#this is what centuries of servile bullshit gets you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bean-na-farraige-agus-foraoise · 3 years

Text

A Rebuttal of “Lesson 6: The Structure of Early Gaelic Society”

This is part 6 of my 20-part manifesto on why druids should do some research for once. You can find the master-post here.

This is a long post, so the actual rebuttal is under the cut! Each number in parenthesis (#) corresponds to a footnote formatted in the Chicago manual of style located in the block quote at the end of the post, any reference to the Brehon laws is linked within the text and will not have a footnote!

Hey hey hey welcome back! It’s been a few months, and I’m refreshed and am once again ready to tear into druidic bullshit. Today we’re continuing our look at Robin Herne’s “lessons,” this particular lesson can be found here.

From the very beginning of this “lesson” I’m sensing a problem with Herne’s writing that I’ve seen and spoken on before, which is the concept of a pan-Celtic religion. Herne’s lesson may focus on Ireland, but that’s only because he feels as though it’s “harder” to talk about Wales.... a nation with a very different history and a different religion than Ireland..... but they’re both Celtic so whatever right? For any newbies here, there was no Pan-Celtic religion. I mention this in Part 1 of this series.

From there it only gets worse really. For starters, the Romans never conquered Ireland, the nation whose history is supposed to be the focus of this lesson. Beyond that- the Romans used existing British oppida as the urban centers of the tribal system that was established under their rule, to claim that pre-Roman Britain was made up only of villages when archaeologists can’t accurately determine the populations of the oppida is ridiculous. What the Romans did was establish the first cities that were not located in the South East of England. Herne also has this weird focus on Ireland and Britain being “rural” as though most cultures weren’t largely rural- and honestly the focus on distancing these cultures from anything urban is a HUGE red flag if you know the history of paganism and Celtic Twilight, bad show all around. And of course Herne doesn’t cite any sources so for all I know he’s pulling this out of his ass. All in all it seems like Herne is falling to the classic pitfall of circle jerking to Rome, maybe if he could get off Rome’s dick for a few minutes we might actually learn something.

I question whether Herne has ever actually read the Brehon laws, or if he understands that there were similarities between the laws of many medieval societies, even those that didn’t share a “Celtic” label. I genuinely have no idea what “change” he’s referring to that would be a gradual process considering the continental Celts and the Gaels were different cultures, and the laws in question existed at different times, and also the laws he references for the continental Celts were only “mentioned” by classical authors, who if you haven’t read my other rebuttals are notoriously unreliable narrators.

I question the choice to say “Think of the cenn as rather like the head of a Mafia clan! “ and particularly to end it with an exclamation point. The cenn, is the head of the family, and thus the family’s legal representative in court. This was not a cultural practice unique to Ireland, similar practices are shown to exist throughout Europe during this time. And in no way is a patriarch (or occasionally a matriarch) who protects the family’s interests and revokes legal agreements made without their consent the same thing as a mafia boss. This isn’t a crime syndicate, it’s a judicial system that protects the different families within the tribe and in theory was meant to ensure that contractual decisions were made with the consent of the family.

Beyond this to describe the social structure of early Ireland as a “caste system” is... stretching it- movement from one class to another was not uncommon, and more things factored into one’s status in Irish society than simply the situation of one’s birth. Beyond that, this system is more easily broken down into six groups than into two, and Herne would know that if he’d actually read the Brehon laws. Rather than just splitting society into “the blessed ones” and “ordinary people” the Brehon laws organize it into kings of various grades, professional classes, flaiths (a sort of official nobility), freemen possessing property, freemen who possess no or very little property, and the non-free classes. And joint ownership of property could qualify a selected joint-owner to become a noble, this is very much not the rigid system Herne would want you to believe it is.

Herne’s discussion of the Lia Fail while simplified does hold up. In the lore we see the process described by Herne for choosing the high king of Ireland, it’s described clearly in The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel. And I will admit, I’m with Herne up to a point in his discussion of the concept of lanamnas, there’s clearly a fair amount of research he needs to do into medieval history to truly understand the relationships he’s describing, but he’s not necessary wrong, so I’ll let it slide, these are meant to be introductory lessons after all.

However. Herne makes some... interesting claims in regards to divinity. Herne makes the correct statement that “Each partner in lanamain must recognise that they have a duty to give certain things to the other person, but also a duty to allow that person to give back to them ~ there is no honour in emasculating someone, nor in allowing yourself to be rendered servile.” This is correct, we see this very same principle in the two sided nature of the virtue of hospitality, we’re called to be both good hosts and good guests. But then Herne goes onto say “This applies as much to the Gods as to other humans. Hosting a ritual for a god may be seen as fulfilling the coinmed, but there should also be expectation back of the deity. If your life is barren, then maybe you need a better head to guide you (either that, or you‘re not fulfilling your duties to them).” Ignoring the fact that Herne has all but called the gods parasites if they don't attend rituals we host for them voluntarily (something we should be doing anyway, and without the expectation that they’ll show up)- this argument rests on the assumption that we can understand the divine and how they interact with us enough to judge whether or not we need a "better head" to guide us, which I think anyone who’s actually had an encounter with the divine or felt their presence can tell you is bullshit. They’re divine for a reason, they’ve existed for thousands of years, we’re just a blip on their radar, it is not up to us to judge whether or not we need a “better head to guide us” or if we’re giving enough, the gods decide that.

For everyone who had “baseless claims about the roles of historical druids” on their BINGO cards you may now cross that off. Herne falls into the typical pattern of repeating the “druids were the precursor the Catholic church” story fabricated by 16th century Germans for political clout. Don’t be like Herne, read a goddamn book, I have recommendations, feel free to dm me or shoot me an ask if you’d like them.

And last but not least, I would like to remind everyone that the “every family/tribe has their own tartan that differentiates them” is a largely 19th century creation with scant pre-Victorian basis.

That’s all for today! If you want more reading on any of the topics mentioned in this post feel free to shoot me an ask or a message and I’ll provide you with a reading list!

