargo utiliskirt with oversized pockets full of distractions; glitter, confetti, inflatable dolls, just one more episode, ponderings on the ineffability of existence, and so on. Right now she is very happy so let's continue with that.

The two of them got on Whisperion's moped and sped over to where all the yelling was coming from. Skull Writer's Block Person was standing outside a (thankfully closed) restaurant, yelling at a "NO LOITERING" sign.

"...trying to make it illegal for people to EXIST, or just to be POOR!?" In a single blow, they slashed the sign to ribbons, scoring the brick beneath with clawmarks. The one janitor who had been in the place exited quietly out the back door because they sure as hell weren't dealing with this today.

"Yikes." Distraction Damsel flipped off the moped and ran her hands thru her hair, making it extra foofy. "This is gonna be easy, tho."

"Seriously?" said Whisperion, raising an eyebrow. "They look pretty focused."

"Watch and learn." Distraction Damsel pirouetted up to Skull Writer's Block Person. "Hey, nerd!"

They spun, claws at the ready. "Viv! Nrrrrgh--" Their hands went to their head. "Keep back, I gotta-- gotta focus, I can't--"

Before Skull Writer's Block Person could finish their thought, Distraction Damsel pointed at them and said, "Why don't you just put the whole world in a bottle??"

"Er..." Skull Writer's Block Person lowered their hands, and their burning crimson eyes blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Whoops, wrong one." Distraction Damsel pulled a stack of index cards out of her pocket and leafed thru them. "Here we go..." She tossed them over her shoulder and pointed at Skull Writer's Block Person again. "If you're fighting the bad guys with your new powers, when are you going to have time to write?"

"Uh... well, I guess I'm gonna have to rest sometime, so--"

"And if you're doing that when are you gonna have time to hang out with people?"

"Er, well, if they want to fight evil with me--"

"And if you're doing that what about those books you wanna read,"

"Um--"

"and what about going to those community meetings you're always talking about,"

"Uh--"

"Or organizing your stuff better, or learning to draw, or having a sexy time, or--"

POP-hwoosh! In a burst of crimson light, Skull Writer's Block Person de-transformed, and Drew tumbled to the sidewalk. "...ow..."

Distraction Damsel mimed blowing off a pair of six-shooters and stuck them in her belt. "My job here... is done!"

"Oh, right," said Whisperion. "They de-transform when they can't figure out what to do. I forgot it worked that way."

[Half an hour later...]

Writer's Block Person finished their turkey on rye and drank their glass of water. "Thanks." They leaned back. "I feel a lot better."

Whisperion nodded, clearing away the plates. "Good!" She deposited them in the kitchen, then came back and stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You gotta take care of yourself, you nerd, or else shit like this happens."

"Ehe..." Writer's Block Person rubbed the back of their head and smiled. "You're right."

"Seriously, I was really worried about you." She took a step forward. "You really can't do shit like that. You're going to really hurt yourself and... and..." She ran across the room and swept them up in her arms, one around their back, one around the back of their head. "And you're too important for that. You're too good."

Writer's Block Person made a "mrhf!" noise as she embraced them, surprised but welcoming, and put their arms around her as best they could. She pressed their head into her shoulder, and they nuzzled in, standing there for a few minutes, cuddling, breathing.

Eventually, she let go. They gave her a little kiss on the neck, and took a step back, though their hands were still on her sides. "Sorry for worrying you, hon."

She chucked, smiled down at them. "It's okay."

"I dunno if I'm actually important, tho. Like, Comic Book Resources would probably call me a C-lister."

Whisperion snerked. "You're important to me, nerd."

Writer's Block Person smiled. "Fair fair. Then I guess, since I love you and all, I gotta take care of what's important to you. Which means..." They let go of her, spinning to point into the distance melodramatically. "It's time to activate... The Zero Closet!!"

Whisperion gasped, then clenched her fist. "Good luck!"

"Thank you!" Writer's Block Person leapt over to the closet, tossed the door open, then spun dramatically to look at her. "I'll need it!"

Whisperion held up her fist for a moment, trembling... then broke out in guffaws. "Heeheeheehee. Okay, weirdo." She blew them a kiss. "Have fun, I'll hang out and finally get some reading done."

Writer's Block Person giggled. "Thanks, hon, you're a peach~" They stepped into the closet and closed the door behind them.

This had originally been a hallway, back when this building was a set of deluxe luxury apartments for the robber-baron-era Pittsburgh elite. Now, it was a big-ass closet with several smaller closets along the walls. It was also an excellent space to be alone with one's thoughts.

With one flip of a switch, the closet was bathed in light from several full-spectrum lamps. Writer's Block Person sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, letting the light fill them.

Slowly, the wisps of seasonal depression rose out of their mind. They inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly, letting the random activity of their mind settle down. When it felt like they'd reached some kind of equilibrium, they reached up and turned off the lights.

The darkness was a closet, a close, confined space. And Writer's Block Person took their mental model of the space, and made the walls fall away. It stretched off, now, in all directions, their surroundings one part of a vast space.

In the space, a door rose up - not like the one on the depths, but familiar, solid, the door that you can open and say "I'm home!" And with a little creak and a jingle, the door opened. Two figures stepped through.

One was an anthropomorphic bull, long-horned with orange, shaggy fur. She was six feet tall, muscular, and wearing a flannel shirt and magenta-pink denim overalls. Through her nose was a ring in the shape of a Venus symbol.

[Bedelia Dunaidh. Highland Cattle bullwoman. Strong and warm and proud of you. Playful and powerful. Horn-y on main.]

The other was a woman whose paleness was the hard-earned result of many days spent inside. She wore a black crop top, a holofoil skirt and wraparound reflective shades, plus dark blue glittery lipstick.

[Nyx. The ultimate '90s hacker. Sparkles and neon and scrolling green letters. Snarky as hell. Loves to not give a fuck.]

Bedelia closed the door behind her, and with a wave of her hand, it slipped down into the endless mindscape. She stood, relaxed and confident, a pillar of strength.

"Well!" said Nyx, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. "That didn't go well."

"Now, now," said Bedelia. She knelt down and put her hand on Writer's Block Person's shoulder. "How are you doing, love?"

They sighed. "Well, not as bad, but..." They shook their head. "God, I could've really hurt someone. I mean, I did hurt someone, but someone who, y'know, wasn't physically attacking me. ...which I still feel guilty about, anyway."

Nyx rolled her eyes. "You were halfway to burning yourself out as it was. You would've taken a swipe at an innocent rando and keeled over from anxiety."

"Well, maybe." Writer's Block Person rubbed their upper arms, looking oddly comforted by the idea. "Still... ugh." They shook their head again, looking down at their feet. "I was so hungry to do things, so hungry to unleash my anger on a deserving target..." A lonely howl sounded from far away. "I still am."

"That anger's still in you," said Bedelia, "though it's cooled, now that you've released it. And that's no bad thing; there is much in this world to be angry about. The trick, of course, is keeping your own will and compassion in the face of it."

Writer's Block Person sighed. "Yeah... mnnnngh... bleh. I just want to be effective." They ran their fingers thru their hair. "It's so hard to feel like I'm really doing anything. Like, people are suffering in ways I can't help them with, because of what somebody did to them, or what somebody's doing to them now. Even inside my cute little bubble, sometimes." They sighed, looking up at the invisible ceiling.

