#⌜ ･ﾟ ➤ ･ * you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world ― biography. ⌟ / barton.
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⌜ DIEGO LUNA, CIS MALE, HE / HIM | the war by syml, melancholic, the jester ⌟ ⏤ blink and you’ll miss CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON, the hero for hire that goes by HAWKEYE ! last i heard, they’d settled down and had children with BARBARA MORSE, though apparently they’ve SEPARATED. they’re a professor of ARCHERY & GYM at paragon academy in addition to being a SHIELD AGENT ASSIGNED TO CAMPUS, and i’ve always found them to be pretty INNOVATIVE & BENIGNANT, though i’ve heard that they can also be really UNDEPENDABLE & OBSTINATE. do you think they’ll give me an autograph? you can check out his stat page HERE and his pinterest board HERE.
CONGRATULATIONS,
on the mess you’ve made of things.
SECTION ONE OF THREE : BULLET POINT HISTORY. trigger warnings for talk of child abuse and death.
clinton francis “clint” barton was born on june 18th, 1974, in waverly, iowa. his mother was edith, and his supposed father was harold - an abusive, alcoholic butcher shop owner who always kinda knew that clint wasn’t his kid, and let his feelings about that out with his fists. his older ( half ) brother was charles bernard - also known as “barney” - and over his early years, he would become the most important figure in clint’s life. as mentioned, harold was wildly abusive ; both to his wife, and to his sons. clint hated him, and he hated his mother - a weak willed woman who even now he harbors some degree of contempt for, left over from a childhood of her turning the other way and allowing harold do what he did.
he suffered through a lot, in a very short amount of time, and hospital visits were numerous for the youngest barton - coming to a head when one night, his father’s attack on him left him partially deaf in one ear. he didn’t want to invest in helping clint, so barney took it upon himself to not just teach clint some asl, but also to teach him how to protect himself. in his words, teaching clint to think of everything like a weapon - something to hit harold with, when he came knocking. the boys would hide out for hours at a time on the roof of their home or in the barn, and as both got older, tried to go toe to toe with harold on more than one occassion. things would have gotten worse for them, if it hadn’t been for the accident.
harold crashed the family car into a tree on his way home one night. edith was in the passenger seat. the two of them died instantly, and clint and barney were shuttled off fairly quick to a foster home. and then another. and then another. you get the picture. if they weren’t sent away because of being generally unruly, the boys found a way to run. eventually, that led to them running into a literal circus, which they proceeded to join, seeking out the family that they had never really have.
clint was obsessed with it all - the glitz and the glam isn’t exactly the right turn of phrase, but he lived for the adrenaline rush. he was a talented gymnast, and he eventually came under the wing of the original swordsman and trick shot, who built on barney’s earlier lessons of self defense, but honed his skill with weapons. he was good with a sword. he was better with a bow. and when barney tried to sway clint into caring about his future - into doing his GED, like him - they would argue. their relationship, deteriorating a little more each time.
eventually, clint discovered that the swordsman was embezzling money - and his moral compass, though dusty, kicked in. he would’ve turned him over to the police, had it not been for him proceeding to get the shit kicked out of him, and barney choosing to turn his back on him once and for all. barney joined the army and left - and after witnessing heroes on the news, clint decided that maybe he could use his talent ( at this point being a star attraction at the circus ) for good. he donned a costume, he went out making an attempt to fight crime - and the local authorities confused him with an actual thief, which only led to him deciding that if that was what people were going to view him as, he might as well be one. the black widow - natasha romanoff - enlisted him as a partner, and the two clashed with the betterknown costumed heroes on multiple occasions.
soon enough, clint got tired of that life, and he approached the avengers with a proposition. he would use his talents for them, instead, and... feel better about himself in the process? unclear. tony stark vouched for him, he joined a team with steve rogers & wanda and pietro maximoff, and though they were thought of as being lesser than the original avengers team... they all, clint included, proved themselves.
he fought with steve, resenting that he was leader and clint was not - but over time, learned to respect him. he operated as goliath, he left the avengers a couple times, he did a bunch of stuff and saved the world tons, and then on one such leave of absence where he became the security chief for cross technological enterprises, he was kidnapped ( alongside bobbi morse ) by crossfire as part of a master plan to kill the avengers ( first by killing him, and then by killing the rest when they showed up for his funeral ). the plan was to use hypnotic ultrasounds to force the two of them to kill one another, but clint stuffed a sonic arrow of his own creation into his mouth in a brief moment of lucidity and managed to disrupt the ultrasounds by deafening himself even more - allowing him to knock bobbi out and defeat crossfire, once and for all. this was a pivotal point in his life, not just because of being rendered 80% deaf and being forced to readjust his life to this. he also fell for bobbi, who felt responsible for what had happened to him and wanted to try and help. they met, they loved, they married within nine days - and their relationship, or lack thereof at times, has been continuous ever since.
he led the west coast avengers, he got stranded in ancient egypt, he fought his own brother who then died and cam back and died again ( and came back ), he and bobbi broke up, they got back together, it was revealed she was a skrull, the real bobbi apparently died, he took a break from being a hero to mourn, he rejoined the avengers, got killed by an exploding kree ship ( thanks wanda ), came back to life thanks to an altered universe, died again, came back again ( thanks wanda ), operated as ronin for a time after the apparent assination of captain america, found bobbi safe and well ( ok, after a whole big skrull thing ), learned that his beloved ( ex ) wife had wanted to divorce him before she had gotten replaced by a skrull, became leader of the new avengers, saved the world a bunch, made mistakes, joined a new team, started sharing the hawkeye monikor with kate bishop, almost went blind, joined the secret avengers, started to lead them, fought against the x-men due to the whole phoenix force / hope summers thing, sacrificed himself for scarlet witch so that phoenix powered emma frost wouldn't kill her, almost died, got healed, moved into an apartment in brooklyn with a brand new purpose in life and.. that's kind of, really, more where we sit. there was a bunch of other stuff ( like all the civil war business, etc ), but i like to kind of ... come at things from a point after matt fraction’s hawkeye, where clint took on russian thugs and ended up buying an apartment building. not in that exact order. also with more details thrown in.
SECTION TWO OF THREE : HEADCANONS. trigger warnings for talk of miscarriage, depression and ptsd.
currently, clint is still in his... rediscovering exactly what he wants to be stage of life, and working for shield as an agent assigned to campus works for him. he still considers himself an avenger, still works under his alias and is still, you know, doing what he’s gotta do - but he’s taking days as they come
he and bobbi have a nine year old son named lark sein morse, and he’s... pretty much clint’s whole reason to get up in the morning, though there is a feeling that he’s closer to his mother than he is, him. they ( clint and bobbi ) are not currently together, and haven’t really been so as long as lark has been alive - though they were on again, off again a lot over the years, and clint will always sort of class her as the love of his life... even if they aren’t married. bobbi suffered a miscarriage early on in the first version of their relationship to one another - lark is their rainbow baby.
he suffers from post traumatic stress disorder from his childhood, and from... a lot of the things that have happened to him, over the years. he’s also heavily depressed, and has only really recently begun to seek out the kind of help that he really needs ( the fact that shield offers free therapists to people working for them? a huge plus )
he has a dog named lucky who he absolutely ADORES, but who gets swiped semi regularly by kate.
he’s also... actually pretty well off, though you would NOT know that just from looking at him. clint owns his apartment building in brooklyn and has a lot of money saved up from over the years. he could live a high class life, if he so chose, but he prefers to live modestly.
SECTION THREE OF THREE : WANTED CONNECTIONS.
friends :(
also . believe it or not. clint has been... a huge ladies man for a very long time, so by all means - past flings, past serious relationships, the whole thing.
bobbi morse !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
also nat romanoff
his two kids. they’re between the ages of 17 - 26, and he doesn’t know about them, though it’s ENTIRELY possible that they know / have been told who he is / to them, and i am rly into the idea of getting to play it out.