#my writing #research musings #anti-druidic rhetoric #anti druidic rhetoric #aka facts #20-part manifesto

7 notes · View notes

wellesleyunderground · 6 years

Text

WU Reviews: The Problem With Apu by Shelly Anand '08 (@shellypolitik) & Shloka Ananthanarayanan '08 (@shlokes)

(Source)

Hari Kondabolu is a New York-based stand-up comic. He is also of Indian origin and therefore has a long-standing gripe with the character of Apu in The Simpsons. His hour-long documentary, The Problem With Apu, features conversations with South Asian actors, Simpsons writers, and people on the street, some of whom were genuinely flabbergasted that their favorite character on The Simpsons is voiced by a white guy (Hank Azaria, who refused to be a part of this documentary).

‘08 alums Shelly and Shloka are both Indian women living in America but with very different backgrounds. Shelly was born and raised in the American South (what up ATL alums) while Shloka grew up in Bahrain surrounded by Indian immigrants and only moved to New York when she was a teenager, where she went to an international high school. Below are their takes on The Problem with Apu, which are only two of the myriad reactions people across the South Asian diaspora may end up having to this documentary.

Shloka:

I already knew what I was getting into when I started watching this documentary. I’ve seen some of Hari Kondabolu’s stand-up so I was fully aware of the premise. What startled me was his personal story of why he hated Apu so much. Turns out, as a kid growing up in America, apparently people would just yell out “Hey Apu!” or “Thank you come again!” if they saw a brown person? I never experienced that kind of overt racism growing up (also The Simpsons wasn’t particularly big in Bahrain), so while I’ve personally never really cared about that character, this documentary made me much more angry on behalf of all the brown folk who did face discrimination because of Apu.

Shelly:

I am a big fan of Hari and was excited for him to tackle this topic in a documentary; I had seen him first address the problem with Apu on W. Kamau Bell’s show Totally Biased a couple of years ago. I definitely related to what Hari and the other featured South Asian actors and comedians had to say about growing up with the Apu stereotype. I do recall being asked if my parents owned a gas station or a 711. When my father became CEO of a company in his field (electrical engineering), a manager came up to him and said something along the lines of he thought Indian people only worked and/or owned Dunkin Donuts, to which my father responded “I’d be happy to help you find a job there.” (Go Papa!). #radbrowndad

We dealt with a lot of racism living in the South. People were always making fun of my mom’s accent--from her patients (she’s a psychiatrist) to clerks in stores--and she still deals with this racism to this day. My dad felt the pressures of assimilation and actively got rid of his accent by impersonating radio djs. People at times think he is second generation like me because he no longer has an accent and now has lived here for most of his life. The only time it comes out is when he is code switching, sitting with family and friends, in a safe space where he can be his true self. I wish I could say that “The Problem of Apu” was a thing of the past but it has gotten worse in the post-9/11 current Trump world. Even today, I have had people do the Indian head bob or do a fake Indian accent thinking it is funny. Of course, the accent and head bobs are just one of many issues South Asian kids face in the U.S. Having non-Christian religions (Hinduism, Jainism, Sikhism, Islam, to name a few) made us subject to ridicule and still does to this day. And Indian food and yoga weren’t so cool when we were growing up. Our whole identity and culture was under attack. It still is today, with Islamophobia, continual ignorance over non-Western religions (Sikhs and Hindus being subject to Islamophobia because we’re brown and have turbans), and cultural appropriation of food and religion (ahem, YOGA and that chicken tikka masala bullshit, oh and don’t get me started on “chai tea”). I am excited to see not only more representation of desis on American film and television, but am grateful for folx like Hari that use their platform to address the issues us desi kids faced growing up.

Shloka:

The Problem with Apu addresses a number of problems. First, there’s the idea of how this character even came to be. There are conflicting stories about whether the writer thought that an Indian store owner was a complete stereotype, but had to concede when Hank Azaria came out with the voice and a room full of white guys laughed. Azaria himself didn’t take part in this documentary and continues to do the voice all over the place, despite a half-hearted attempt at acknowledging its racist undertones in an old HuffPo article. Then there’s the problem of representation. People argue that The Simpsons has broad stereotypes of Italians or Scottish people, so why be so fixated on Apu?

Kondabolu’s rebuttal (of course) is that there are nuanced portrayals of Italians and Scots all over TV and movies. Whereas for the longest time, the only representation of an Indian in American media was this servile store clerk who bought into every stereotype under the sun. Kondabolu proposes a number of ways The Simpsons could redeem themselves - have a brown actor do the voice, add some new South Asian characters who demonstrate other aspects of the diaspora, or just kill off Apu and be done with the whole mess once and for all. Sadly, I doubt any of these will come to pass. When he interviews his own parents, they have a weary sense of resignation - they came to this country and did what they had to do. They think Apu is a terrible portrayal, but to them, they have fought many other battles and this question of media representation pales in comparison to their real journey to buy in to the American dream.

Shelly:

It definitely seemed like the goal of the film was for him to go head to head with Hank Azaria. I don’t know if the problem of Apu can really be resolved with respect to the show. It’s been, what, almost 30 years since the show was started? Does anyone ever watch the Simpsons anymore? The Problem with Apu isn’t the Simpsons itself, but that it started this trend where it was acceptable to mock and ridicule South Asian people for the way they talk and their professions. The film discusses how the Apu caricature made it really really difficult to be an South Asian actor in this country; most of the actors and comedians Hari interviews talk about how they have been expected to audition for roles (btw Aziz Ansari addresses this issue really well in Season 1 of Master of None). I learned about the term “patanking” for the first time, which is the stereotypical accent, head-bob, caricature South-Asian actors are often asked to portray when offered miniscule roles (like taxi driver, 711 owner etc.)

However, I wish there was more discussion of how the caricature of Apu effects South Asian immigrants like our parents. There are many South Asian immigrants who own and/or work in gas stations and hotels. How does the Problem of Apu impact them? I know here in Georgia, there are a number of South Asians who own gas stations in rural areas and many of their lives have been threatened because of xenophobia. While the actors complain about playing gas station owners and taxi drivers, they don’t complain about the stereotype of the model minority myth, playing doctors, lawyers, tech startup bros, etc. There is an element of classism to all of this. We are fine with the model minority myth (that we are successful immigrants) but not with the prospect of someone assuming that we are working class.