Bedelia stepped behind them and sank her fingers into their hair, rubbing their scalp. "You are being effective. You're supporting people, every day. You don't always see the results immediately. Sometimes they seem unaffected, sometimes they just get frustrated at themselves or the world, end up screaming or burned out. But that doesn't mean they are unaffected. Every little gesture of support matters. It creates a pattern of support; it becomes part of people's lives, a feeling like there is support out there, even if it isn't available right now."

They sighed. "I know. It's just hard when I can't see it."

She smiled. "You're a dandelion."

They tilted their head back, looking up at her. "...thank you?"

Bedelia laughed, rich and husky. "You want to plant the seeds of people's stability and goodness, but you don't realize you already are. You're just planting them willy-nilly, like dandelion seeds blown by the wind, letting kindness float out into the world. Your reckless love lands and grows all over the land. And you really don't need to worry that any one gesture of support falls flat, because there's a dozen more growing tall and strong and nigh-impossible to root out."

"...awh." Writer's Block Person took a deep breath, let it out. "That's... really good to hear."

"Excellent, you deserve good things."

They sighed. "Still don't really know how to deal with this anger, tho."

"That's my cue." Nyx stepped forward... and flopped down lazily over Writer's Block Person's lap, making them oof. "So nerd, one question." She snuggled into place, relaxing. "Why you gotta be so angry?"

"Well, 'cause of all of this awful stuff, I thought I said."

"Nah nah nah." Nyx stuck out a finger and booped them on the nose. "You're not listenin'. Why do you have to be angry? Izzit fixin' the problem?"

"I mean... not really. But I just am angry."

"Yeah, but that's the thing." She sat up, putting an arm around their shoulders. "You've got those feelings, but you don't gotta feel them all the time."

"That's true," said Bedelia. "You're trying to deal with every bit of it at once."

"Yeah, but..." Writer's Block Person slumped back, boneless. "I worry that, if I don't make sure I feel all of the bad things as they come up, I'm going to fall back into a place where I can't feel them, where they're just lurking below the surface, fucking with me unpredictably." They sighed. "I've worked so hard to get outta that place..."

Nyx sat up in their lap. "First off, yeah, yeah, fair." She wrapped an arm around their shoulders. "Second... you're an idiot." She pressed her fist down and gave them a noogie.

"l;fgljkfd!" They flailed!

"You did work stupid hard, and you're not gonna undo all that work just by takin' a break from feeling it!" A-noogienoogienoogie and Nyx let go.

"I, bu, I..." Writer's Block Person attempted to words and failed.

"It's true," said Bedelia. "Distancing yourself from your feelings in the moment can absolutely be healthy, as long as you let yourself work through those feelings when you have the time and the focus."

Nyx nodded firmly. "I know you hate all that '90s ironic distance bullshit, but there's a reason people liked it." She mussed up Writer's Block Person's hair and they wiggled. "It's okay to fuckin' enjoy it, nerd. 'S not going to ruin your precious emotional vulnerability."

"Yeah... I guess so." Writer's Block Person ran their hand thru their hair and smiled.

Bedelia grinned. "Well then." She leaned down, picked both of them up in her arms together, and squeezed them in a tight hug. Nyx acked and flailed. Writer's Block Person was squished between them, and for a moment, was crushed in comforting self-love.

Nyx managed to wriggle out and hop down, and Bedelia put Writer's Block Person back down on the floor, and smoothed out their hair. "We'd best let you take care of things now."

Writer's Block Person shook themself out and nodded. "All right."

Bedelia waved her hand and the door rose back up out of the darkness.

Nyx hopped up. "Remember when this series was all about getting an issue done in a day? Hah!"

Bedelia opened the door, releasing a breath of summer. "Take care, dear," she said. "Remember, we're always with you."

"I know." They smiled. "I can feel you cheering me on."

"Right, 'n just so you don't forget." Nyx pulled off her sunglasses and gave them a toss, with a spin that landed them directly in Writer's Block Person's lap. "Catch ya on the flipside~"

The door closed. Writer's Block Person sighed, and opened their eyes. The darkness was just darkness again. They flipped on the the light - not the sun lamps, just the regular lightbulb. The closet was just a closet again.

But the sunglasses were still in their lap.

Whisperion looked up from her book as the door to the Zero Closet creaked open and Writer's Block Person stepped out. "How'd it go?"

"I feel better," they said, looking down at the sunglasses. "But... I'm not sure what my next step is."

"That's fair. Wanna hang out and chew it over?" Whisperion patted the couch next to her.

"Yes please." They sat down on the couch, their legs over her lap, and relaxed. They got out their phone and started checking their messages. Ah, Edwina was on another ramble about proofreading on the Discord server.

| ...and, as no messaging client as yet supports the "new paragraph" symbol, I propose that it be created as a transparent image and included in our server's list of custom emoji.

Thank you for your time. - Ed. (UE) |

"...THAT'S IT!"

"Please don't scream in my ear," said Whisperion mildly.

[A couple days later]

Whisperion and Distraction Damsel were having a nice picnic. It was a bit chilly for it, but the sun had come out and most of the snow had melted, so they didn't care. They sat on a blanket in the park, and snacked on sammiches and chips.

Writer's Block Person stood in front of them, bouncing from foot to foot. They were already transformed, and holding their sparkly purple transformation pen in one hand. "So, I had to practice this a lot, but I think I got it down. You ready? Um..." They bounced a bit, caught between excitement and politeness. "Need any more food, or... anything?"

Whisperion laughed and shook her head. "We're ready!" She gave them a thumbs-up.

"One hundred percent up for learning your strategies so I can take advantage of it later!" Distraction Damsel gave two thumbs up.

Writer's Block Person giggled. "Okay, then..." They held the pen out at arm's length. They took a deep breath and...

  ...reached down inside, down deep, it was easier this time, finding that door. They took the knob and they didn't have to fling it open, they could open it just a crack, hold their position and just feel what they wanted, what they could handle...

Click! "EMOTICONVERSION! CUSTOM CODE POINT! SKULL WITH COOL SUNGLASSES!"

A flat CGI image appeared in front of them, of a cartoony skull wearing sunglasses. It flew into their form and exploded in CGI flames, and when the flames died down, they'd transformed.

Their armor was shining white with bright red accents and a simple black bodysuit. Along the sides and back of their chestpiece were vents. Their cape was red, with a line of white fire running along the bottom. On their head, atop their helmet, was a white trilby hat with a black band, held in a rakishly tilted position, and their visor was shaped like sunglasses as well. In place of their belt buckle was a bright red lever, and In the center of their chest was a ruby with the silhouette of a skull wearing sunglasses.

"Yessss!" They pumped their fist. "Okay, and now..." They held out their pen again. "PEN IS MIGHTIER! BONE OF MY SWORD!" Click!

In a fiery flash, the pen transformed into a curving white sword with a sparkly purple grip. Bony protrusions curved out of the pommel, and in the middle, a skull-with-sunglasses-shaped ruby was mounted.

"Ooooh!" "Ahhhh!" Whisperion and Distraction Damsel applauded.

Writer's Block Person grinned under their mask. "Right, and..." They started going through basic sword exercises, stepping back and forth, the blade slicing through the air, fighting against an imaginary opponent.