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YEAR TWO OF BEING LATE TO KH OC WEEK!!! but I had the energy today and my internet is out so I can’t work (using my phone’s hotspot rn with my laptop) - might as well be productive. Plus I’ve loved all the stuff @khoc-week has been reblogging from artists and writers alike so I really just wanted to participate even though I said earlier I wasn’t going to this year.
Day 1 (August 2nd): Introductions – Whether you are returning or this is your first time, introduce us to the OC(s) you’ll be focusing on for the week! Show us a picture or a one shot that explains who they are. What do they like? Dislike? Give us the run down!
Last year I talked about Atlas, one of my (many) KHX OCs, this year I’m going to talk about Sid! One of my OCs from one of my original worlds. Him and Atlas are loosely (very loosely) connected, so I thought it would be a good idea.
His real name is Siegfried Jasper Gate - but he insists everyone call him Sid and will not be happy if you say his real name. He started out as my attempt to give KH their own ‘Cid’ character. Yes we have the Cid in Radiant Garden and I love that old man but I wanted one more connected to the overall KH plot. And then it spiraled out of control and I ended up making an entirely new wold so there’s that.
The left design is considered a ‘before’ look and the right ones are his current look. He was exiled from the main hub city of his world (both called Cindergate) with his two best friends (because trios), and end up living in the wild with his friends and a handful of other people who were also exiled from the city. He has a bit of an attitude problem, overall distrusting of strangers and can even be a bit of an ass - but he means well. He pushes himself to his limits to make sure those under his care are safe and sound - he gives up his own resources to those younger than him so they can be a little stronger and healthier, even if he becomes weaker. He’ll complain about anything except about the people around him, because they mean too much to him.
Under the cut is what I’ve written about his world and then a short biography that I’ve had written up for ages. Have fun.
the world trapped in a desert
The Basics
Cindergate is a city that has seemingly seen disasters, parts of the city are being rebuilt and other parts completely abandoned and falling apart. It’s cut off from the vast desert around it by a large, also crumbling, gate. The city has a mix of technology, though seems to shun anything too ‘high tech’.
The city has a population of tough individuals who know how to survive in harsh conditions. Most of the population in this world are human, with occasional animals who can also survive the harsh sun and heat. These people are ruled over by one family - who govern and help make and enforce laws. Because of this the head of the family is often referred to as ‘sheriff’. The family keeps laws strict in the town. There is one law in particular that the sheriff is always eager to punish those for breaking-
The Keyblade Wielder Ban
The people of Cindergate are aware of the keyblade, heartless, the worlds, etc - however they consider Keyblade wielders evil, no matter who they are or what their motivations may be. They believe that the wielders are dragging darkness into the world and are the reason so many heartless live in the desert that surrounds the city. The city has to constantly beat the heartless back, and are the reason why a good portion of the city has been abandoned or is always needing to be rebuilt.
It has been the tradition of the world for a while that if a wielder is found, they are to be branded as a traitor to the city - both metaphorically and literally. After a trial to determine if someone is a wielder or not - they are branded with a mark in the shape of a keyhole. Then they are dragged through the city and out to the gates that surround it. The wielders are then exiled, pushed out to the near lifeless desert. The people of the city will often attack them with weapons or throw objects at them to make sure they don’t try to run back into the city. They consider the wielders ‘sacrifices’ to the heartless to keep them at bay.
At times the heartless in the desert will get the better of the wielders with no training. Those who manage to survive their first day and night have the chance to come across a safehaven made by wielders in the reaches of the desert and on the edges of a canyon.
Landscape.
The city is the mix of a steampunk and wild west setting. There are some technology around the city but it’s big, clunky, and steam or coal powered. The part of the city that has been abandoned has a chance of heartless sneaking in, and so there are people here who patrol at night on occasion but besides that at times kids sneak into the area to play - but it’s strictly forbidden to do so and they will be punished if they do.
The desert surrounding the city is vast and nearly lifeless. Aside from the heartless, there are few plants and animals that live there.
Past the nearly lifeless desert is an area of plateaus and canyons. Within this area those who have been exiled from the city attempt to make a living. They find items that the people of cindergate ‘sacrifice’ to the heartless, (pieces of machinery, cloth, food, etc) and try to repurpose it for their own needs. There’s a bit more life in this area, but not much in terms of subsistence.
The Survivors
The wielders and those who were exiled with them (family members who hid them, other accomplices, and even people who were falsely convicted of being a wielder) have been managing to survive so far, though it’s a constant struggle. They’ve made houses out of spare pieces of wood, tarp, scrap metal, and hide themselves in as much shade as they possibly can.
Some practice with their keyblades in order to get a handle on their abilities and fight off heartless that come near the safe haven. Others completely shun the fact that they can use a keyblade and refuse to wield it. Those who are not wielders try to contribute by making food or volunteering for other odd jobs. There are also wielders dedicated to finding a way off world.
AND NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY -
Sid’s about:
Born to the ruling family of Cindergate, Sid had everything handed to him on a silver platter. And he hated it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strict rules of the town or the terrible court system. Any time he would try to speak up on this though was met with punishment from his parents. So he decided to bide his time, becoming their perfect ‘puppet’ so that he could become the leader one day and change things for the better.
While still considered a bit of a rebel, his parents at least ‘admired his change of heart’ and let him walk around Cindergate freely. While growing up he made two friends - a girl name Mari and a boy named Helio. The three of them were practically inseparable, they were some of the only ones that didn’t care who Sid was related to. He could be himself around them, and so he vowed to keep them safe most out of everyone in the town.
Mari revealed to the boys one day that she was a keyblade wielder - which was a terrible discovery. Keyblade Wielders were banned from Cindergate and it she was found to be a wielder she would be arrested, branded, and exiled to the harsh desert that surrounded the town. The desert that was filled with heartless. At the same time Helio revealed himself to be a wielder as well - having been one of the longest out of all of them, since he was a child. He knew better than anyone what would happen to wielders who got caught as his mother had been cast out when he was a child. Sid promised that he wouldn’t let them get caught and that he would lift the ban, they just needed to keep their keyblades hidden until he became the leader of the town.
This was easier said than done, especially since Sid would come to be a wielder as well. An old friend of his family invited Sid to his deathbed. This old man revealed how close Sid’s father and him used to be, and how they had a dream to make Cindergate a thriving place. But Sid’s father had done nothing more than oppress the people and make the ban more strict than it needed to be. So the old man had a solution - to pass on the power of the keyblade to Sid. He had kept it hidden all of his life, hoping that one day Sid’s father would change his mind on the ban - but he never did. In his last moments he forced Sid to take the power of the keyblade from him, saying it was Sid’s responsibility now, before passing.
Sid was terrified and furious with the power he had been given. Yes, he had been wanting to make CinderGate a better place for wielders and non wielders alike but - he didn’t want it to be like this. Still, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He told his friends of his new found gift and worked to become even more like the 'perfect’ leader his parents wanted him to be, just so he could take over quicker and get the stupid ban taken down.
Not long after this, Helio and Mari were caught for being keyblade wielders. Sid stood up to his parents to try and get them to see reason. When they still wouldn’t listen he revealed himself as a wielder in front of the whole town - saying if they were going to throw out his friends they would have to throw out him as well.
And they did, but not before branding him as a traitor - literally. They burned the keyhole shaped brand onto the side of his face before exiling him,Helio, and Mari out of the town. The three ran until they couldn’t anymore, fought off heartless, then collapsed with laughter - surprised but grateful they were still alive.