I did appreciate how the documentary placed Apu in the historical context of ridiculing and mocking people of color in the United States specifically with respect to Blackface. Whoopi Goldberg is interviewed and talks blackface in Hollywood at the turn of 20th century. At one point Hari asked Whoopi if Apu could be considered blackface and she confirms that it is. I remember a couple of years ago, Popchips did a commercial with Ashton Kutcher, who literally painted his face brown and did an indian accent. I know when I was growing up, something like that would have been seen as acceptable, but celebrities like Himanshu Suri (of Das Racist and Swet Shop Boys fame) called it out and I believe Popchips ended up pulling the ad. That was really affirming for me.

Shloka:

This documentary is only an hour-long and I can see why. There isn’t really much meat to this story and after a while it does get a bit repetitive and seems to be stating the obvious. But again, I’m a liberal brown person. The people who really ought to be watching this are the ones who never will. I think it would be eye-opening for a lot of people who are oblivious to the challenges minorities face in day-to-day life. While I found myself growing bored of the Apu premise, I loved how many South Asian people from all walks of life were interviewed in this movie, from the former Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek Murthy, to comedienne, Aparna Nancherla. And this speaks to my ongoing thirst to see more brown people on TV. I don’t watch The Simpsons and I think Apu is a ridiculous character. But as more South Asians emerge on screen in shows like The Mindy Project or Master of None, they are filling a void in the media landscape that I never acknowledged before.

While I’ve never been openly discriminated against, I’ve had moments when people made assumptions about me because I was brown or were shocked that my “English is so good.” Sometimes their assumptions are right, but sometimes they’re wrong, and it is frustrating as a minority to not be given the privilege to be my own person instead of immediately being put in a box. When I talk to a white person, I treat them like an individual being and don’t categorize them right off the bat, because I have seen thousands of different representations of white people in the movies and TV. But when a white person is talking to me, are they immediately thinking I might be like Apu and I have to convince them otherwise? What a terrifying prospect.

Shelly:

It was definitely repetitive and it also focused on just one small facet of the myriad of issues South Asians and South Asian Americans face with respect to discrimination in this country. Not only are our [assumed] accents ridiculed, but our lives are threatened because of religion [either real or perceived] and because we are from non-European immigrant community. I can’t tell you the number of times my mother has heard “go back to your country.” Hell, I was called a “foreign dyke bitch” in North Carolina in a grocery store parking lot (what a trifecta!). The mockery of the accent is indicative of a larger theme that many of us in the immigrant community face: you don’t belong here. I wish that was addressed a bit more. We also have our own dirty laundry in the community-- shadeism and anti-black racism. Not that we need to do a documentary airing our dirty laundry but identity is a complicated beast (not to mention others like caste, Islamophobia from non-Muslim South Asians etc.).

Overall, I am happy the film exists and happy that the caricature of desi folx has been placed in the context of other discriminatory caricatures like black face -- I think that link is critical to helping the desi community build foundations of solidarity with the black community and other communities of color in the U.S. I see Hari’s film as the tip of the iceberg and I’m excited to see more.

#wu review #the problem with apu #hari kondabolu #tv recommendations #shelly anand #shloka ananthanarayanan #desi #representation