As they practiced, memories floated into their mind, and they let them come. Memories of the monstrous man, and the things he'd said. Memories of the times they hadn't been able to help. Memories of the people who seemed to sit, apathetic, in the face of suffering. They held their position, letting the anger through as a natural flow, not an explosion of pain...

And as the anger rose in them, the bone-white blade began to glow. Gradually, it heated up, turning a lurid red. Writer's Block Person's movements became more forceful, more decisive, the sword swings accompanied by plumes of steam. They spun and danced, the anger rising and rising, and they used it, and they used it, and it became almost too big to use and...

Their off-hand went to the lever at their belt. They raised their sword for a decisive strike, and pulled the lever; and the anger in their body exploded out into the world, and steam burst from their vents, and the sword flashed a brilliant crimson, and they brought it down in a burst of blinding light.

When the light faded, Writer's Block Person was kneeling on the ground. The sword was white again, wisps of steam rising from the blade and from their vents. For a moment, all that was audible was the wind...

Then they bounced up and shook themselves out. "Whew!" They de-transformed, put the pen away, and ran their hands thru their hair, grinning. "That's better. Sometimes ya just gotta let off some steam."

Whisperion laughed, standing up and pulling them into a hug. "That's great!"

"Good job!" said Distraction Damsel, munching on chips. "Lots of color, ten outta ten."

Writer's Block Person laughed and hugged. "God. I feel so much better."

"Yeah?" said Whisperion.

"Yeah! I can live in this world, face its awfulness, without freaking out. And..." They turned, and looked off into the distance, fist clenched. "When that guy comes back for a rematch-- I'm ready!"

[June 2018, over three months later]

"...REALLY, CAPTION BOX?" Writer's Block Person, in a Squirrel Girl T-shirt and a light summer skirt, flopped over Whisperion's lap. "Uuuugh. I'm worried about that guy."

"He did try to kill you," said Whisperion, petting their hair.

"Yeah and probably I killed him. Probably I straight-up killed him gaaaaaaah." They rolled over, mooshing their face into a pillow.

Whisperion rubbed their back. "Hon, he disappeared straight away. Probably went off to recover."

Writer's Block Person propped themself up on their elbows. "I guess, but why's it been so long? Ugh, I also hate the idea of him just lurking out there, doing shit..."

"He also seemed to be pretty focused on you, as an enemy." Whisperion pet their hair. "I'm sure you'll get that rematch."

"I guess..." They sighed. "I just don't want someone else to suffer for my personal development. Even if it's a demon guy."

"That's fair. But you can't affect it right now. The worry's not useful right now, so put it away and live your life."

"Yeah, you're right." Writer's Block Person sat up, and stretched out, and looked out the window. "For now, it's a new day, and we keep moving forward."

"That's right." Whisperion handed Writer's Block Person a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray. "And you can move forward by cleaning the bathroom grout."

Writer's Block Person blinked in surprise, then snerkgiggled. "Awwww, but I'm having an emotional moment!"

"Look," she grinned, "you *told* me to make you do it, so I'm makin' you~"

"And what are you gonna do if I don't? Spank me?" They stuck out their tongue.

"No, I'm gonna TICKLE YOU!" She leapt on them and began the torment.

"EEEEEheeheeheeheenoooo..."

On the corner of the dresser, a pair of sunglasses glinted as the sun began to set. Life went on.

----

Author's Note: "Min-young" is a Korean given name. Whisperion's is specifically spelled with the hanja pronounced "min" that means "clever" and the one pronounced "young" that means both "flower petals" and "heroic". Distraction Damsel's first name is Viviana. It doesn't have any especially relevant meaning, I just liked it - which seems perfect for her.

#Original Fiction #Superheroes #Adventure #Silliness #Legion of Net.Heroes #LNH20 #Writer's Block Person

[stormyphoenix]

So, well, I've been sucked into the Good Omens fandom too, as you clearly can see :'D

In the months after the release of the series I saw people getting interested, including a friend of mine who eventually introduced me to this world back in late July. I bought the book (in English, because easy things aren't for me and I wanted to read the original first, then a translation, knowing how much gets lost in translation) but it took me an awfully long time because of continuous distractions (seemingly I'm not that much able to keep focused on a book anymore, at least lately) and stuff to do. Then, shortly after finishing the book, I've had the chance to watch the series and, sorry not sorry, I watched it all in one day, and I'm HEAD OVER HEELS, I swear. Not sure why, but I just fell in love with the story and everything. And reading stories and seeing fan arts all over Instagram and here dragged me even further down this rabbit hole 😂

From a "nerdy" point of view, the take on angels and demons is both accurate (it's not improvised) and original (I liked the "modern design" of them, the mix of female and male actors chosen to play them, even the fact that God speaks with a female voice), and the pieces of history in which Aziraphale and Crowley meet are always meticulous and well done. Speaking again of the original take on these supernatural entities, I like how multifaceted the main characters are, the intrinsic "humanity" they developed after living on Earth for 6000 years.

I don't regret anything of this new obsession of mine, really. The sudden love for this world and the equally sudden crush on David Tennant/Crowley I got were truly needed, as a distraction and way to keep my mood up in the not-so-easy period I'm going through (together with friends and the things I like doing the most, obviously). And I know myself, so when I get a new crush I know I'll be obsessing over it for some time before quite "calming down", it's how I work, I either obsess over something or most likely don't care at all 🤭

Also, I'm happy to see that this fandom seems very welcoming, open and nice. I've been in some fandoms with a good amount of toxicity before, so this was like fresh air.

Artists and writers, keep going with the stuff about the ineffable husbands because you all amaze me with your talents ❤ one day I might write something as well but I'm already sure I'll never reach high levels haha

P.S.: after Daron Malakian, I think I've found my new spirit animal in Crowley 😂 the pic at the top of the post is one of my fave screencaps from the series!

#journal #diary #good omens #opinion #crush #fandom

[heatherdemetrios-blog]

The Space Between Breaths: Transitions in the Artistic Life

For the past year, I’ve been going through a transition, floating in a space between. It’s been three years since my first book came out. There was the before publication life, when I’d yet to sell a book and was dreaming hard. Then there was the after, where I struggled to learn the ropes of being a published author, yet still managed to write and sell one to two books a year, hustling like a mother. During that time there were aborted projects and disappointments, but I focused laser-like attention on my work and career, with little time for much else. Sometimes that paid off, and sometimes it didn’t. One thing it resulted in was a near-breakdown, spiritual and creative depletion, and an increasing existential dread that followed me around to the point where I felt like Edward Snowden, always looking over my shoulder. 

This was unsustainable. A life of waiting for the other shoe to drop is not a good life. And a writer who doesn’t write, or who writes but finds no joy in it, does not a happy writer make.  It also, incidentally, makes it hard to sell more books. The nervy you feel about a project somehow winds itself through the text, an X factor that makes or breaks a book. My books were breaking. I was breaking. So began my year of transition, which began in July 2016, an awakening of sorts that’s still very much in progress. This wasn’t intentional, not something I planned as a great experiment. It just sort of happened. Out of necessity and desperation and a nameless need. 