A while longer of traveling lead them to a survivor camp. Other people like them who had been exiled from Cindergate. It wasn’t much, but it became home for the three wielders. Sid took it upon himself to improve the day to day lives of the survivors by building various machines and other contraptions to make life easier for them.But still, it wasn’t enough. Thanks to his parents hoard of keyblade wielder knowledge (because how else were they supposed to fight off such a 'threat’ without an entire library full of knowledge?), he knew of other worlds and he knew that the keyblade could get them there. He just wasn’t sure how to unlock the power. None of the survivors were masters by any means, some of them didn’t even have a keyblade - and were friends or family of wielders exiled or falsely accused and wanted nothing to do with the keyblade.
Sid, taking another burden onto his shoulders, did the only thing he could think he could accomplish - he made himself and his two friends keyblade armor. He hoped that with the armor they could brave the passages in between worlds and find a way to get all the survivors to a new home.
Images of where sid’s scar is, he uses the braids to cover it up as best he can.
#khoc week#khocweek2020#kingdom hearts oc#original character#kingdom hearts original character#kingdom hearts original world#kh original world#my art#Siegfried Jasper Gate
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I'm obsessed with your blog and your art! You're extremely talented! And I love your view on John and Paul because yessss 100000% they had lives outside of each other and other important relationships. That's one thing I find confusing about mclennon. But I still like parts of it. I'm not sure if it actually happened but I do think there was tension. Do you think there was a romantic tension or any opinions on it
Oh wow, I’m glad you like my blog and art!! Thank you so much I got a dumb grin on my face. And I didn’t think someone would come to ask me for my opinion on that stuff, haha 😅 but it’s really nice!
And I love your view on John and Paul because yessss 100000% they had lives outside of each other and other important relationships
I’m so glad someone shares my sort of feelings on this 😭💕💕
So in my view, I don’t know if there was romantic tension! I can see why people think so because sometimes they would say stuff like this:
“PAUL: It’s like, uh, “We have to get back.” “We’re on our way home.”
JOHN: Yeah.
PAUL: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing—
JOHN: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers.
PAUL: [reserved] Yeah. [pause]
JOHN: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two.
PAUL: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway.”
[From the Get Back sessions]
But honestly? I think there was brotherly love, some sort of obvious connection, but I don’t think they were in love in the romantic sense. I think they longed for each other in 1969/1970, but because they were friends for so long--and such close friends--who were going through a not-so-clean breakup. You’d want that relationship back in the way it used to be. There were only four people in the world who could really relate to The Beatle experience, and two who knew what it was like to be Lennon/McCartney, right? So it was losing a friend, an immensely valuable one, one they had for so long and were so familiar with. And they said stuff like that to express how they really understood each other (hard thing to express...) or to respond to how the media portrayed them. But you can understand your friends without being in a romantic relationship with them. It would be difficult or impossible to fully explain their relationship because we’re outsiders, but I wouldn’t jump to ‘they were lovers’. Being great friends is still a beautiful story, I appreciate that. Sometimes I think the word ‘friend’ doesn’t fully encapsulate their dynamic, but I still think ‘lovers’ is something completely different. But anyway, that’s just what I think personally. Impossible to tell anything for sure haha.
Tangent: I know some of y’all say the ship was possible because John was bi or at least bi-curious. And yeah I believe he was bisexual/fluid in his sexuality, but being bi doesn’t mean you’re in love with your friends haha. I have a close (same gender) friend who’s pan and people at school will be like “are you in a relationship?” even thought we’ve said no and it’s kinda uncomfortable. Possibility doesn’t mean it... happened. I don’t think it can be used as evidence for him and Paul in particular, or else you can say it about any man John knew... Also, I believe Yoko when she said John never really entered a relationship with a man as he never found the right one because John literally said that, albeit in a lighthearted manner. (Extra tangent: I saw someone write that John would’ve come out as bisexual but the in the 1970s they didn’t have the word for it/John wasn’t aware of bisexuality. Whoever you were, you kinda undermine the fact John definitely ran in the scene where bi and other sexual orientations were relatively out. Here he jokes about hoping his baby to be bisexual lol. Anyway...)
I think my main opinion on the McLennon ship is that it’s nearly all speculation and interpretation, so it’s hard to discuss it. And I think some of the people who say it’s true want it to be true more than they want the truth (whatever it is), so much so that they’ll look past things that contradict it or will stretch their interpretations so far as to make it look like they were in love in the romantic sense. Sometimes people will post pictures of them looking at each other out of context or something as ‘proof’ of McLennon but it honestly makes me think of it as a parody. And I can see why shippers like it--it would be a gorgeous story and they had a great dynamic!! But I really don’t feel comfortable with people who claim it was 100% true. Because Paul has denied it openly and very clearly multiple times before. And he would know, I think. Plus other’s who write about John’s heterosexuality (like Cynthia for example). But, John can’t really respond. It feels nearly disrespectful and presumptuous to say you know about the lives of these two people if you didn’t actually know them, y’know? Especially because that, in particular, is such a personal issue. Sensational, even. And it’s also something to insert into biographies and to claim and a way to sell copies--I’m not saying that every author who claims it is being disingenuous, but I question people like Goldman. Because some of the people who support it will bring up straight false information to back it up. My basic view is that it’s fine to ship it as long as you don’t try to say you are certain in its reality. I don’t think the information is known to be able to say it’s certain.
Also, another one of my opinions related to ‘McLennon’ is that some of the fandom share made up quotes or stories as ‘proof’ for it. Support your ship, sure, but separate fiction from reality! These are real people. For example, I’ve seen this one posted a few times:
“Cynthia Lennon is a goddess, you know. Paul is a god. Aren’t I lucky to have such a religion?”
X
Not necessarily McLennon, but John calls Paul his religion. This is from an alternate history book called Walkin' Blues-Beatles At The Crossroads: An Alternate History Of The Beatles Novel (Jackie Lane). I also posted this one and asked if anyone knew the source for it:
“One night he was so drunk that I had to drag him away from the pub and bring him in a park to vomit. When he finished, he was upset so we sat on a bench. Still drunk and hesitant, he pointed his finger at a star straight above our heads and he said: ‘That is the star my mother dedicated to me and it has always been mine. But from now on it will be yours too, if you want. Its name is Mary Julia and every time you will at it in any situation, any moment, you will know that I’m there near to you and laughing about how queer you are. I will always be there, I promise, I will look at you from Mary Julia. And even the contrary because it’s our star, just ours, a star that belongs to two idiots that strum and that every night lie on a bench full of alcohol.’ I was flabbergasted and together we started to laugh. Some years later I looked at that star and I cried for the whole night. His laugh near me wasn’t enough to make me stop. But I realised that he kept his promise and it was beautiful.” [-- Paul]
X
Some people told me they were pretty sure it was from a fanfiction. Y’all, I wrote fanfiction too. I wrote a epistolary-like piece of fiction once. If someone shared it as a real quote I’d be fucking mortified lol. (Also, when I posted it asking for a source some people in the tags were like “I don’t care if it’s fake that’s beautiful” and I’m like how do you not?? That blurs the line between reality and fantasy and that’s terrible because they were live people like you and me at a point...)
Uhm I think those are my takes. Thank you anon for the ask!! Sort of an excuse to share all my thoughts that I figured no one cared for 😂😂 And I get people will disagree and that’s okay!! If you think there was tension, etc I can see why! In the end there were only two people out there that can really answer that.