10 notes · View notes

angry-old-asian-man · 7 years

Text

The Adulting Tips Masterpost

A lot of you are newly adult or soon to be. This generally isn't what this blog is for, but I've come to realise it's sorely needed--apparently also Millennials, many kids of Boomers, but some kids of my generation--didn't really learn how to be an adult and try to avoid it? I'm part of the latchkey generation. That happened with a guardian when I was in high school anyway, but when my dad and granparents were still alive and I lived with them, I got taught stuff and learned stuff. Then some, I did figure out, either as a latchkey and abused kid, or just as I went once I was on my own. I've been on my own for this entire century. So lemme pass on a little bit of helpful tips to prepare you, whatever your situation. THIS IS THE ADULTING MASTERPOST! You know stuff like "you need to learn how to manage money," or "having a fridgerator is a good thing." This is a bit deeper. It aims to be comprehensive and there are multiple sections. The need for this is pretty Western. When I mention "X also exists in Japan," I mean that and America are all I ever lived in and I'm saying there's a chance this thing is nearly universal. Let's begin: Things every home should have: A wet-vac (shop-vac) A hand drill Hemostat clamp (trust me--they're a irreplaceable household tool) (not the veterinary ones) A tape measure A fire extinguisher Surge-protecting outlet extenders ALWAYS KNOW WHERE YOUR FUSE/BREAKER BOX IS A flashlight or two (yeah, you have a phone. Get dedicated flashlights) A pail or two a bit bigger than a sand pail A cold compress and a heating pad A well-stocked toolbox A well-stocked first aid kit A few extension cords, at least one outdoor-use grounded one Some all-metal pots and pans I would recommend a landline phone, but they now depend on electricity coming through a modem, so they're not a lifesaver as they once were. Speaking of which, a radio that can run on batteries. Even better if it has shortwave (SW) bands, in Japan and America, at least, meteorological stations exist on SW (短波[たんぱ]) Bug bait on reserve--whatever bug is the worst in your area. On that note, many spiders, such as daddy long legs, will actually eat bugs like gnats and ants. Don't panic if the spider isn't a poisonous variety--they're there to help. A strong cement. Not Krazy Glue, but actual cement Always know where is your nearest: Hardware store Urgent care and hospital Library City hall Thrift store (these may have different names such as Recycle shop, outside of America) Recycling/E-waste centre (but please donate to that thrift store if your old electronics are still functional!) Public transit, even if you drive. Cars break down. On a similar note, memorise one taxi company number. Pay phone (just trust me) Repair shop for your appliances/electronics. Sometimes you just can't do it at home, hopefully you can always afford it Learn to do as much as you can, though Learn the hours of your closest corner store in case you need some medicine for a sick baby or sick self, etc. Befriend at least one or two neighbours. You'll be a great help to each other. Have plans for whatever natural disaster is known to strike your area. Tips for the ones I know: The best tip for earthquakes are: You can't outrun them Door arches are way better shelters than flimsy modern tables Arrange your house for the least things falling on people--especially in bed For hurricane, the evacuation route will change, but have a plan if you don't have your own car on how to get out of town Learn basic repair of household items. Good pantry foods (always keep some of these, according to your diet/intolerances): Powdered milk or canned milk (evaporated is not sweetened and therefore more versitaile) Pickled vegetables Dried fruits, vegetables, and grains Canned meats Beans you like, canned or dried Dollar/100 yen/whatever-your-equivalent-is stores should have most of the above. Get whatever groceries you can here. Suggestions include dried cuttlefish and canned media crema, too Pan spray is totally your friend unless you want oily food LEARN TO COOK! I know today's young adults don't, and we men have been discouraged from it unless as a job, but that's bad for both your health and wallet. Yes, even if you don't gain weight. You don't have to be four-star caliber, just be able to make basic food that tastes as you like (having friends/family like your cooking is super-rewarding, though) On that note, keep something that is simple to prepare (nattou and insta-rice/can of soup) for "low spoon" days if applicable If at all possible, please regularly see your doctor. Not seeing one doesn't make you "superior"/"manly" / "strong" /"not part of the sheeple," it makes you an idiot. An idiot with bad health Shower daily if at all possible. People have been bathing since Ancient Greece/Stone-Age Japan. It literally reduces bacterial illness. People in equatorial climates like Haiti bathe twice daily--might need this in more places with global warming Simple destressing tips: Live in a warm costal area? Invest in a beach towel and a large cold thermos Cold rainy/snowy? A nice sweater (okay for me, I'd get a yukata if I did, this varies), keep around one nice canister of tea/coffee/bouillon/pipe tobacco/bottle of wine/whatever. Pull up a seat, enjoy the view Don't do this after ten PM and before ten AM, and take night working/chronically ill neighbours into consideration, but enjoy your records out loud once in a while. Multitasking is actually rapid task switching. Actual multitasking is non-extant Find an easily accessible/low cost hobby you enjoy. It could be productive, like hunting, fishing, repairing and upselling stuff you find at thrift shops, or it could be absolutely nothing to do with gathering resources, like hiking or reading Edwardian poetry. Do it regardless. Carve out a little time once a week. If you're a single parent, there are ways to make it bonding time for most ages Make your bed. Trust me People Stuff, Yourself and Others: Above all, be kind to yourself. There's a whole lot of people that will be hard on you, no need to add yourself to that number Do unto others as you'd have done to you. But don't worry about some bullshit moral high ground with people who demean, belittle, and attack you. They don't deserve you Don't fall into that "I have a partner, so now I'm not supposed to socialise with anyone else/without them." That is SO not healthy. That can destabilise your relationship. Rapunzel didn't do well in that tower--isolation, even if self imposed, is very bad for you Having a counsellor isn't a bad thing. There might be people you don't wanna tell, but trauma is real--ask a veteran or assault survivor. If you think you need one and you can get to one, go. It's okay. There are thresholds, but consider different opinions. Not "your people are inferior savages" --that's crossing a line. But one of my best friends, I found out, likes modern folk rock. I only like the original folk rock, like America (band). You might argue whether more business and job creation in your town or building a new public middle school is better for the poor in your community, and you might disagree. There are certain beliefs that are bad (these are most always a belief in inherent inferiority /servility/ primitive, dangerous, or mystic quality in a [non-dominant] demograph, also known as bigotry--this is that inexcusable line) but not everyone who disagrees on everything is bad. I also tend to stay away from "morally superior lifestyle" (moral vegan, moral "I only watch TV on the Web," moral "I only smoke expensive weed and not stuff poor people of colour do," (this is a very real dichotomy in California, USA), moral yoga-er which can apparently also seep into pricing Indians out of yoga, I've heard, the quinoa/pork belly/greens gentrification--a lot of this morality in being rich [and white] is very western and rooted in Victorian British culture) because that's pure classism, see bigotry, but your mileage may vary. Disagreements on "I like mayo, you like Miracle Whip" or "Jobs for the poor! No, library for the poor!" are pretty trivial. You still both seem like good people. (And there are totally times for Miracle Whip, L O L!) Growing up means being able to handle your own stuff--it doesn't mean having to hate cartoons (Thank Archie for that misconception. At the same time, note that was never absolute. See stuff like Fritz the Cat, City Hunter, Lupin III, Patsy Walker. Before Archie, think about Betty Boop and early Blondie in the actual context of the 1920s) It doesn't mean you have to hate puns and the music you liked in High School. I love both, and I'm making you this list. Don't be embarrassed about what you like. Life's too short. Don't worry now or ever. Like 50 Shades? As long as you know that in real life, you should stay safe from abuse, and you know real BDSM isn't that and don't treat people in that community shitty or put yourself in danger. Be critical of what you like but only dislike it if its shittiness ruined it for you, like how I feel about David Bowie after "China Girl." And people having limits is okay. White people frequently tell me I have no right to dislike David Bowie after that song because... I have no right to complain about the fetishisation/assault/other oppression of Asians because they want to keep oppressing me, I guess? I have a right even if I weren't attacked more times than I can count because of the treatment of Asians in America. They have no right to tell me what to enjoy or not to enjoy. Similarly, people might tell you your interest makes you immature or whatever ("O M G, you STILL listen to New Kids on the Block!? What are you, 13?") this is like the point about the person who likes Miracle Whip v the person who likes mayonnaise. What you like isn't impervious to criticism, but it doesn't make you morally anything. You might not want to tell your co-workers you write fic, but just know sometimes things aren't worth dealing with and still liking The Muppet Movies even when you turn 35 someday is no judgement on you. (I have a couple of those on VHS) I've been literally beaten for reading in my mother tongue and not only ever English. I buy/check out my books. I don't have to listen to them. And that's the thing about being an adult. You're in control. Yeah, you're responsible for you, and depending, you might not have anyone to fall back on. My dad died in my high school years. My grandparents had already died when he did. Some decided they really didn't want to fulfill the duties of parents because you turned out too different. That isn't fun. I know, as you see. But it would seem young people now are afraid to grow up? It's a good thing. As long as you do no harm, you're (supposed to be) free. You can bake a cake and have it for breakfast on Sunday morning. A la mode, even. Watch that movie--no one should be able to tell you no! ((They can tell you wait if they have to sleep or the TV is shared, but they shouldn't be able to disallow you--controlling shit like that for an adult happens, but that's the realm of abusive partners or staying at mum and dad's for the weekend) If I think of anything else, I'll edit this post. For now, that's it. (Remember to brush your teeth!)