This year of transition actually started in Spring 2016, though I had no idea that this was what was happening. I started devouring books like I used to, back when I wasn’t writing three of them at a time. I literally bought and read every single JoJo Moyes book I could find (okay, I’ve saved a couple because it’s too depressing, a life without a JoJo book to look forward to), after discovering Me Before You on a Barnes and Noble table. I was working—I had revisions and copyedits and submissions. But when I sent in the last thing that was due, in mid-June, I unwittingly gave myself a for-real break. It was on accident—I didn’t realize I was taking a break until the month of July passed with me having written only a handful of words, most of them non-fiction. I got ideas, I threw ideas away—I briefly considered learning Russia and moving to Moscow. The bulk of my writing was for a residency application I never sent in, as well as the occasional blog post or lengthy email. I began meditating, reconnected with my spiritual side, read lots of books, treated myself to copies of Vogue, discovered the delights of the French 75 cocktail, and took a poetry class. I basked in sunshine and visited with friends and family. There were still stressful writerly moments: two rewrites gone bad, dismal royalty statements. But for the first time in years, writing was not the most important thing. The most important thing was me. It was as though my soul had given me one of those piercing looks and said, My dear, you are the canvas. 

Eureka. 

I followed my curiosity, each urge a trail of will-o’-the-wisps that led me deeper into my inner landscape, with its turbulent sea, floating glaciers, and craggy mountains set against endless dunes (yes, somehow my innards resemble Morocco, Ireland, and Iceland). In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert says: I believe that curiosity is the secret. Curiosity is the truth and the way of creative living. She’s absolutely right. I found such joy poking around in New Age stores and going down the Wiki hole of Romanov research and planning a trip to Prague. I delighted in the plethora of self-help books I kept hearing about, got into essential oils, and finally took a Pilates class. I bought strange rings and drank beer and even started liking kale. I got a Reiki treatment and bought my first deck of Tarot cards and I campaigned for Hillary Clinton. I bought a Nasty Woman shirt and protested with thousands of women all over the world, reigniting that little Marxist-Anarchist activist that has been hiding inside me since the Bush years. I made a few big life decisions, some quite seismic, some still in progress. I grieved, felt confusion, wonder, awe, gratitude, love, solidarity, despair. I probably drank more wine after November 8th than in the rest of my life combined. I cooked my first steak. I began living according to these wise words from Elsie De Wolfe: I am going to make everything around me beautiful. That will be my life. Fresh flowers scattered about the house. Crystals lined up on windowsills. A skirt with red roses splashed across the fabric. I see the changes that all this adventuring has wrought everywhere: in my home, my body, my mind, my spirit. And yet, the writing will not budge. 

I am still trekking up a damnably high mountain, hoping to reach a summit and praying there’s a nice little valley on the other side of it, with cool spring water and long, fragrant grass I can lie in when I look at the stars. Alas, creativity is uncharted territory—ever ineffable, a tricksy landscape complete with quicksand, dark forests, and, well, you get the metaphor. I confess, there have been a few occasions in which I actually uttered the phrase, Why am I doing this? Or I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I’m not sure if I meant it or not. I suspect maybe I did. It sounds ever so wonderful to leave work at work, to have boundaries between oneself and what one does for a living, to not be in constant artistic torture. 

The election and its aftermath was a huge blow that I’m still recovering from. I don’t think I realized how much it affected my ability to be creative until quite recently, when I realized I have to rewrite a bogart of a book I’m working on for the third time. I cannot overstate how unlike me this is. I’ve never spent two years after selling a book trying to rewrite it. It’s madness. Maddening. But when I began to connect the dots, I could see that the bulk of the problem began in the beginning of 2016—a coincidence? I think not. As I said in an email to the book’s editor: I’m sorry for being the world’s shittiest writer. I blame Trump. 

I blamed my mental health and my infernal inability to understand how time works. I blamed New York City for being so goddamn expensive and loud and distracting and fabulous. I also blamed myself, for not taking my own good advice that I give to my clients and that I myself know works. I only give advice when I’ve learned something (usually the hard way), when I know that something is tried and true. As a creativity coach, I tell my clients that each book is a different beast, and that’s true. And also that writing is a marathon (not a race), that you will never be a master, that you will always be learning, and that you should trust the process: the not knowing, the frustration—these are just hazards of the job and an essential part of the process. But each time I find myself uncertain creatively, these lessons are hard to remember. A girl has to eat, you know. 

One thing my meditation teachers like to talk about is the space between breaths. In mindfulness meditation, you focus on the inhale and exhale, using it to anchor your mind in the present. Between each round of inhalation and exhalation, there is a pocket of pure being, where your body has a moment to bask in its existence, where nothing is required of it. It can’t last very long because your lungs need air, but for just a sliver of time, you are infinite. Free-floating. This is also a space for transition, much shorter than my year of transition, but equally powerful. You can discover things there, though it may take you years, or even a lifetime to figure out. You might even see what you’re made of. 

This is an essential part of the meditation process. These pockets of no-breath are not simply a bridge between breaths, links on the path to nirvana. They are teaching moments, rich in the kind of knowledge that lives deep in your bones. It’s the same with the transitions in an artist’s life. The space between projects, between ideas, between inspiration and creative wastelands—this is, paradoxically, where the good stuff lives. Transitions are opportunities to grow, to heal, and to change. They give you space (whether you want it to not) to reassess your work, your craft, your goals. These sometimes involve dark nights of the soul, real reckonings that bring who you are and why you do what you do into sharp focus. Sometimes you won’t like what you see. Transitions, from an artistic point of view, are absolutely necessary. Think about the period when Bowie fled to Berlin, intent on getting clean and reconnecting to his art. He called his cocaine years in Los Angeles, where he embodied the Thin White Duke persona, “the darkest days of my life.” Despite being a rock star, he was going broke and Berlin, at the time, was a cheap place to live while he was in recovery. In Europe, he began visiting galleries, working on self-care through literature and classical music education, and, of course, kicking his cocaine habit and exploring Berlin’s music scene. His roommate was Iggy Pop, and I like to imagine them sitting around late at night, trading notes and blowing each other’s minds. What resulted was the Berlin trilogy, a rich artistic period and a turning point in his life. 

Of course, not all transitions need to be so dramatic, and I’m still trying to figure out what this one means for me. When I look back, what will I call this year (or, God forbid, years)? Will I look on it fondly, or shudder, grateful that it’s over? I can’t imagine not being thankful for it. Already, I’m seeing my interests in what I want to write expand in unexpected ways. Adult fiction, young adult nonfiction, historical. I’m not quite sure where I’ll land. I’m getting ideas, but am wary of investing too much in anything. I think I’m still getting my sea legs. Meditation, exercise, and healthy eating habits are helping. As is travel and working with my clients, who inspire me every day. I’m taking lots of notes because I suspect that as much as I’m learning right now about what it means to be an artist in transition, I suspect there’s even more to glean from this time later, when I can see how all the dots connected. 

Being a creative doesn’t suit our modern world, not if you’re an Artist with a capital A. Because art needs quiet, time, space, privacy. All things that are hard to come by these days, especially in Brooklyn. I stopped using my private Facebook account, rarely leave the apartment, and turn a deaf ear to industry chatter. It’s been a long time since I finished a project. Everything I’m working on is in a different stage and often ends up being cast aside or totally reworked. So of course the age old question of how to make a living as an artist rears its ugly head. If you aren’t producing, you aren’t getting paid. So while artistic explorations sound great on paper, in reality, it’s the paper itself you start worrying about. 