#mclennon#John Lennon#paul mccartney#the beatles#opinión#the beatles fandom#fandom#anon#asks#personal#love ya anon!!#i know some of my mutuals are into mclennon and i respect that to be clear!!#(but at the same time i respect paul's word when he says nah) but i respect everyone#all of you#and#!!!i think it's a cute idea!!! i wrote fanfic and drew fanart of them like its obvious the idea of it is romantic#but in my head i always saw it as just an idea#i think#peace and love
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THE MEDIUM
Name: Wu Xinyue
Age: 33
Pronouns: she/her
FC: Liu Qian Han
BIOGRAPHY
There was a time once, long ago perhaps, when it was quiet inside her head. A time when dead were dead and the living were living, and the lines between them did not blur. Her childhood was happy, but she was a quiet child, seeking company of those older than her, flocking to her parents and her grandparents, not quite enjoying befriending the children. In fact, while she was open hearted and lively, there was an aggressive side to her that often made others misunderstand her; especially those close in her age. But, she was all right with being alone, or being in company of her family - never once regretting her isolation from everyone else. The bonds she’s shared with her family could have been broken by one thing, and one thing alone, and it was at the beginning of her teenage years that she’d known loss, known death - and it brutalised her, hardened her. Gone was the silence in her head, gone was the lively and vivacious girl, and what became of her was a withdrawn, isolated shell of a person. It was not an easy transition, but death was never meant to be easy, not for the living. The more she struggled with reining in the voices, the more she lost control over it, over herself, and finding a way to vent it had not been easy. At first, she tried shutting them out, building a wall around her mind that no spirit could seep through; but, such defensive mechanisms scarred her more, paranoia and anguish being the price to pay for the moment of sanity - yet, it was in those moments, without the voices, that she had been the most insane - and after a while, she stopped resisting, and in return they stopped keeping her awake at night.
Leaving her hometown was a lot easier than she’d thought it would be - if only it was that easy to leave emotions and memories behind. But, the distance from her birthplace had seemed to have calmed the spirits in her head and once she’s finally put the beloved ones to rest, she’s decided to travel the world, maybe put her skills to good use. She was educated and intelligent, but she couldn’t really settle on a job - and then she heard about spiritism and the occult, and so she blindly stuck a finger on the map and decided to try her luck wherever it landed - in London. She thought that London would be different, but while it certainly wasn’t Beijing, or Istanbul, or Paris, it wasn’t what she’d expected of it to be. Everything she had known about the spirits had come from them, a knowledge coming from the primary source soon made her into something of a celebrity amongst the others who shared her… talents. She was not one of the Masters, wanting to stay away from the limelight, desiring to work alone rather than with others - for a while, they pestered her relentlessly to join them, but after they'd seen how she would not budge, they gave up. But, she was also not one of the Charlatans; she did not do what she did for fame or cheap scares - she did it because she could and because she was damn good at it.
Her prices were never steep, but her services were not cheap either - they were at the middle, ever changing, ever befitting her clientele. She didn’t care if the noblemen came to her house, or if the beggars asked for a fortune; she greeted them and sent them away in an equal manner. Her talents laid more with the dead, with mediumship and banishing of the spirits, but she keeps the true extent of her madness hidden - and so, she focuses more on tarot cards and runes, choosing to read fortunes rather than conjure the departed beloved. It has been five years since she’s come to London, but in all that time she’s always been polite and courteous, but never friendly - mysterious and withdrawn; not to nurture her image, but to shield her heart. Still, she is somewhat friendly with her regular customers, occasionally going as far as to invite them to stay for tea after a reading; but those offers are rare and far in between. She has always felt there was something strange going on with the town she’s settled in, something dark and sinister lurking beneath the surface - one look at the Tower told her everything she needed to know, and the anguish in her head had not left her for a week. Yes, the town was riddled with pain and death, but so was every other place on Earth. After all, it is wise to remember that not all of the departed ones move on - and not all of the spirits are benevolent.
THE GHOST
They always change. Traipsing around until she sends them away, sends them to cross over to another life, or sends them to Diyu where they belong, unworthy of living again until the filth in their soul is washed away. The current one, he helps - the face white as death, with a pale hair cut to his chin and a dark, black velvet attire that resembles a lot like those portraits of old kings, of a time long, long gone. He seems to be sailing from the 14th century, but he doesn’t seem to want to cross over - he doesn’t want to abandon her. We know each other, he whispers, and I am here to guide you, stay with you. And warn of the horrors that come knocking. He never calls her by her name, but nicknames her as the Necromancer - or simply calls her my Lady.
CONNECTIONS
THE FRAUD: It started as an annoyance, and truth be told she would’ve been more than happy if it stayed as an annoyance. She knows they are as false as it gets, the real Charlatan, but since they are younger than her, she’s… started to feel a little protective of them, sometimes taking on a role of an involuntary mentor, veiling it as a dare. They are young and wild, vivacious and proud, and often they remind her of her; of who she’d once been, before death claimed her. She has to admit that once annoyance turned to exasperation, she’s found that she rather enjoys their company. They are the one of the rare ones she ever truly bothers to invite for tea, or ever really bothers to ask if they’re doing okay.
THE WAIF: They’ve known each other for a short while, but she’s pretty fond of them. Perhaps, if she would let herself feel vulnerable, she’ll admit that she regards the other as something of a friend. With the darkness that settled over London, she is terribly worried about them, given how the victims were of the same profession. She often offers them to work with her, whether it is a measly task such as brewing a pot of tea, or helping her scrub wax off her table for an additional few coins - anything to make sure her friend remains safe, especially if she knows they would have to return to the brothel at night, when the hour is dark and the streets are overflowing with monsters - and monsters made of flesh and bone are worse than any ethereal spirit.
THE PEELER: He’s the newest acquaintance and his eagerness to advance is quite amusing to her. But, she sees the wariness in his eyes, sees the horror that marred his innocent soul and sees how the fear begins to eat at him. He was the one who found the most recent victim and she knows it was a sight that would never stop haunting him. She knows he’s visiting her for a routine check, the questions about whether or not she’s ever been in contact with a dubious person, but as of late his offer turned more tempting - and strange. She’s still uncertain whether to accept it or decline it, but she does like him well enough to attempt to help him - if only to soothe his fears.
THE WIDOW: They’ve known each other since her husband has died. The grieving widow held up a lot better than the society of London had liked, and so tales of her questionable morale and the alleged “poisoning” of her husband started to circulate. She rolls her eyes to the rumours, and she’s very impressed to see the widow feels exactly the same. They’ve struck a lazy, easy friendship that started with a séance and ended with a glass of gin and shared tales of life, happiness, woe and death; and in her, she’s found something of a kindred spirit.
THE MEDIUM IS PLAYED BY ADMIN EVA
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CONGRATULATIONS, JORDAN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GADRIEL.
Admin Rosey: Eeeeeee! Jordan you have no idea how much I’m bouncing off the walls because you brought us such an unparalleled Gadriel! I was hoping, with all my heart, that someone would dare to write a character that is full of such unfettered love, and you did it. All the more, you didn’t hold back with the adoration that seems to burrow itself into every single facet of the character. Your para sample was an absolute thrill to read and truly, I couldn’t have asked for someone more capable of delivering the Gadriel we all know and love. Thank you so much for this wonderful application - it had me grinning from ear to ear. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!
OUT OF CHARACTER
Alias | Jordan
Age | 23
Personal Pronouns | She/her
Activity Level | I’m not in school or working right now, so I do have quite a bit of free time on my hands. However, I still have real life stuff that crops up occasionally, and I’m currently looking for a job, so if/when?? (hopefully) that happens I’ll let you guys know! As it stands, I can on average devote a few hours each day to rp’ing, though that might vary depending on the day.
Timezone | EST
Triggers | REMOVED
How did you find the group? | I saw Rosey reblog the prerelease advertisement thing and the rest was history.
Current/Past RP Accounts | https://chandlerrosen.tumblr.com/
IN CHARACTER
Character | Gadriel
What drew you to this character? |
Though there were quite a number of characters I considered applying for at various stages, I kept coming back to Gadriel. Within her character is everything I’m familiar with, and yet nothing that I’ve written before. I study (or studied, technically) early modern literature and art history, with a focus on Catholic theology, so I was initially drawn to Gadriel’s background as a martyred saint. I love her grief, I love the way she grows from it while still carrying it with her. I love her fighting for compassion and pacifism, while still being shrouded by the monstrous aspect of her that has always lingered within. Her love is her driving force, and her vision all encompassing, and for the “greater good,” but she is still so selfish. More on this now!