#adulting #being an adult #adult problems #life advice #life hacks #advice from adults

12 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[SP] For the Love of Hekate

It was your classic classroom set up. The third form of high school, or year nine. With the tables arranged in rows that viewed the teacher at the front of the classroom. As the teacher attempted to maintain the rabble and gossip of the students, Isabella eyed off one of the boys in the middle row whereas she sat up in the back. Talking to her girlfriends, they were all rating their male classmates on a scale from one to ten. They were all dressed in their school uniforms. With their patchwork skirts and the boys in their black trousers and white shirts. The act of wearing a uniform to assist with the drilling away of individual autonomy. The hammering of student confidences to replace their behaviour with robotic automatism. The eventual product being a servile and docile youth ready for the workforce.

However, every so often a strong enough identity would rise above such an institution and come to stand on its own two feet. Isabella was one such identity that beyond the coursework of the classroom would follow her own pursuits. The pursuits being that of the magick and the divine. For secretly, hidden in the cupboard of her bedroom, she would hold a shrine to the goddess Hekate. Seeking the secret knowledge and tutelage of a force higher than she. Some would brand her as a witch, which in the new millennium had become a generalized form of rebellion against those in power. The new age practices of witchcraft had long since been redefined since the hangings, drownings and burnings of the Salem witch trials. Even though in Scotland in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, it was estimated that between three thousand and five thousand women were being accused of witchcraft. Perhaps the effects of English imperialism considering that the numbers of those accused in England at the same time were much the lesser. Science and the enlightenment of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had come to define such practices as hocus pocus; bullshit basically. But Isabella was not so sure. A childhood of experiences had led her to come to believe that there was some practical knowledge in regards to all the hocus pocus.

As she sat in the classroom while the teacher directed the teachings. She passed a note to the boy in simple handwritten script. It was passed on to him and read, ‘Hi! What’s your name?’

The boy, Callum, read the note and scribbled his name down on the piece of paper. Passing it back to Isabella sitting in the back row. The passing back and forth of notes continued on through that class and every successive class that they held together. Isabella had her attention focused upon him and she was perturbed for the fact that he managed to throw them off relentlessly.

After school she would take the trams and trains that would deliver her to her favourite shop in the city. A new age, spiritualist shop that sold: incense sticks; crystals; beads; books on witchcraft; and other new age matters. She managed to pick herself up a copy of Agrippa’s ‘Three books of occult philosophy’, she had been told that amongst its pages was a means of communicating with higher spirits such as that of Hekate. She had saved enough money to purchase the book through household chores and the allowance that her mother afforded her for the tasks involved.

At home, she read through the text. It was difficult to ascertain much of the knowledge that was inscribed within those pages. The book had been published in 1533 and some of the details of the first book involved such ritual magick as, ‘cutting out the heart of an owl and placing it beneath a woman’s pillow while she sleeps in order to get her to tell the truth.’ Much of what was written within those pages were filled with patriarchal gibberish and she had to do much to sort through the babble of men. But within the layout of the second book of the text, it began to get interesting as it discussed different celestial bodies that existed within the heavens, and pathways of communicating therein. The book held within it the fundamentals of what would later develop into current practices of astrology and divination.

There were various diagrams and symbols laid out in the text and through the reading of the text she was able to accumulate enough knowledge so that she could draw up a specific symbol and cross-reference it with other material that she already owned on the Goddess Hekate. Enough so that she could open up a divine connection between her mind and that of Hekate.

Hekate, whose name means, ‘influence from afar’ is known as the Queen of the night, the spirit world and witchcraft. Her origins seem to arise from what is now considered as Turkey. And she holds dominion over life, death, regeneration and magick.

It was for the last part that Isabella desired to create a connection with the Queen of the night. For the promise of magick and the ability to work it to her own will was what she desired. She created a symbol made up of sticks that she had picked from a birch tree in the backyard. The tree itself being used was used to represent new beginnings. Not that she knew that when she picked up the sticks, but the symbol that she created was that of the Goddess Hekate. She set the symbol up in her bedroom cupboard upon her altar. Where there was a small place that she could sit and meditate upon her altar. She lit three candles around the symbol that burned different scents.

She picked up a small mouse that she had bought earlier that day from a pet-shop. The mouse had been designed to be fed to pet snakes. She did not own one, but she held the mouse in her hands as it scrambled against her clutches. She held a small knife from the kitchen and slit the small rodent’s throat and dribbled its blood across Hekate’s symbol. A small sacrifice to gather the attention of the Goddess. She lay the mouse’s now lifeless corpse to the side of the symbol and then sat in a lotus meditative pose before the shrine.

She breathed in the different scents and meditated so that she could open up her mind to the divine forces of the heavens. The blood of the small rodent melted in with scents of the candles and as she caught a whiff of the copper taste of blood, she opened up her eyes and began offering a chant to the Goddess, “Quiet is the night. Dark is the moon. I ask Hekate, the Crone. To take her throne.” And then she paused before offering her plea, “Goddess Hekate, great one. I ask thee thy tutelage in my life endeavours so that I may accumulate great wisdom and the means to practice thy art of magick. Bless me, wise one. I will be thy willing servant and accomplice for life if thy takes me under your wing and shepherds me.”

For a period of time there was nothing but silence. But then minutes passed and it reached the stroke of midnight. A gust of seamless wind came from the direction of the altar and a great and pervading voice entered her mind, “Ah sister, I have heard your plea. What is it that you ask of me? I know that you ask for magick, but what particular spell do you wish? For your sacrifice I will beseech your request.”

Answering the voice inside her head, she spoke aloud, “I ask for a love spell. A charm to attract the one of whom I desire.”

