Hello! I hope I won't sour your mood with this ask but I have been thinking a lot about your gay dogs this month especially.
I'll just try to keep the context short but in general I'm someone that has accepted being romantically undesireable. It was hard but in the end I have built my life just around me, my humble family and at this point in time I don't even think I have the time for a partner. And considering that it's the love month and a lot of people are preparing to celebrate it with their SOs I assumed that, actually, this is a thing that I sort of have in common with Machete.
From the miscellaneous lore on your profile I see Machete as someone that also has kind of rejected love. That also has built his life around his job, possibly hobbies, his family or mentors (depending if we're talking about canon or modern au). Who kind of forgot that relationships are a thing and that people bond with others in that way. Well, at least he did until meeting Vasco.
I just love thinking about their awkward beginnings. Machete being 100% sure that Vasco is just joking, maybe even sometimes teasing him (in a friendly banter type way) or just explaining to himself that all that kindness and interest is just him being a very considerate friend. And then we have Vasco that just tries to be subtle, as if he was trying to pass a fawn without it noticing and running away, but also with time gains confidence and tries more risque moves. Vasco being all smug and Machete being flustered when their hands or shoulders or tails brush in passing. And then when both are sure of their feelings we have Machete who has to choose between God and his love. Who, at first, unwillingly accepts that divine wrath will be worth their brief love.
I just love your boys. I swear they are all the love supply one might possibly need
Thank you for such a long and thoughtful message! I don't know why you thought you might accidentally sour my mood, I'm utterly delighted whenever I hear that someone has been pondering my little guys (rotating them in their head, as they say), and when they go through the trouble of sharing their findings and conclusions I'm so happy I could crawl up a wall.
I think you deciphered Machete's inner workings very well, especially those of the original canon version. The concept of love is of course prominent in Christianity, so even as a kid being raised in a religious environment that discouraged overt displays of affection and close personal bonds, Machete wasn't completely alienated from it. But it has always been a nebulous, unperceivable and unattainable thing for him. When he was old enough to lock down his career choice he readily accepted he'd never have romantic relationships, spouse or a family, and I think he must've been too young and socially inexperienced to think of it as a significant loss. Either he consciously blocked out the need for companionship by studying and working like his life depended on it, or he didn't really consider that being genuinely befriended, appreciated and loved as a person instead of a respectable and competent authority figure was even an option for him, at least not until Vasco came along.
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a couple times when i taught first grade i used frog and toad to do a little mini-unit for a small group (of first graders who can more or less independently read frog and toad, which most can't for most of the year) about character, because frog and toad is great for that because the books are never like, "frog is cheerful and optimistic. toad is a loyal friend but very grumpy and gets upset easily," but the characters are so vividly drawn across the stories that the vibes really come across, so it's good training wheels for the concept of, "we can figure out what characters are like even if the author doesn't come right out and tell us." there's this one frog and toad story where frog wants to hang out, but toad doesn't because it's january, and he wants to sleep until spring, so he goes back to sleep and tells frog to wake him when its spring. so frog rips off the pages off his calendar until it says may and then wakes toad up and says "wake up! spring is here!" and and toad bounds out of bed all excited and the last page is the two of them contentedly heading out into the snow while the text says "and they went out to enjoy spring," or something like that. it's real cute.
anyway. so i did this story with a small group one year, and when we were discussing observations we could make about the characters that we could then turn into inferences about their traits, one of the things the kids decided was a takeaway re: frog here was: he's a bad friend. why? because!!!! he lied to toad!!!! you shouldn't lie to your friends!!! they were very offended on toad's behalf, that frog had taken his earnest request and used it to trick him. and, you know, i couldn't really argue with that. i could, and did, tell them that frog's behavior as a friend would be much more upstanding in upcoming stories, and that in this story he sure wanted to spend time with toad which is a good-friend thing to do, and i could and did attempt feebly to explain that i thought the author maybe was trying to be a little bit funny and show us that toad was being a little dramatic the whole time, but that type of sophistication was i found beyond even these slightly precocious first graders, for reasons less to do with reading comprehension and more to do with their general developmental capacity for complexity of thought and psychological reasoning. but, ultimately, if they decided in their personal value codes that lying to a friend for personal gain was really really bad and they would never consider someone who lied to them for personal gain to be a good friend, like, that's their right as readers. (i think eventually they landed on, frog is mostly a good friend but not always, which was about as much nuance as i could hope to squeeze from their tiny brains and left me satisfied. lol.)
but my point is: they knew that it was their right as readers. they felt no compunctions whatsoever about exercising their own moral judgement on the text, regardless of how unpunished frog's transgression remained. i didn't have to teach them that part.
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Concerning the conversation about love and hatred, I've compiled a few of the lines I've saved through these last two years that at times make me think of Jack when it comes to this topic
Estas manos, que son tuyas,
pero que al verte quisieran
quebrar las ramas azules
y el murmullo de tus venas.