What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |
i. beware of false prophets [. . .] ye shall know them by their fruits
The God she loved was not always a benevolent one, but she loved Him nonetheless, the words of the scripture a familiar glaze on her tongue, weaving its way through the air as it settles around her like a warm blanket. These were the words she lived by, and the words she, in another life, died by. But now these words, and the God who fomented them, are obsolete—ash and dust, they swirl around her still, only a faint echo of their former glory. Now, the residents (those who choose to partake in religion) worship the Hundred-Eyed God—instead of fire and brimstone, this new deity promised everlasting serenity. Gadriel, like most residents of Caelum, doesn’t worship the Hundred-Eyed God, but as God’s most devout and loving follower, she is faced with the difficult task of protecting ISOLDE, the All-Seeing Priestess of the faith. Despite her best efforts, Gadriel finds herself liking the mortal, and where once Gadriel would have seen an idolator, she now sees what could turn into a friend. The relationship, however, is tenuous, and Gadriel is very reluctant to let herself become attached to the girl—it didn’t end so well for the last worshipped figure in Gadriel’s life. But more than that, Isolde feels like a punishment, or rather, like she should be a punishment. Sure, it pains Gadriel to watch new rituals when the old ones sit in her bones and on her tongue, aching to be remembered and repeated, but otherwise, her task is, at times, an enjoyable one. So when will the other shoe drop? I’m very interested in seeing how this relationship will develop, and how ESTIENNE will fit into it. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill to protect ARAEL, presumably she would do the same for Isolde, if only out of obligation (though personal affection may one day be a reason as well). Whether it be Estienne or someone else, how will Gadriel, generally a pacifist, react if Isolde is threatened?
I also think it’s interesting to consider what would happen, not if Isolde is physically threatened, but if her status is somehow threatened, or if someone, say ORIAS or CASSIEL (though there are many others), challenges Isolde (an extension of the Hundred-Eyed God) as someone/something to be worshipped? Zealotry is comfortable for Gadriel, a familiar armor to lace over her chest as she draws her sword, but it has rusted and worn down, a passion without a purpose, without an outlet. I think Gadriel is far from becoming a zealot for the Hundred-Eyed God, and to be honest, I’m not sure it would ever actually happen. However, I can see this going two ways (not necessarily mutually exclusive, either):
Gadriel develops a love for Isolde similar to the love she felt for God; it would be different, no doubt, but I think part of Gadriel’s worship of God in her mortal life came from, faith yes, but also love and a desire to be loved. Her worship of God was not entirely unselfish, but fervently pious nevertheless. Could Gadriel ever get to the point where she would take up her sword for Isolde, not against imminent danger, but against idolatry? Maybe, maybe not, and if it did, it would be, as I said, much further down the line, and certainly not as strong as the zealotry she exhibited for God, but I do think it’s an important aspect of Gadriel that cannot just be shirked because her God is dead.
Regardless of Isolde and how Gadriel may feel about her, there is still a part of Gadriel, no matter how slowly waning it may be, that fought tooth and nail to worship her God, both as a human and angel. And now, with people cropping up, Orias, Cassiel, Michael, etc. who try to fill that void He left, to be worshipped in their own right, I’m interested in how Gadriel will react. Obviously, Gadriel is not omnipotent, and therefore doesn’t necessarily know the extent to which these various figures have designs on power, on reverence. But throughout the course of the roleplay, I think as their actions reflect their intentions, and as those intentions become clearer, the familiar feeling of zealotry will crop up again, burning inside Gadriel’s bosom as it once had. Perhaps something starts it, perhaps she will see the corruption of mortals, of her fellow angels, even, and she wants to stop it. It’s not something she could do alone, at least not successfully, and depending on where Gadriel is in her development, she might not even care at first. But I still think it would be interesting to explore, and which unlikely alliances she may form to quell the rising of a new, different, idol.
ii. should intermitted vengeance arm again / His red right hand to plague us?
For every cloud, there is a silver lining, and for every slain deity, a world to be made anew. I don’t think Gadriel has ever been motivated by power, and I don’t think she is now, either. I do think, however, that she believes in a very strong vision of the world, a vision she believed she shared with her God. Of course, without God, Gadriel now has the freedom to reshape her vision, and mold the world into, as the biography states, “her own vision of beauty.” But that which is beautiful, is also terrible, for beauty without power is vulnerability, a quality Gadriel has shedded like a skin too tight and too itchy to ever be comfortable again. There is an anger inside her, a feeling of righteousness against those she believes have acted unjustly. Namely, MICHAEL and CASSIEL. There are many people she blames for this war, for the death of her beloved God, and Michael’s name is at the top of the list. He clipped her wings, he punished her for her pride (for is hubris not the most base of the tragic flaws?), smearing her face in the dirt of her own folly by naming her the Virtue of Temperance, forcing her to protect a being instrumental to the worship of a new, unfamiliar religion. And still, Gadriel turns the other cheek. To wage outright war against Michael would be foolish, and though Gadriel is privy to foolishness (a lingering effect of her not-so-long-forgotten mortality), she isn’t that foolish. I think the dynamic between Gadriel and Michael is very interesting, and something I’d love to explore. As he hungers for more power, as Gadriel’s resentment of him festers, infecting her life’s blood with boiling wrath, when will Gadriel decide that enough is enough. And who will stand with her?
Now onto Cassiel. Cassiel’s betrayal of the Cherubim, of Gadriel and her own people (though really, with Gadriel’s part in the war against Michael, I think Gadriel would be put on trial regardless), is another interesting avenue to explore. I mentioned Cassiel above as being a sort of “False Prophet,” and in truth, I think she is the antithesis to Gadriel. Speaking of Cherubim, I think Gadriel and ZADKIEL would actually get along fairly well, as Gadriel is (or at least was) well-liked by her fellow angels, and liked them in return, and I think they have a similar philosophy and moral compass. Would Gadriel and Zadkiel, two angels affected by Cassiel’s actions, end up lighting the spark of retribution against Cassiel? Or will it divide them? Cassiel and Gadriel are two people driven by the notion of beauty, though their definitions couldn’t be further apart. While Cassiel’s vision is of herself, Gadriel sees an eternal peace, filial piety and the burning passion of people who join in communion as one (so really, the concept of the Hundred-Eyed God should be alluring to her, once Gadriel realizes that it aligns with her vision and she could wield it considering Isolde is her charge—I digress). Perhaps Gadriel goes against Cassiel, not necessarily for past indiscretions, but present grievances.
To create, you must destroy, and from the ashes of the old world will Gadriel’s vision of beauty rise, sheathed in gold with a purity so simple, it can only be considered divine.
iii. when is a monster not a monster?
The answer, of course, “when you love it.” Gadriel’s connections to Asmodeus, Arael, and Mammon are all thematically concerned with when Gadriel shows her monstrous side, if at all. With ARAEL, Gadriel’s monstrous side is not hidden, because with their level of intimacy, with its purity, Gadriel holds no secrets from Arael. It just rarely (if ever) rears its ugly head. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill for Arael, and I would like to put that to the test. I don’t know how, or when, but I want Gadriel to become a monster, all for the sake of Arael. She knows of Arael’s grief, but I’m wondering just how much Gadriel knows of Arael’s visits to ABBADON’S domain. If she doesn’t know, then perhaps Gadriel will feel betrayed. Of course, she wouldn’t take it out on Arael, there is very little Arael could do to warrant that sort of emotion from Gadriel, but I do think it would shift their relationship. If Gadriel does know, however, I wonder if Gadriel might try to take it upon herself to help Arael (if it’s unwanted, so much the better), because Gadriel is the picture of self-righteousness.