“Then grab a quill and paper, I will take possession of your vessel and transmit such a spell to your mind.” Isabella grabbed a pen and a blank piece of paper. Then she sat there and in a mental blank started to sketch out something upon the blank piece of paper. It was a powerful transmission, like having a seizure. Half of her mind was aware of what was taking place, the other half was powerless to take any action of her body as she sketched out a nameless series of runes upon the piece of paper. The seizure and the sketching of runes lasted for a period of ten minutes. And then Isabella was once again in possession of her own body. “Hand this to the one you love and he will love you in return. Until the spell is ended with a kiss.”

“What sort of kiss?” Isabella, the schoolgirl asked, “Like a full on one or a peck?”

It was as if Isabella could hear Hekate wince at the naïve youth’s question, “A passionate one. That comes from the heart.”

Isabella, sensing the Godess’s irritation, left the issue alone, leaving any other questions she had unanswered. She placed the piece of paper with the charm written on it within her school bag and settled into her bed for the night. Eagerly awaiting to test out the authenticity of the charm’s effects.

The next morning Isabella awoke and prepared herself for the school day. She sat down to a simple breakfast of Nutri-grain breakfast cereal and a cup of tea. She talked to her mother as any regular teenage girl would do. In the fashion of a disgruntled youth forced to attend school, as were the rules imposed upon her by the rest of society. And slowly she was drilled out of her home and on her pathway to school. She would take a walk to the trams and trains, where she would catch public transport to her local high school. Inside her backpack was the piece of paper with its magickal inscription.

As school began, she tucked the piece of paper inside her pocket, folding it. The first two periods of the school timetable she didn’t share with Callum, her crush. So during the intervals between classes she kept a lookout to see if he was present. She saw him in the halls, gathering his books between the first two classes. But she decided to wait until the fourth period where they shared a class together.

The fourth period arrived and together, with the rest of the students, they sat in attendance. As the class completed coursework, Isabella went to sharpen a pencil by the rubbish bin. Placing the note firmly in Callum’s hands. Callum opened the note and viewed the runes written on the piece of paper. He took a quizzical look at the figures printed on the piece of paper, attempting to decipher their hidden meaning. But for the meaning he could not understand as the runes worked their magick in upon his mind, weaving a web of entanglement and fulfilling the purpose of the spell.

Callum quickly jotted down on a piece of paper, in response, ‘I don’t know what this means. But I like it. Can I take you out sometime?’

Isabella was excited. The spell had worked. But then she thought about it… Just one kiss. One kiss? The spell would be broken on the first date. She took a bathroom break to consider the possible pathways of what she should do with her newfound lover.

She stood in the bathroom that was all but empty apart from her own attendance. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. At first she made expressions of confusion, attempting to figure out what possible use just one kiss would provide. She began chanting in the mirror, attempting to summon Hekate’s presence, “Quiet is the night. Dark is the moon. I ask Hekate, the Crone. To take her throne.” The lights of the bathroom flickered; once, twice and three times the charm. Then a figure, Isabella’s own reflection took on a darker hue. At the appearance of the dark figure of her own reflection, she knew that she had Hekate’s attention. “Hekate. Your spell has worked, but what am I supposed to do with just one kiss?”

The voice, inside her own mind, once again began to speak, “I heard your plea sister. It was for me to take you under my wing and teach you the secret knowledge. I will fulfil this on the condition that you refute the boy of his kiss. For the time that the boy is under the spell, I will take you in and teach you as if you were my own child. I will make you invulnerable and take you under my guidance until the spell ends.”

Isabella thought of this, the consideration of the secret knowledge and invulnerability. It was a proposition that could not be denied and so she spoke, “Agreed.” As Hekate’s presence left the high school bathroom, a group of female students entered.

Isabella went back to the classroom and wrote on a piece of paper, handing it to Callum in response to his offer. It read, ‘Not in your life pal.’

II.

Isabella left the school due to her mother finding a job overseas. And Callum was left instilled with a desire for the ever elusive Isabella. Have you ever had an itch that you can’t scratch? Because it lies just beyond your reach. But that spot, just beyond your reach, keeps on nagging at your mind… Aching and swelling in a place just beyond your reach. That’s the sort of feeling Callum was left with. Desire burning ever so brightly, so fiercely. He attempted to stay in touch with Isabella, but soon enough she had changed her email so that he could not reach her. He yearned to hear her voice again, to see her face, but all he was left with were school snapshots of the class. He would stare at them for hours and his heart would swell.

Soon, this level of infatuation became a problem for Callum. He would ignore the affections of others who sought to win over his heart. He would daydream endlessly about Isabella… Just to see her face once more. To be brought into contact with what he viewed as a divine presence. Because his infatuation was interrupting his studies, Callum’s parents enlisted him into the services of a counselor. The counselor stated that, “Sometimes, in life, this happens. We just have to do our best to cope with our emotions and carry on with our lives. I can’t deny what you’re feeling, but if those feelings aren’t returned, we just have to move on and focus our attentions elsewhere.”

The little pep talk from the counselling services didn’t assist much. He was under a spell and as time passed, his feelings became more intense. A year passed and although he couldn’t remember the girl properly, he was still infatuated with her. He had built up this complex fantasy around her. An entire intricate and elaborate world where she served as a Goddess that dictated her own form of reason and logic. It twisted in his mind and brought about feelings that seethed and hissed, torturing his soul. It was like a fiery whip always bringing in waves of scorn to those around him that made his behaviour intolerable and irrational.

He developed drug and alcohol habits. Starting off by smoking marijuana and punishing his mind with copious amounts of alcohol. It was the only time where he could rest his weary heart, when he was passed out unconscious from the different things that he had taken. Callum was often found passed out in a pool of his own vomit, after having drunk too much. Or he was greened out, laying in a bliss haze of marijuana smoke. Sometimes he would even lose control of his bladder and a wet patch would develop around his crotch area when he had passed out. It was a beautiful sight to behold. One of grotesque proportions that brought about feelings of concern from Callum’s immediate family. But whatever intervention that they would attempt to impose, they weren’t able to have any effect.