It’s becoming increasingly hard for artists to make a living—just take a look at Trump’s budget proposal, with threatens to cut the NEA out of existence. It’s especially difficult for writers because of the plethora of content out there. Jesus, how many blogs and websites and articles can exist? With newspapers and magazines folding left and right, writers are forced to make some pretty tough choices. These concerns are ever present, and they will be for the foreseeable future. Of course, being an artist has always involved financial acrobatics. Chekhov paid the bills through a medical practice, and Tolstoy had to self-publish War and Peace. I’m in good company. I’ve very much begun to appreciate Elizabeth Gilbert’s words in Big Magic about how your job as an artist is to take care of your creativity, not the other way around. It’s been interesting, cobbling together an income that all leads back to writing, but isn’t necessarily writing. Teaching and coaching and editing allows me to talk about what I love—writing, the artistic process, and creative living—and to help my fellow writers on their own journeys. It also gives me the chance to take care of my writing, rather than requiring it to pay all the bills. I’m already seeing the seeds I’m planting blossoming. For the first time in a long time, I’m allowing myself to consider alternative ways of living and alternative approaches to my writing. Maybe I don’t publish a book every year. Maybe I don’t only write in YA. Maybe I play a whole lot more in my creative process. Maybe I take time to take care of myself. 

The journey continues, endless and exciting and horrible and wonderful, an adventure I’m honored to have. I take a breath, exhale, and rest in the transition, looking forward to whatever comes next.

#pneumacreative creativitycoaching quotes writing heatherdemetrios #meditation

[foxhenki-blog]

Goblin Space

FRONT MATTER

“My endless descent and swinging flight through goblin space…”

This phrase from Lovecraft’s ‘Under the Pyramids’, a ghost written story for his friend Harry Houdini, is one of those that remind me why I want to be a writer. 

We all know that Lovecraft is known for ‘purple prose’ or excess embellishment, at least, that is what his critics say, but sometimes…

Now, I don’t know if you’re a writer, or if you create anything on a semi-regular basis, but if you do then you’ll understand the feeling I’m about to describe. Last month I participated in the NaNoWriMo challenge, and as such, I did a lot of writing. There are these moments when you are creating that the creation seems to take over. You normally never recognize that it is happening, right, until it actually has. The above fragment speaks to me with that same quality. There is a freshness, a quickness to it that tells me that Lovecraft was in the throws of what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi describes as a ‘Flow State’ in his book 'Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience'.

I’ve written lines like this, sometimes, if I’m lucky, a few lines, where the ideas get out ahead of me and come at me from some future state, or are given to me from something not myself. If we need evidence that Lovecraft was inspired from beyond, this and other prose of this ineffable quality are as good as any evidence that I’ve seen.

I’m going to pick up on his phrase, ‘Goblin Space’, and start to use it to describe the place that I go when I am praying, invoking, divining, and especially when applying magical timing. It reminds me of the inbetween space that the goblin’s are packed into to while waiting for Sarah to banish her baby brother to the land of the Goblin King, and as we magical practitioner’s know, the inbetween spaces are where the best magic is done.

Speaking of magical timing, I wanted to talk a bit about some progress I’ve made in the area of sigilmancy. As I mentioned last week, I planned on riding on my friend Ghostly Harmless’ success with timing, using Jupiter’s day to appeal to Saint Cyprian. I followed suit last week, and also created my first six sigils and a robofish in many months. It was a good morning, starting in Jupiter’s hour and completing the sigil’s in Mars’ hour. I added in a Babylonian time stamp and then packed them away into my journal following the Cyprianic ritual given to Rune Soup premium members in the Sigils course at the beginning of the year.

That day was good, I had that ‘I’ve done magic, you Normals’ buzz all the way into the evening. The next morning I practiced no magic and, as is the way of things, my anxiety grew. This usually affects me the most during my commute to the office. There is something about being inside the cave-space of the car, following along with all the other humans, that environment always exacerbates any type of bad mood that might have taken root. It wasn’t overwhelming but I did not feel good by the time I pulled into my spot in the parking garage. 

Taking one of the sigils out of my bag, I reminded myself of Pete Carroll’s outlines for how to charge a sigil, intense emotion being one successful way. Instead of heading straight inside I turned off the Skinny Puppy cassette that I had put on to distract me, structured my breath, and re-focused on the sigil I held in my hands. It was certainly still active, buzzing with life from what I see now is a birthing ritual from when it was first created. After about twenty breaths the sigil’s life dimmed and my anxiety noticeably dissolved. 

Now that day was filled with magic.

I received a message completely out of the blue on LinkedIn from a recruiter that wanted to talk to me about a position in New York. Remembering Gordon White’s words, ‘do it all’, when it comes to odd opportunities when performing sigil magic, I agreed to a phone call over lunch. At lunch, there were a couple of cell phone drop outs in the place where I was eating, so I decided to move outside. As I was walking out, there on the ground was a ten dollar bill. I felt very much like Cap’n Jack Sparrow spinning to grab the bill, placing it in my pocket, and heading outside to complete the call. The discussion with the recruiter went well, laughter, understanding, and in the end he gave me a ballpark figure for the position, which was a ludicrous six figures. When I got back to the office, there were free pies on every floor.

Now, a recruiter saying they are going to call you back after the initial phone call is about as believable as using a My Little Pony to summon Hecate, but I recognize that probability was absolutely starting to bend. The streak continued through the week when a job I applied AND sigiled for contacted me to set up a phone interview next week, this after nearly a year of nothing but form emails thanking me for my time. Last night, since I was up binging on the second season of The Magicians, I paused around 11:45 PM, shut everything down, lit candles, offered up some new black rum, and gave thanks to all my saints, timing it so that I was addressing Santa Muerte in her hour of midnight. Let’s see how those to probability enhancements progress next week.

TUNING INTO GOBLIN SPACE

This week I am going to replace the Imbrications section with some Tech Share. Now this, like my Babylonian Time Stamps and the Carrollian sigils-as-coping-mechanisms secondary emotional charging ritual, will be a magical hypothesis. That means, I have not tested this method out yet but I’m sharing it here in the interest of keeping an accurate and useful magical record.

I got so much out of the Rune Soup Sigils Course, not the least of which was a solid introduction to magical timing. Like many other premium members, I dove into it whole hog, filling my calendar with corresponding astrological houses, zodiacal days and hours. It was, after awhile, a bit difficult for me to keep up with and after so much planning and daily rituals with no break, I got the feeling that my efforts weren’t having much effect. I did, however, really enjoy tracking the moon’s phases. This didn’t have too much to do with the magical timing outlined in the course, but I got the feeling that paying such close attention to the moon was creating cracks in the manufactured reality of my Monday through Friday 9 to 5 existence. After a few months, I let my sigilmancy lapse, however, and didn’t pick it up again until recently. 

While studying the Hygromanteia these past couple of weeks, I came across a list of the 29 lunar days and what they are good for. This is the exact same tech I had been applying to the days of the week, but for some reason this felt more comfortable to me. My idea is to begin mapping my magical rituals and sigil casting to the 29 lunar days in the hopes that I can not just crack, but break, the hold the Gregorian calendar has on my life. I consider this a ‘Tuning into Goblin Space’.