ASMODEUS is an interesting case with regard to Gadriel’s monstrous side. She hasn’t quite figured him out, she doesn’t know his sad past, but the glances they share, the stares that betray his longing for something else, someone else, intrigue her. And I think it makes Gadriel feel powerful, this unsaid tension between them, the notion that at any moment, it could all crumble and collapse, that he could, if she so chose. I think she wants to poke and prod at him, maybe from afar at first, and then toy with him, his vulnerability between her teeth, with only gravity (the gravity she is so adept at manipulating) to crush it, or release him from her grasp. Of course, Gadriel is not without compassion, and maybe once she knows Asmodeus’ story, she’ll feel differently. It all depends on what part of Asmodeus she chooses to see: the human, or the demon.
Gadriel’s most monstrous side, her most vindictive and self-righteous, self-satisfying, parts, are shown in her relationship with MAMMON. She spared them, not because she felt pity, not because she cared, or didn’t wish to shed blood, but to show them that she could. She held their life at the end of her blade and laughed when she removed it from his throat. Surely they still harbor bitter feelings towards her, feelings of hatred and resentment, even. In Emma’s app for Mammon, she mentions how she envisions them fighting, even to the death. I fully agree, and am looking forward to their confrontation a lot. Gadriel is, generally, soft, but I want to explore those parts of her that are more monster than divine, more human than angel.
Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.
IN DEPTH
Driving Character Motivation |
In Gadriel’s mortal life, her driving motivation was her love for God, and her desire to be loved by God. The picture of piety, Gadriel shirked near all else to proclaim her love for God, frustrated when others wouldn’t recognize His great power, his all-encompassing love. Even when she became an angel, she was still driven by this love, but now it was realized, it was reciprocated. And rather than have that be diminished upon conquest, it only grew stronger and more fervent.
Of course, after the war, after her wings were clipped, Gadriel turned into the dutiful angel, obeying Michael’s orders (much to her chagrin). Now she’s driven by her vision of beauty, of peace everlasting and passion overflowing. Love is still very much part of the equation, and the love she feels for Arael, for Isolde (maybe, eventually), also motivates her. But it’s her love for God, and for his vision, that stoke the fire of ambition in her loins. I think Gadriel is tired of constantly being taken for granted, being walked all over, and is using the new world as an opportunity to turn a page in her own life. To become all that she once sought to, to fulfill all righteousness on earth, and to spread her vision to all those who will listen.
Character Traits |
(passionate, loyal, empathetic)
(dogmatic, vengeful, obstinate)
In-Character Para Sample |
“Brothers, sisters, friends, lend me your ears,” she began, standing in front of her fellow angels, on trial for crimes committed against Michael, committed for God. “I stand on trial today, though I believe myself innocent of all crimes, guilty only of being consumed by love. Perhaps my love was misplaced, my loyalty misguided, but is that so unreasonable? Was that not God’s almighty power—to stir inside those who are lost the guidance to follow His will through His love?” She looked around, eyes imploring as she clutched her chest. The room was bright, the sun almost overbearing and artificial, devoid of everything Heaven held, a false divinity imbuing every corner and crevice. She had been here before. But rather than in a spotless room, she was surrounded by dust and the jeers of Romans who believed her guilty of the same crime she was accused of now: treason.
“You accuse me of treason,” she began again, and the lion’s roar in her ear was so loud, she felt as though it was standing across the room from her, not Michael, “but forgive me, I knew nothing else. If my actions offended, let us rectify the situation, together. Let us venture forth, hand in hand, brothers in arms, angels enshrouded in the divinity that is our right, into this new era. But let us not paint this era with more blood than has already been shed; for is that truly what you want your legacy to entail? Fire and brimstone—would you be any better than the God you have deposed?” She raised her eyebrow, scanning the eyes of the crowd as they shifted uncomfortably. An invisible string lifted Gadriel’s spine—perhaps it was her power of gravity, perhaps newfound confidence at the uncomfortability of the angels who wished her dead.
“And how, dear sister, could we trust you?” Michael asked, unmoved, the pinnacle of strength and composure.
“This is new territory for both of us, brother. This world has never known God’s absence—but together, and only together, could we bring it into a new Golden Age, an era of rebirth and plenty.” Everyone was silent, pondering her words. This silence was deafening, and the lion roared louder. Her heart began to race as she saw the saliva glint off the lion’s teeth, the blood staining its fur from the last human he shred.
“You seek to do better than God? Well do better. Ff His picture of compassion was imperfect, perfect it. His vision of mercy unfulfilled, fulfill it.” The words stung her tongue as she spoke them against her God, but perhaps she could give Michael and his legions the chance to be better, if that is what they truly sought. “Violence, retribution. This is not the way, and we both know it.”
Silence still more. Until finally, Michael made his decision.
“Very well, you have your amnesty. But Gadriel, this can not go unpunished.” He contemplated further, his hands steepled like a church she once worshipped at, before continuing, “your wings will be clipped, and we will watch you. Very closely.” He nodded, but she could tell this wasn’t his desired outcome.
“Thank you, Michael, for your compassion. You won’t regret it,” she said through gritted teeth, sharp as a lion’s, before she sheathed them. Not now. Not today. Today, she lived, and she will continue to do so, if only to continue God’s work. For so it become us to fulfill all righteousness.
Extras |
i. COMPANION: By her side, Gadriel’s companion is a LION. I’m hearkening back to the typological tradition of depicting a martyred saint with the instruments of their demise. St. Lawrence has his grill, St. Catherine of Alexandria her spiked wheel, and so Gadriel will have her lion.
ii. WINGS: Gadriel’s wings are clipped, but not torn from her back. Right now they don’t extend past her shoulder blades, but at once they were the most radiant, pure, white of the softest down. When they grow back, however, perhaps they will be muddled and murky.
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This Is Water: David Foster Wallace on Life
Revisiting the tragic literary hero’s only public insights on life.
On September 12, 2008, David Foster Wallace took his own life, becoming a kind of patron-saint of the “tortured genius” myth of creativity. Just three years prior to his suicide, he stepped onto the podium at Kenyon College and delivered one of the most timeless graduation speeches of all time — the only public talk he ever gave on his views of life. The speech, which includes a remark about suicide by firearms that came to be extensively discussed after Wallace’s own eventual suicide, was published as a slim book titled This Is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life (public library).
You can hear the original delivery in two parts here and here, along with the the most poignant passages.
On solipsism and compassion, and the choice to see the other:
“Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it’s so socially repulsive. But it’s pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute centre of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people’s thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.
Please don’t worry that I’m getting ready to lecture you about compassion or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of virtue. It’s a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default setting this way are often described as being ‘well-adjusted’, which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.”
On the double-edged sword of the intellect, which Einstein, Steve Jobs, and Anne Lamott have spoken to:
“It is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head (maybe happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about ‘the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.’
This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.
And I submit that this is what the real, no-bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out.”
On empathy and kindness, echoing Einstein:
“[P]lease don’t think that I’m giving you moral advice, or that I’m saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it. Because it’s hard. It takes will and effort, and if you are like me, some days you won’t be able to do it, or you just flat out won’t want to.
But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she’s not usually like this. Maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s also not impossible. It just depends what you want to consider. If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.”
On false ideals and real freedom, or what Paul Graham has called the trap of prestige:
“Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings.
They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.
And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.”
On what “education” really means and the art of being fully awake to the world:
“The real value of a real education [has] almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:
‘This is water.’
‘This is water.’
It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime.”
In the altogether excellent Magic Hours: Essays on Creators and Creation, Tom Bissell writes:
“The terrible master eventually defeated David Foster Wallace, which makes it easy to forget that none of the cloudlessly sane and true things he had to say about life in 2005 are any less sane or true today, however tragic the truth now seems. This Is Water does nothing to lessen the pain of Wallace’s defeat. What it does is remind us of his strength and goodness and decency — the parts of him the terrible master could never defeat, and never will.”
Complement with the newly released David Foster Wallace biography.