Soon Callum was placed into the care of a psychiatric ward. The drugs that he had taken over the years had done some form of permanent damage to his brain. The hospital staff conducted a CAT scan upon his person and it was revealed that he was left with a chemical imbalance. He was dosed up with olanzapine and Valium, a cocktail mix of different sedatives that ensured he remained calm and docile. As he sat in a one seater couch, he would be interviewed by different hospital staff to allocate the source of his pain. He would dribble through the meetings, a string of saliva collecting from his mouth to his chin. He would complain irrefutably about the great pain that the separation from his beloved’s presence. The psychiatric staff would interview him, “Yes. Yes. We understand that there is pain. What is the source of this pain?”

“Isa… Isa… Isabella …” He managed to dribble out.

The hospital staff understood that he was infatuated with a young woman by that name. But there was very little that they could do to soothe the situation. There were several suicide attempts. The first came when he had day leave from the hospital. His parents had taken him out to a local café to have a coffee. As he sat there chain smoking cigarettes and taking sips of his latte in between puffs of his cigarette. His parents attempted to soothe him with talk of upcoming movies. Ones that he would enjoy. “The new X-Men movies are casting Hugh Jackman as Wolverine.”

Callum’s cigarette burned to produce a sizeable amount of ash on his cigarette, “Yeah, well I don’t give a fark about Hugh Jackman or the X-Men films. And you know why?”

“Why?” They asked hesitantly.

“Because it’s all farked. Hugh Jackman… Celebrity culture… It’s all farked. Hugh Jackman can smoke cigarettes out of his arsehole for all I care.”

Shortly after that Callum ran out onto the road and hurled himself at traffic, hoping to be hit by a passing car. The incident caused a traffic accident and traffic congestion a kilometre long. His parents didn’t know how to explain the incident to authorities and shortly after that, his leave entitlements from the hospital were soon revoked.

He was entrapped within the hospital’s walls, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Put under section twelve of the mental health act. He was allowed internet privileges in which he communicated with the outside world. He used it to communicate with old friends from high school and the like. Those who knew him best and witnessed his gradual decline into insanity and obsession. They had seen it all: the self-inflicted punishment through drug abuse; the imbecilic drunken rants of devotion to his beloved Isabella; and the lack of will to take proper care of himself.

Sometimes they would visit him within the hospital walls. They would always leave those visits disturbed and disgruntled with the world. Seeing someone like this, anyone like this, was no easy thing to bare. Especially if you cared about the person.

Then came the emergence of social media. Particularly that of the Myspace phenomenon. Confined within the containments of the psychiatric ward, he created a profile. Carefully selecting images that presented himself as your normal, everyday, non-confined, non-imprisoned citizen. Then the search began. Sorting through the mass of women named Isabella, he came to find her. And what a sight she was. Cheerfully happy, non-distressed and illuminating the picture frame in perfect composition. His heart felt a slight gust of wind, as if taken into his previous constructed imaginings of a perfect reality. And with a smile and a click of a button, he attempted to reach out towards her. Through the diametric and cybernetics of cyberspace. A simple message of greeting was how it started. Asking if she remembered him.

And for that she responded, ‘Sure, I remember you.’

III.

Seven years had passed since Isabella had left the high school. Did she remember Callum? Did she remember him? The boy had acted as the catalyst for the major shift in her life where she had begun receiving the guidance of the Goddess Hekate. Not something one easily forgets.

Over the years she had forgotten him. All of the pain that he must have been going through via his root cause of desire. The spell that she had put him under. She had learnt much over that period of time. Taken on many a lover and undergone her own struggles and journey. She had buried herself in the texts regarding tarot and astrology. Became a master deckhand at the dealing of the tarot. A master of Waite’s deck and also Crowley’s Thoth deck.

And this was only the beginnings of her teachings. Through the instruction of Hekate she had come into knowledge of the war between the different Gods and Goddesses. Now the ancient wars, these were steeped in ancient mythology and recorded the world over. But the wars that had presented themselves over times concurrently. These were things that only the initiated possessed knowledge of.

Throughout history there had been the wars recorded down in the textbooks of history. But beneath them there were feuds and religious rites taking place behind the scenes. Hermes Trismegistus had first proposed the concept that all acts within the Earthly planes were direct reflections of the Heavens above. The Second World War was a period of great upheaval in the context of history. Alesteir Crowley documented such inner workings of occult societies and lodges through his novel ‘Moonchild’. Nazism was deeply rooted in the occult and with its alternate force of the Golden Dawn. It’s difficult to understand the complexities of what transpired at that period of time. But she had learnt… Or had begun to learn.

She had found herself as a foot soldier under the guise of Hekate. Learning ritual and sacrifice. That everything that is given by the heavens, must be paid with by a price. The world of spirituality dealt in a world where finances were nothing. The only gains to be had were via blood, sweat and tears. And over the years she had paid for her gifts dearly. Callum was just the initial piece. The primary token by which she paid her way, for the Goddess Hekate to consider her proposal seriously.

And now here he was. Messaging her in the new age of digital media. She had liked the boy, but not that much. She attempted to explain to her current partner the circumstances of his contact, omitting the details of her witchcraft practices.

It became a difficult thing to explain as messages were sent back and forth between the two. He was messaging her details of his sordid longing. The pain that he had undergone over the past seven years and the anticipation over meeting up.

“What is he? An artist? If he’s an artist then I get it. They have muses all the time. Somebody to inspire their art and as far as these things go you’re pretty awesome and deserve the attention.”

“No…”

“Then what the hell is he? Is he a stalker? I’ll bloody well beat the shit out of him if he is.”

She remembered the ritual, how she had cursed this boy so long ago. She couldn’t help shake the feelings of guilt and remorse. It was a complicated situation. On one hand, she despised reading the messages that he was sending her. They were just so… Just so… Pitiful. In many ways she had a kind heart. More kind than your average person. She cared a lot… It was just that these things were now affecting her own life. Creating a terrible mess of her relationships and as much as she attempted to deny it. She had feelings for the boy. She had long ago shaken away any initial romantic feelings. If there were any in the first place. But she had a greater love for humanity. It was difficult for her to find any feelings of malice for anyone really. She had a deep respect for nature and acknowledged that all living creatures, great or small, played their part in the divine matrix of the cosmic celestials. Like a wounded animal that shows up on your doorstep, there was a nurturing side to her that desired to enable that care. But she had long ago learnt that you don’t take in stray animals that you don’t plan on feeding. She quite simply had moved on, long ago.