¡Te quiero! ¡Te quiero! ¡Aparta!
Que si matarte pudiera,
te pondría una mortaja
con los filos de violetas.
¡Ay, qué lamento, qué fuego
me sube por la cabeza!
(...)
¡Ay qué sinrazón! No quiero
contigo cama ni cena,
y no hay minuto del día
que estar contigo no quiera,
porque me arrastras y voy,
y me dices que me vuelva
y te sigo por el aire
como una brizna de hierba.
.
Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night.
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It is sometimes said that the sword wears out the scabbard. That is my history. My passions have made me live, and my passions have killed me.
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Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
I adore you, but I hate you too. You’re a prison smothered in flowers. I can’t stand this enchantment anymore, I can’t stand being bewitched like this–when I look at you, my gaze turns to nothing but a mirror of light, I’ll stare at you hypnotized for ages, and when I stop seeing you I’ll feel you, and when I stop feeling you I’ll die.
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Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?
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Life is a series of obsessions one must do away with. Aren’t love, death, God, or saintliness interchangeable and circumstantial obsessions?
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she is the only thing of importance, because I have a God-relationship to her.
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it is not she who binds me, but I who have made use of her to bind myself.
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The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week’s, ten days’—what does it matter? Since my whole life belongs to you.
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What have you done with me? he asks. I have repeated you.
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But I do feel strange-almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It’s a mystery. Always startled to find I’ve survived
Walking home, for a moment / you almost believe you could start again. / And an intense love rushes to your heart, / and hope. It's unendurable, unendurable
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I clung to him as though only the one who had inflicted the pain could comfort me for suffering it.
I could be free … If I could pluck out the memory of him from my heart as easily as his heart was plucked from the fire, I could be free.
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I am imprisoned by devotion. I shy away from people. I am alone. I fall into depression.
She was the world That he was losing; and the world he sought Was all a tale for those who had been living, And had not lived. Once even he turned his horse, And would have brought his army back with him To make her free. They should be free together. But the Voice within him said: “You are not free. You have come to the world’s end, and it is best You are not free. Where the Light falls, death falls; And in the darkness comes the Light.
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I miss you like a knife in my throat.
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Only love can save me and love has destroyed me.
Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects?
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My songs are filled with poison - Why shouldn’t that be true? My heart bears a nest of serpents And also, darling, you.
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their love is like hatred
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She did not yet love him enough to be cruel to him.
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our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love
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under the sincere guise of hatred I simply loved […], only in this type of love (repulsion) I loved him with greater strength than had I loved him in the simplest form — attraction.
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Perhaps he was handsome, perhaps I found him attractive, perhaps he repelled me too.
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Struck by the abstract nature of absence; yet it’s so painful, lacerating. Which allows me to understand abstraction somewhat better: it is absence and pain, the pain of absence—perhaps therefore love?
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Eroticism is the brink of the abyss. I’m leaning out over deranged horror (at this point my eyes roll back in my head). The abyss is the foundation of the possible. We’re brought to the edge of the same abyss by uncontrolled laughter or ecstasy. From this comes a “questioning” of everything possible. This is the stage of rupture, of letting go of things, of looking forward to death.
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Love is madness. Doesn’t everyone agree that you’d do anything, endure anything, to be with the ones you love? So either you’re willing to let them use you with any sort of cruelty, so long as they keep you—which makes you a fool—or you’re willing to commit any cruelty, so long as you get to keep them—which makes you a monster. Either way, it’s madness.
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This madness is so deep-rooted and so useful that it is impossible to realize what would become of each of us if it were someday to disappear.
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If I must die of fire, why not let me die of yours: knowing that you are the author of my doom will make it more endurable to me
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His desire for loyalty was naive, he hadn’t understood that being loyal wasn’t so tidy, being loyal means being disloyal to everything else.
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I have always loved you / Always dreaded you
You will betray me, as I have betrayed, / And I shall kiss the hand that does me wrong
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Listen: the way I loved you / was like my palm over a flame.
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If I have the destruction of something that I once loved to carry with me at all times, isn’t it like I still have a companion?
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One can fall in love and still hate.
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and I will kill thee, And love thee after.
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Yet, other characters, namely Heathcliff, Catherine, and Lockwood, remain more actively at war with love in their adult lives. Some force, as inexorable as the wind sweeping over the moors, seems to have bent their lives into a pattern of frustration that their own struggle for relief only aggravates. Their need for love is expressed, not through loving, but through the anguish of loneliness. Paradoxically, though they do not know it, this loneliness is the one condition necessary for the fulfillment of their most profound fantasy concerning perfect love: a love, that is, perfectly protected against the threat of abandonment that in childhood these sufferers learned that love entails.
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I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out — but you can’t prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I’m certain you hear mine.
Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask? I do not know, but I feel it happen and it is excruciating.
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