Source: Maria Popova, brainpickings.org (12th September 2012)
#quote#love#life#meaning#existential musings#all eternal things#love in a time of...#intelligence quotients#depth perception#critical thinking#being human#this is who we are#stands on its own#elisa english#elisaenglish
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The Virgin Mary
I was first inspired to write this biography by an issue of LIFE magazine that was completely about Mary. As I was reading I realized that despite being raised in a Christian household, as well as being surrounded by Serbian Orthodox and Catholic families for most of my young life-- the only thing I truly knew of Mary was that she was the virgin mother of Jesus. It’s important for me to note that although my family was full of devout Christians, I had spent all of my life rejecting it as a non-believer. I still stick to this thought process today.
I had learned later in my first semester of college of the symbolism and religious rites that surround her, but I still did not know anything of the Historical life around her. Was she real? What kind of life did she live? And who really was she? I wanted to know the truth vs myth of who Mary was.
“The young Jewish girl goes to the stone synagogue in Nazareth. She offers devotions in the small women’s section adjacent to the main prayer hall. In chorus with the other congregants, the girl recites Psalms and absorbs their lessons: ‘Abandon yourself to God.’
One extraordinary day she is visited by an angel who asks if she’ll play a part in the birth of God’s son. She answers yes. Perhaps a little more than 2,000 years ago, she makes her way with her husband Joseph, a carpenter, to a village called Bethlehem. Perhaps Bethlehem; some scholars posit Nazareth as more likely. In a stable, for the inn was filled, Mary and Joseph celebrate the birth of a son. They lay the infant in a feeding stall and name him Yeshua -- in Greek: Jesus. she raises Jesus to be a strong, brave young man. A leader of other men. That is the story of Miriam of Nazareth. And that is all we really know,”
But how did we get to this story? If as stated by Jarslov Peikan, we could copy on an eight by eleven sheet everything there is about Mary in the New Testament. Then why is Mary so popular through the ages? I think Mary is the perfect and most original examples of what happens when an idea evolves and grows from its original source.
Miriam of Nazareth: Miriam was born in a small village in Galilee. Known as Mary to the masses, her real name would have been Miriam or Maryamme-- one of the most common names of the day. As a young Jewish woman living in Palestine, she was a second class citizen. Not knowing how to read or write, she worked alongside her mother since she could walk. Basically, she was a poor woman and modern depictions of her are usually able to recognize that, But, the catholic church had a huge role in presenting us with images of a fair-skinned woman robed in blue silk. When she was a Mediterranean woman of low class who would have most definitely worn a simple wool or linen tunics and a shawl over her head.
The political environment of Mary’s life was a complicated one with constant Jewish oppression in the form of Roman legions. The end of the dictatorship of Herod the Great had made way for the Romans to storm into Galilee and squash Jewish revolts. Which I think is a perfect breeding ground for Jewish prophecy of a savior to form in. Josephus, a Jewish writer records that many cities were burned and people murdered by the Romans
Mary and Joseph: So, where does Joseph come into the life of Mary? The popular image of Mary we have come to know is that of a young woman in her early twenties birthing the savior. But, if we think realistically of the time period, she was probably only 12 or 13 years of age when betrothed to Joseph. Who would have been much older than she. However, Mary became pregnant before her marriage to Joseph. Let’s see how the Bible addresses this:
(NCV) Luke 1:26-38:
“God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin. She was engaged to marry a man named Joseph from the family of David. Her name was Mary. the angel came to her and said, ‘Greetings The Lord has blessed you and is with you.’ But Mary was very startled by what the angel said and wondered what this greeting might mean. The angel said to her ‘Don’t be afraid Mary; God has shown you his grace. Listen! You will become pregnant and give birth to a son, and you name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of King David, his ancestor. He will rule over the people of Jacob forever, and his kingdom will never end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘how will this happen since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to Mary, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will cover you. For this reason the baby will be Holy and will be the Son of God.’ Mary said, ‘ I am the servant of the Lord. Let this happen to me as you say.’ And the angel went away.”
For the millions of Christians, Catholics, and sub-sets of these practices, the Immaculate Conception is proven fact based on the actual fact the Bible records it as such. The apparently divine conceptions of Jesus Christ, is a miracle -- a simple and unquestionable matter of Faith. But the gospels tell us very little about Mary and the pregnancy itself. Nor does it cover the societal reaction of Mary exposing to her village, let alone her husband. When Joseph had found put, he would have most definitely thought of her as unfaithful. We do know that when Joseph found out, he had the idea to divorce her quietly, as not to expose her to shame and death from the village elders. But the Bible does state that an angel appeared to Joseph and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, Because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to name his Jesus, because he will save people from their sins.
Since most scholars today consider most of the Bible to be legend and mythology, it could be theorized that Mary, a young girl of no younger than 12 but no older than 16 had been raped by a stranger or Joseph himself. I believe it could be Joseph because I don’t know why he would have motivation to cover up another man’s rape child as the birth of the savior. I theorize essentially, that Mary and Joseph had premarital sex and Mary was impregnated. I will not determine that Joseph actually raped her as there was no such thing as statutory rape back then and they were already betrothed. I know that does not exclude it. But, given the context of the time, That is my estimate. No one will ever know what actually happened probably besides Mary herself.
But was the immaculate conception truly just a couples cover up? Maybe. We probably won't ever really know. I cannot prove or deny what is fundamentally the foundation of 2 major religions and its sub-branches. But, I as someone who believes in nothing, have a hard time thinking that this was simply a Hebrew God formulating the redemption of Man. However, the New Testament, and I suppose history; say that Joseph was a kind man, and did not give away Mary to the Elders or have her stoned for “adultery.” As far as how and exactly when the conception happened, that will continue to remain between Mary and Joseph... Or maybe Mary and herself. Even then, practically impossibly, it could be true that Mary gave birth to the Jewish Messiah.
Mary the Idea: It’s important to address the immaculate conception and life of Mary as the ultimate catalyst for what she would become. So how did Mary become the exalted Saint and Mother of All ideal to the populace?
When taking a look at Mary’s fame, it is not terribly difficult to see her evolution as the Virgin Mother of the Messiah to the Virgin Mother of all the Christian World. Though it is important to know that she is more popularly worshiped by catholic sects, Christianity also celebrated her above any other biblical figure, Save God/Jesus himself.
“Not everyone needs a brother or sister or savior, or accepts that a savior has arrived historically, or will do so one day. But everyone once had a mother.” Basically, even with all the majesty of the universe going on and changing around you, we all need a mother. Even though she is not the only saint to patron mothers, children, motherhood, and orphans-- she is regarded as the Mother of Mothers and Jesus/God is the King of Kings, Having a mother (with special circumstances aside) is the one most universal experiences of life. We all have one and we all want to love them and be loved in return. And Mary is clearly the finest and most ideal example of a mother in all of history. She is the mother of Jesus, How could she herself not be equally perfect?
But as we know, Mary as a mother is not really explored in the Bible. Basically through the centuries, as Christianity spread through European missionaries and expanded as an idea/religion, Mary expanded as well. If Christianity were not so against “false idols” I think she would be a Christian god in her own right. She was also a huge inspiration to poor people as an impoverished second class citizen becoming the “Queen of Heaven.”
Millions of people today and throughout history have turned to Mary for help, fortune, and love. She is the most named after woman in history and the most prayed to saint in all of Catholicism. Mary was a girl whose choices and circumstances made her into the most famous woman ever. Not all to her own credit as I hardly assume she could have predicted this, The spread of Christianity through colonialism was probably the biggest amplification of her life and story. Allowing her to become Mary, Mother of All.