Here is an abridged version of the tech straight out of the Hygromanteia:

“1. Birth: Good for every attempt 2. Light-Bringer: Bad for everything 3. Rising: Beneficial for every affair 4. Increasing: A good day for Socialization, Buying, and Selling 5. Raising Up: Attempt Nothing 6. Elevating: Good for Fishing, Hunting, Traveling, Sowing, Planting, and Buying 7. Bisecting: Good for any action, especially educating children 8. Prancing: Do not travel 9. Fleeing for Refuge: Good for merchants, buying, selling, planting, building, lending, and asking favors of powerful  friends 10. Gibbous: Good for everything, especially travel, educating children, and buying houses 11. Bulging: Good for every action, especially buying, sowing, planting, harvesting, and building 12. Rotating: Good for trading, planting, building, and storing food 13. Nigh at Hand: Dangerous for fighting 14. Full Moon: Good for anything you may attempt, especially socialization, lending or borrowing. 15. Turning About: Be Careful on this day, do not lie or cut wood, do not sell or buy. 16. Elevating: Good for education, planting, building, buying, selling, trading, and socializing, beneficial for everything. 17. Restoring: Good for every attempt. 18. Uncompounded: Good for buying, selling, trading, sowing, reaping, planting, and harvesting. 19. Unprofitable: Whatever attempt you start on this day you will finish quickly. 20. Decreasing: Good for planting, building, buying, traveling, and trading. 21. Bisecting: Do not do anything. 22. Bisecting with Deficient Light: Every attempt you start will finish quickly. 23. Alone: Good for being taught, for selling and buying and trading. 24. Dark: Beneficial for military expeditions and trading. 25. Grudge: Not good for merchants or taking oaths. 26. Grabbing: Good for traveling and making friends 27. Obscuring: Good for buying and many other things. 28. Moonless: Good for selling, buying, sowing, reaping, and educating. 29. Accompanying: Good for merchants and every action, especially family affairs. 30. Conjunction or Thirtieth Day: Occurs on the eighth and twelfth hour of the day, beneficial for many things”

p. 142-145 of the Marathakis edition

This cycle begins counting on the day after the New Moon, for example, Dec. 19th. The New Moon (Dec. 18th) is referred to as the Accompanying Moon (No. 29 in our list) through this system and, contrary to what I had always believed, is beneficial for every action, especially the family. I had always understood the New Moon as a day to do no magic, but according to the Hygromantiea, the Lunar days that you should attempt no magic are the second, fifth, fifteenth, and the twenty-first.

Two days of particular interest to me are the 19th and 22nd lunar day, which states that anything begun on those days shall be completed quickly. Those sound like great days for emergency sigils and appeals to quick working saints like Santa Muerte and Saint Expedite.

Taking this one step further one can keep track of the Moon Rise over your specific location counting moon rise to moon rise as one lunar day. Calculating the exact lunar days should further help to break my consciousness from the tempore mercatori (merchant time) or homo fastis (human calendar) and align my magical rhythms with luna diebus, tuning me into a vast and ancient form of Goblin Space.

LOVERCRAFT'S SPHINX

This week’s Lovecraft tale is called ‘Under the Pyramids’ in my collection and was ghostwritten by Lovecraft for the one and only Harry Houdini. With Mr. Houdini heavily involved with his friend Lovecraft’s creation of this tale, which is partially based on Houdini’s actual experiences in Cairo, I didn’t have to lay down a spread for the Tarot archetype to jump out at me as I usually do. 

The Tarot card associated with our protagonist, Mr. Houdini, can only be that of the Hanged Man.

More on that later.

In ‘Under the Pyramids’, Houdini embarks from Marseilles, France to Cairo, Egypt by way of Alexandria in the year 1910, just six years after Crowley had visited (which, to me, is more evidence to refute Peter Levenda’s claim that Lovecraft could not have known or been aware of any of Crowley’s work — if he was acquainted with Houdini, who was traversing the the Beast’s footsteps and was a magician himself, how could he not?). He mentions staying at the Shepheard’s Hotel, which if anyone is in Cairo and has the mind to associate our Lovecraftian Magical aesthetic with another landmark, the hotel Houdini stayed in is still there.

Lovecraft packs so much tech into this tale, it was hard to keep up. Take the following quote:

“There are unpleasant tales of the Sphinx before Khephren, but whatever its elder features were, the monarch replaced them with his own that men might look at the colossus without fear.”

and foreshadowing of a link between his Elder Gods and the Sphinx. Lovecraft continues in his description of the mythical beast:

“It was then that the smile of the Sphinx vaguely displeased us, and made us wonder about the legends of subterranean passages beneath the monstrous creature, leading down, down, to depths none might dare hint at — depths connected with mysteries older than the dynastic Egypt we excavate, and having a sinister relation to the persistence of abnormal, animal-headed gods in the ancient Nilotic pantheon.”

I had never heard of the Nilotic people, their culture, or their religion. In this story is also the first mention I have come across of the Pharoh Nitokris:

“I recalled that the Arabs whisper things about Nitokris, and shun the Third Pyramid at certain phases of the moon. It must have been over her that Thomas Moore was brooding when he wrote a thing muttered about by Memphian boatmen — 

‘The subterranean nymph that dwells Mid sunless gems and glories hid —  The lady of the Pyramid’”

and love the quote from Thomas More, which shows Lovecraft pulling tech from other literati, much like I am doing with him today. 

Houdini, after going through the regular 1910 tourist areas of turn-of-the-century Cairo decides that he has not had enough intrigue to satisfy his adrenalin addiction. He proceeds to get himself involved in a ritualized fist fight on the top of the great Pyramid at midnight by way of the worst neighborhoods in Cairo. This doesn’t turn out well for him and, in fact, appears to be a kind of set up, the indigenous Cairoans having already decided that they are going to test the foreign magician’s mettle:

“It gradually dawned on me that the elder magic of Egypt did not depart without leaving traces, and that fragments of a strange secret lore and priestly cult-practices have survived… to such an extent that the prowess of a strange ‘hahwi’ or magician is resented and disputed… Suddenly something happened which in a flash proved the correctness of my reflections and made me curse the denseness whereby I had accepted this night’s events as other than the empty and malicious ‘frameup’ they now shewed themselves to be. Without warning… the entire band of Bedouins precipitated itself upon me; and having produced heavy ropes, soon had me bound as securely as I was ever bound in the course of my life…”

Enter the Hanged Man.

At this point, Houdini is lowered down into a pit, which is where Lovecraft invokes the description of Goblin Space, a pitch black void, neither up or down, neither conscious or unconscious, in which our hero swings by an impossible long hempen rope. ‘Under the Pyramids’ contains some excellent exposition detailing sensory deprevation journeying informed by ‘too much’ (according to the narrator, not me) armchair research in Egyptology. There is a fogged up window pane view of how materialism can frustrate the mystical that I can frankly identify with though. Houdini, once conscious (a fact he tries to convince himself is false throughout) eventually stumbles into a vast, seemingly limitless, underground chamber, in which he experiences the following issues from some place even more chthonic:

“From some still lower chasm in earth’s bowels were proceeding certain sounds, measured and definite… the flute, the sambuke, the sistrum, and the tympanum. In their rhythmic piping, droning, rattling, and beating I felt an element of terror beyond all the known terrors of earth — a terror peculiarly dissociated from personal fear, and taking the form of a sort of objective pity for our planet…”

I really like this and think it belongs in visualization work or as a seed for journeying. It reminds me of the orchestras and musician that precede the four Goetic spirit kings. The terror component connects well with the initiatory qualities of extreme fear in the face of spirit contact. Houdini’s witnessing in the lower chamber also intersects with my current visualizations while performing Decan invocations:

“I would not look at the marching things. That I desperately resolved as I heard their creaking joints and nitrous wheezing above the dead music and the dead tramping. It was merciful that they did not speak… but God! their crazy torches began to cast shadows on the surface of those stupendous columns. Heaven take it away! Hippopotami should not have human hands and carry torches… men should not have the heads of crocodiles…”

The degraded and mismatched combinations of animal and man are very similar to the descriptions of the 36 Decans.