“If he’s an artist then they’re just weird. They all have this messed up shit going on in their lives relentlessly. Don’t worry about it. He’ll move on. Find some other leg to hump.”

“What the fuck does it matter if he’s an artist or not?”

“They’re emotional creatures is all I’m saying.”

Isabella sent Callum a message, for him to move on and stop wasting his life on something that was never going to happen.

Years passed and things came to pass. However, it seemed that Callum was still stuck. Instituted into the mental health system, bound and incarcerated. His only means of contact with the outside world as far as she could see was through social media and his virtual existence. She continued living her life. Relationships came and went. She travelled the world and learnt more and more of the occult world that existed behind the inner workings of everything.

Then Callum sent her another message, this time it read, ‘I’m trying my best to stay away from you. Trying to train my mind not to think about you. But I can’t do it. It’s painful. It hurts so much.’

This time Isabella found herself in another relationship, a more serious one and her partner was seriously losing his shit, “Who the fuck is this guy!? Who the fuck does he think he is!? He can’t just keep on doing that to you!”

Isabella attempted to calm him, “Look… He has mental health problems. He’s delusional, he’s done a lot of drugs and now he’s all fucked up.”

“I don’t give a fuck! He has to learn to respect other people’s lives. It’s not your fault that he’s some fucked up loser.”

The messages became that much more sinister. Every time that Callum messaged Isabella, there was a twisting of Callum’s soul. One that eventually turned into bitter hatred and flowed with malice. And that was all that Isabella could take. She messaged to him one last time with some hidden threat of taking action, ‘Let me be clear. In case I wasn’t before. Fuck off and don’t message me again.’ And that was it. However much Callum was suffering in some undisclosed part of the world. He didn’t message her.

She didn’t think about Callum for quite some time. Her relationship flourished now that it was free of any ties to the past. As did her teachings and wisdom. But at the back of her mind lay her beginnings. She was now a fully fledged witch. A divine acolyte of the Goddess Hekate and she had her questions. Questions about her past.

She prepared her altar with the usual preparations. She burnt sage in preparation for the ritual and took her seat before the altar, conducting herself in the lotus pose. “Quiet is the night. Dark is the moon. I ask Hekate, the Crone. To take her throne.” Outside it rained. The pelting of the rain washed up against the window panes and lightning cracked in the night sky.

A voice entered her mind, a voice familiar to her over her many years of practice, “Ah… Isabella. Sister, what is it that you wish to know?”

“I have learnt much from you, dear Goddess. More than one could ever wish to know in a single lifetime. But I have questions.”

“Questions?”

“Of Callum and our original arrangement. Does he still suffer?”

“Very much so…” The Goddess answered, “He is almost on the edge now.”

“The edge?” Isabella asked, she had always hoped that he could move on, despite the bindings of the magick she had used to entrap him.

“The edge of the abyss. Staring into hollow nothingness. Without hope and inflamed by desire. It burns upon his soul. You would not recognize him anymore. He has become despondent.”

“I wish there was another way… I did not want this.”

“But there is: a kiss.”

“A kiss and then I am released from your guidance, a kiss and then I am rendered vulnerable.”

“Ah, yes. It is these ones that we wish to discuss. The ones in your life that you pass over. The ones that you leave to pursue your own path. For reasons you alone know, you pass over their affections and move on to something else.”

“Yes, what’s with that?” The thoughts of Callum made her feel like she was still in high school for a moment. She quickly regained her senses, “What role do they have to play within the journey of my life?”

“They are your drive, your motivation. They empower you.”

“How so?”

“You do one of two things. To accept or deny their love. To accept is one thing. To deny is another entirely. When you deny someone, they are left to their own devices. Whether it becomes an act of obsession or an act where they decide to work on themselves, it all acts to spur you forward and motivate you. Obsession will just as surely motivate you as anything else will. To put yourself into question, ‘Am I worthy of such infatuation? Such desire?’ And for that you will attempt to mould yourself to the point where you feel comfortable. And if they build on themselves, work on themselves, then that will be further cause to empower and motivate you.”

“Like you taught. Everything is connected. Everything has its role to play in the great pathways of our destiny. Am I worthy of such obsession?” Isabella looked on to the altar with a tear in her eye.

“Some people are just overly expressive with their words. And their actions. Some people will pour themselves into their work and they will find a happiness of their own.”

“I see and Callum, what happiness did he find?”

“Back to the boy. Tell me what happiness would you find with him? A momentary embrace of the flesh and then what? Children… grandchildren? Fucking away your lives together in ecstasy until your flesh becomes haggard and old. Until your bones ache and you come to the realization that all you are is flesh. Until you become so decrepit in your desires that it knows no bounds. That your teeth rot away and they cart you off to some retirement village where you await death to come and take you away. And what will you present to the Gods upon entering their domain? An empty desire to return to the flesh once more so you can fuck away your existence.”

“There was always that choice, I suppose…”

“Isabella, dear sister. You would never have taken that choice. What would mindless obsession and being a slave to desire serve you? You have always been a dedicated and observant woman. You are bound by flesh, but of the spirit. You see through such charades as mindless flattery… Hardly worth the salt of a tear.”

“That choice was mine.”

“Not any longer dear sister. The boy died a year ago. Burnt up in fiery desire. He carved the name ‘Isabella’ into his forearm as he did so. He’s gone.”

“He’s gone? Then the promise I made to you, our agreement?”

“It still holds. Forever more. Until time comes to an end and the faintest star relinquishes all of its light. We are bound together. I will be your haven from men, I will shelter you when times are rough, I will give you work to unravel your soul. Until you are a wizened old hag. Bound by flesh, but of the spirit.” At Hekate’s final proclamation, lightning cracked in the sky.

------------------------------------------------------------

www.madbastard.net

submitted by /u/Tschampion [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2CLKFNZ

#Blogger #Story

0 notes