It is interesting to me that Houdini and Lovecraft were friends. As we have seen in past close readings, the trope of an impassable barrier being smashed is seen again and again in Lovecraft. For him to ghostwrite and befriend a magician, one who is arguably the most famous for his own subverting of barriers and restraints, is quite telling. It offers insight into Lovecraft the man and how chaos magic can approach his tales, building a grimoire out of his body of work. 

Which brings us to the final relevant aspect of ‘Under the Pyramids’, the appearance of a new Lovecraftian spirit:

“The monstrosities were hailing something which had poked itself out of the nauseous aperture to seize the hellish fare proffered it. It was something quite ponderous, even as seen from my height; something yellowish and hairy, and endowed with a sort of nervous motion. It was as large, perhaps, as a good-sized hippopotamus… It seemed to have no neck, but five separate shaggy heads… in a row… Out of these heads darted curious rigid tentacles… Its locomotion was so inexplicable that I stared in fascination, wishing it would emerge further… Then it did emerge… and at the sight I turned and fled… The Great Sphinx!… what huge and loathsome abnormality was the Sphinx originally carven to represent?… the Unknown God of the Dead… The five-headed monster that emerged… that five-headed monster as large as a hippopotamus… and that of which it is the merest fore paw…”

Lovecraft’s Sphinx, is a colossal creature, with a lion’s body, five eating tentacle tongued faces on every paw, and not the face of a man, as is seen now, but something else indescribable, which man cannot gaze upon. This is the oldest God of the Dead, a cosmic horror unknown, unnamed, older than the Dinka, older than time…

As was mentioned in the beginning of this section, our Tarot archetype for ‘Under the Pyramids’ is The Hanged Man. If we are to use our Etteilla deck, however, there is an added complication, for there is no Hanged Man in our deck, but his precursor, Prudence.

Prudence, from what I can tell, is a trump that Etteilla likely borrowed from the Minchiate Fiorentine deck. From the 18th c., somewhere in the neighborhood of 1725, the Minchiate Fiorentine deck had 41 trumps. The extended trumps for this deck included all twelve zodiac signs, the four virtues (of which Prudence is one of them) and the four elements. Etteilla also includes the element Air as one of the replacements for the traditional trumps. 

Prudence holds a book and a mirror with a serpent coiled on it. She represents silence, caution, and a solitary search for wisdom. She represents knowledge, the danger of vanity, and how vanity can lead to boredom. Houdini, in ‘Under the Pyramids’, feels that he was not challenged enough by Egypt and is vain about his own prowess, which is how he allows himself to be trapped and bound. 

The mirror and the serpent are important here and are a vector into Houdini’s chthonic experience. I will reference James Hillman again and his work, ‘The Dream and the Underworld’:

“‘Entering the underworld’ refers to a transition from the material to the psychical point of view. Three dimensions become two as the perspective of nature, flesh, and matter fall away, leaving an existence of immaterial, mirrorlike images, eidola… [The] eidola… are not substantial… We may not just say they are this or that, or say that existence in the underworld is so and so. We may speak of eidola only as they ‘seem,’ ‘appear to be,’ or what they ‘liken unto’… Eidola may be distinguished from ikons, which are better compared with pictorial copies, visible things out-there that we can touch, even make. The word eidolon relates with Hades himself (aidoneus) and with edits, ideational forms and shapes, the ideas that form and shape life, but are so buried in it that we only ‘see’ them when pulled out in abstractions.”

In our tale, I think that Queen Nitokris is the representation of Prudence, the eidola, and Houdini is the representation of The Hanged Man, our ikon.

Benebell Wen’s Holistic Tarot describes the Hanged Man as an icon of self-sacrifice, Wen states that:

“The mob has metaphorically hung the Seeker because they do not approve of the Seeker’s beliefs or what the Seeker has done.”

The Hanged Man is a card that represents the need for self-trust, for confidence, for prophecy. He is the processor of Death and represents the initiation or painful transition into the underworld. All of which are made manifest by Lovecraft in his treatment of his friend Houdini’s tale of his descent into the goblin space where he comes face to rotted half-eaten face with his own eidola, the ephemeral Queen Nitokris.

BONUS ROUND

It wouldn't be a Gnome School post without a little metal, and we can't talk about Egypt without referencing the below classic from fellow Lovecraft fan, James Hetfield: 

#Egyptology #Underworld #Decans

[culturalgutter]

One of the greatest joys in my life is coming across almost ineffable wonder. I take pleasure in the good and the bad, sure, but there are wonders in this world. There is art that transcends our petty categories of “good” and “bad.” Things I find difficult or even impossible to evaluate because they fill me with awe. The merely competent rarely contains wonders. Most merely competent art rarely contains wonders because it often sensibly makes do with what it can accomplish what it can with the resources it has and the ambition or fervor to try anyway. Most art that is widely considered bad contains one or maybe two such wonders. Then there is Wolf Guy: Enraged Lycanthrope (1975).

Wolf Guy is a film adaptation of the two-volume manga, Wolf Guy: The Origin (1971), written by Hirai Kazumasa with art by Hisashi Sakaguchi. The manga is itself an outgrowth of Kazumasa’s 1969 short story, “Vice School.” Kazumasa really felt wolf guy and over the next three decades his short story expanded into young wolf guy and adult wolf guy stories, novellas, manga and two film adaptations, Toho’s Horror of the Wolf (1973) and Toei’s Wolf Guy: Enraged Lycanthrope. Wolf Guy: The Origin concerns an American-Japanese middle school student, Akami Inugami, who is a werewolf. Akami transforms into a very groovy werewolf who reminds me of Wendy Pini’s wolf-riding elves in his personal wolf style. (Elfquest’s Wolfriders didn’t mount up till 1978).

Sakaguchi’s cover art for Wolf Guy: Origins, Vol. 2

ElfQuest art by Wendy Pini.

But rather than fun hijinx as Akami tries to hide his nature from the faculty and his fellow students, the manga is dark. There are stabbings and rape. I have both volumes in Japanese, but I don’t read Japanese. So I’m going with what I can gleam from the volumes, Sakaguchi’s curly, twisty art and Patrick Macias’ introduction to Arrow Video’s blu-ray release of Wolf Guy. Incidentally, I highly recommend all the special features including interviews with Sonny Chiba, director Kazuhiko Yamaguchi, producer Toru Yoshida as well as essays by Patrick Macias on “the resurrection of Wolf Guy” and Jasper Sharp on the context of Wolf Guy in film history. Sharp uses my favorite Japanese aesthetic term, ero guro nansensu–“erotic grotesque nonsense.”

In the film, our enraged lycanthrope, Akira Inugami, is played by Sonny Chiba. Inugami is the only survivor of a clan of werewolves who were massacred by their human neighbors. Now he lives in Tokyo and his wardrobe and soundtrack are fully 1975. The film opens as a terrified man in an immaculate white suit and gloves stumbles into traffic, screaming, “The tiger is coming!” Inugami  slaps the man trying to get him to calm down. But Inugami is much more compassionate than the street fighters Chiba often played, and slaps him almost delicately. The man is still in no state to explain as he raves about the tiger and how “Miki has cursed us!” Surrounded by stopped cars in all four directions, he flops from hood to hood before his back is slashed open by invisible claws. He turns and we see as his chest and throat are torn open. Inugami covers the dead man with his trench coat. As he looks into the neon, he sees a ghostly tiger panting–but he’s the only one who sees it.

Inugami is questioned by the police, and it seems like he always is. As the detectives grow impatient with Inugami’s answers, they bark at him, “Wherever you go, there’s always an incident!” A werewolf just can’t get along in this human world. But Inugami’s in luck. He’s exonerated by the autopsy report. The blame is placed squarely on a demon.

The detectives argue briefly before releasing Inugami. “It’s the only possibility. I can’t do anything about it,” the chief detective says.

“It’s unbelievable.”

“A human being wouldn’t be able to slash a body like that and not in such a short time, either.”

Miki sings at the strip club.

Yes, that’s the world we’re in. Is it noir? Is it horror? Is it martial arts? Is it science fiction? Is it a yakuza picture? A movie about a cat demon lady? It’s all of them. Inugami is released and begins an investigation into this tiger and the stripper/singer Miki who has cursed these men. And I think it’s more of an enticement than a spoiler to say that he discovers so much including:  amazing 1970s fashion; relentless funk and psychedelic guitar; blood like tomato sauce; a murder romper**; intriguing burlesque; labial butterfly club decorations; a distraction mouse; gangsters playing ring toss using a broken mannequin; threatening chanteusery; a grudge turned into a tiger; a band/ group of heavies called, The Mobs; government conspiracies; and a secret intelligence agency willing to weaponize the paranormal whatever the cost–including gross surgery represented with real surgical footage. There are so many wonders I cannot share them all.

Sweet opening titles

Do you notice anything about this butterfly

Distraction mouse!

The murder romper.

In making Wolf Guy, director Kazuhiko Yamaguchi, writer Fumio Konami and producer Toru Yoshida created a wonder, even if maybe they don’t feel like it now, at least according to the interviews included in the special features. And while there are so many things I could talk about with this movie, I am going to focus on one. Sonny Chiba never transforms. He becomes invulnerable on the full moon, to the point that he can break steel bars and suck his own organs back into his abdomen with a smile. But he never gets hairy.  When I first saw the movie, this disappointed me. Because part of the draw was the idea of Sonny Chiba turning into a werewolf. I wanted to see his transformation. Seeing the film again, with time to ponder, I feel differently. It makes sense to me, not just in terms of the limitations of the resources given to the filmmakers and the time they had to research werewolf movies and read up on European folklore, (i.e., none). It makes sense that Sonny Chiba’s werewolf form is Sonny Chiba. In fact, Sonny Chiba might be the ideal werewolf form.

Lucas Cranach the Elder, “The Werewolf or the Cannibal.” c. 1512

Historically it’s not all that off. While the werewolf now is very much about the transformation, in the past the werewolf had mostly been recognizable for murder and cannibalism, often targeting children. So much so that when French missionaries encountered First Nations accounts of windigo, they understood the stories as about werewolves.*** During the period of the European werewolf trials, the accused didn’t always transform into a wolf. Some acted like wolves. Some just killed and ate people. And when given stories of how someone had transformed into a wolf by means of a salve, belt, robe or skin, there were judges and scholars who would dispute that the werewolf had in reality transformed. Instead, they argued that it was a matter of perception–that the accused believed and perceived themselves as changing into a wolf and that any eyewitnesses’ senses had been deceived.

And Wolf Guy is not alone in its cinematic presentation of a werewolf in human or mostly human form. A few recent movies present werewolves that way. In When Animals Dream (2014), Marie’s nails crack, she grows more body hair in awkward places and eventually her eyes change, but mostly she changes mentally. As her town’s doctor tells her, “You’ll also change emotionally and be short-tempered and aggressive.” Her mother, who goes full werewolf never looks like Lon Chaney Jr. or Benicio Del Toro in their respective transformations. Ginger Snaps (2000) has almost a sliding scale from the vaguely lupine Ginger when she’s having fun to angry, monstrous wolf. As far as I remember Sybil Danning remains constantly Sybil Danning in Howling 2: Your Sister Is A Werewolf (1985).**** And in Claire Denis’ Trouble Every Day (2001), Béatrice Dalle’s Coré has all the signs of being a werewolf without the furry looks. Driven into a frenzy, she bites her lovers to death during sex.

Wolf Guy is much more peaceful than some of those werewolves. He doesn’t bite or eat human beings. Completely human JCIA Agent Katie (Kumi Taguchi) might lick his blood off his hand during sex, but he eats a steak at a fancy restaurant. In fact, he’s such a gentleman, I don’t remember ever seeing him without his pants on. In his most intimate moments he removes only his jacket, tie and shirt. He doesn’t kill in a ravening fury. He only kills to protect himself or others. Akira the last of his kind. As she died, his mother told him that it was his responsibility to avenge the wolf tribe, but he walked away from that. The brutality is reversed. He is a victim of human violence and still compassionate towards humans, even protecting terrible people. He tries to help the man killed in front of him, the last member of The Mobs and Miki (Etsuko Nami), the woman who has been tormented into becoming demonic. He is loved by three of the five women in the film: Kate; Miki, whose grudge is killing men; and, Taka (Yayoi Watanabe), a woman from his old village who loves the werewolves for their kindness. (One of the women was his mother).*****

Sonny Chiba in his werewolf form.

Even when he is driven too far, Akira’s instinct is to retreat from the world, to live peacefully by himself. His lycanthropic tragedy is not  that he is cursed to kill, to reveal the beast controlled and restrained by civilization. Instead his curse is that humans perceive him as an animal to be used or destroyed. And in the modern world, this human cruelty is inescapable.

If Yamaguchi had more resources, he might have made a werewolf movie that was more like a traditional Western werewolf movie, transformation and all. But I think the movie would be worse for it. As it is, Wolf Guy is a work of wonder.

*Horror of the Wolf was based on Kazumasa’s Wolfcrest novels, available in English from Kodansha.

**Inugami, as I note, is not murderous, but I really like the phrase, “murder romper” for his final outfit.

***No, you’ve read too much about werewolves!

****No, your sister is a werewolf!

***** Miki is also named after his mother. And then there’s a very awkward sex scene.

~~~

Wherever Carol Borden goes, there’s always an incident.

Wonder of the Wolf Guy One of the greatest joys in my life is coming across almost ineffable wonder. I take pleasure in the good and the bad, sure, but there are wonders in this world.

#1960s #1970s #2010s #adaptations #animals #comics history #Etsuko Nami #film history #Fumio Konami #Hirai Kazamasu #Hisashi Sakaguchi #horror #Japan #karate #Kazuhiko Yamaguchi #Kumi Taguchi #manga #martial arts #media history #movies #science fiction #Sonny Chiba #Tokyo #Toru Yoshida #werewolves #Wolf Guy: Enraged Lycanthrope #Wolf Guy: The Origin #Yayoi Watanabe