#mary#the virgin mary#catholiscism#history#christianity#religion#jesus christ#the bible#catholic#christian#immaculate conception
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Doctor Who All-Consuming Fire Annotations; Prologue & Chapter One
Prologue
The Old Man, his granddaughter and the British Army officer are the First Doctor, Susan, Siger Holmes respectively. The Doctor and Susan originate from, whodda thunk it, Doctor Who while Siger Holmes is a direct lift from Baring-Gould’s Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street: A Life of the World's First Consulting Detective.
Lane takes a number of elements of Baring-Gould’s attempt at a biography for Holmes, including both Siger and the third older, older Holmes brother, Sherringford, who will appear later in the novel. Gould identifies Siger as the Holmes family patriarch and seemingly derived the name from the detective’s use of Sigerson as an alias in The Adventure of the Empty House.
The other figures present during the prologue are of course the Seventh Doctor, Ace and Bernice Summerfield following the events of the book. They primarily serve to add a few tantalising hints at what’s to come and help introduce Lane’s notion within the book that Holmes and Watson are false-names attributed to the duo by Doyle during the publication of Watson’s memoirs. An idea largely abandoned by the time they appear in Happy Endings.
With Barbara and Ian notably absent during this sequence, it could be taken that the events are pre-Unearthly Child. However, you could always assume that they are just around the corner and aren’t terribly interested in Siger’s tale. There’s a slightly indulgent vibe to the entire set-up, however, Siger’s knowledge of the temple ultimately plays a larger role within the novel and beyond that, there’s a nice atmospheric element to these figures existing on the periphery of the tale.
Chapter One
“thirty-five volumes of my diary” - Doyle wrote 60 Holmes stories between 1887 and 1927, however chronologically his adventures begin in 1881, All-Consuming Fire takes place in 1887, with The Final Problem occurring four years later in 1891. The later is foreshadowed throughout the book, and one of the short’s more notable figures will appear in a minor role later in the novel.
“I see the repulsive story of the red leech, the terrible death of Crosby the banker.”- Lane continues Doyle’s trend of hinting at untold Holmes stories within Watson’s diary. The line paraphrases a similar moment inThe Adventure of the Golden Prince-Nez. Numerous pastiches have attempted to document these cases to one degree or another, and Lane himself would subsequently use the red leech for his second Young Sherlock Holmes novel.
“The singular affair of the aluminium crutch and its connection with an attempt upon the life of our dear sovereign…” - Another untold tale, this time lifted from The Musgrave Ritual. Its role in an attempt on the life of Good Queen Vic is seemingly an addition by Lane, and I can’t help but see this as a reference to the Jackal’s use of an aluminium crutch during his attempted assassination of Charles de Gaulle during the final act of Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal.
“Following the tragic curtailment of my marriage to Constance Adams of California I was again living under the same roof as Holmes.” - The exact number and nature of Watson’s wives are a running joke/source of hilariously serious debate within Holmes Fandom. Born of a few off-hand mentions and Doyle clearly not giving a fuck, Watson seemingly goes through between two to seven marriages. Gould alleges Constance Adams was set to be Watson’s bride to be in Doyle’s unpublished play The Angels of Darkness, so this is a bit of a twofer reference. The failure of the marrage is a bit of a joke on this front.
“The cost, he claimed, was of no concern, for he had recently been generously remunerated by Lord Rotherfield for proving to the satisfaction of various Coury circulars and scandal sheets that Lady Rotherfield was not a female impersonator.” - Another Untold Tale, seemingly a Lane original this time and an unnecessarily unpleasant “joke.”
“Finally, completely restored to health and happiness, we returned to England on the Orient Express.” - While the Orient Express was a real long-distance passenger train, it’s hard to image Lane didn’t leap at the chance to have the two return to England via the service for obvious reasons.
“...Colonel Warburton and his charming wife Gloria.” - Presumably, the same Colonel Warburton whose supposed madness would come to the attention of Holmes via Watson. One of two such instances mentioned in The Engineers Thumb.
“..but only the Reverend Hawkins was present in the dining car. Baden-Powell, a self-proclaimed expert on butterflies whose tan and manner indicated military service, was absent.” - Hawkins is seemingly a Lane original, however his alias shares a surname with Doyle’s first wife. Baden-Powell is presumably Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout Movement and at the time of the novel Intelligence Officer within the British Army. Powell often travelled disguised as a butterfly collector and would use detailed drawings of butterfly wings as a means of hiding maps and other sensitive information. His presence during the sequence adds a touch of humour to Holmes’ complete failure to pick up on this while noting Hawkins own subterfuge.
“The man in the chair, swamped by his white robes, was the least impressive thing in the carriage.” - As we’ll soon learn, this apparently unimpressive figure is, in fact, Pope Leo XIII, who served as head of the Catholic Church between 1878 and 1903.
“I am Cardinal Ruffo-Scilla, and this,’ he gestured to his mirror image on the other side of the chair, ‘is Cardinal Tosca.” - Cardinal Tosca’s sudden death will latter be investigated by Holmes in yet another untold adventure mentioned in Black Peter. Notably, as with the events of All-Consuming Fire, this is at the behest of the Pope. Ruffo-Scilla is an odder figure, sharing the name with a real Cardinal. However, the Ruffo-Scilla died around three decades prior to the events of the novel. I’m tempted, primarily for fun anagram reasons, to view him as yet another Scaroth splinter particularly as it adds a few of extra layers of mirroring to the scene. Who and Holmes characters on either side of the Pope and all that shit.
“‘I remember Sherringford writing to tell me,’ he murmured, ‘ that one of our distant ancestors had been Commander in Chief of the Naval Forces of his Holiness the Pople. I had never credited the story until now.” - The first overt mention of Sherringford within the novel, this also takes another element from Gould in that the Holmes family are seemingly lapsed Catholics. Watson’s surprise at Holmes’ sudden, casual, revelations regarding his family recalls his shock upon first meeting Mycroft in The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter.
“Have you heard of the Library of Saint John the Beheaded?” - Recurrent minor Who fixture that first appears here, the Library holds a number of rare, banned texts. Lane would subsequently detail elements of it’s founding in Empire of Glass. Where rather fittingly, the Doctor’s alleged older sibling Irving Braxatiel played a role in its creation.
“One of the three unexpurgated versions of the Malleus Maleficarum is in the Library,” - The Hammer of Witches, Well known treatise on Witchcraft that encouraged the extermination of its practitioners. Written by discredited clergyman Henrich Kramer, lots of blatant insights into the mind of a murderous wanker.
“...along side shelves of books on the Chinese Si Fan society and its leader, Doctor Fu Manchu - a man whom we in the Vatican believe to be as huge a menace to civilization as you believe anarchism to be.” - Fu Manchu is the creation of Sax Rhomer, appearing in 12 novels between 1913 and 1948. Manchu is the archetypical yellow peril, inspiring countless equally racist figures including Who’s own Li H'sen Chang. An Anti-British figure, Manchu would battle cheap Holmes knock-off Dennis Nyland-Smith in an attempt to end British Imperialism. Rhomer was a joyless fuck, so this was treated as the Doctor’s greatest crime. Lane portrays the Si Fan as a largely unknown force during the late 18th century, and this fits quite well with the early 20th century setting of the Manchu novels.
“The Affair of the Politician, the Lighthouse, and the Trained Cormorant” - Title of an episode of The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes radio show, context would suggest Lane’s version is slightly more salacious.
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We’re heading into dark times. This is how to be your own light in the Age of Trump
~ Sarah Kendzior Flyover Country Former Correspondent
My fellow Americans, I have a favor to ask you.
Today is November 18, 2016. I want you to write about who you are, what you have experienced, and what you have endured.
Write down what you value; what standards you hold for yourself and for others. Write about your dreams for the future and your hopes for your children. Write about the struggle of your ancestors and how the hardship they overcame shaped the person you are today.
Write your biography, write down your memories. Because if you do not do it now, you may forget.
Write a list of things you would never do. Because it is possible that in the next year, you will do them.
Write a list of things you would never believe. Because it is possible that in the next year, you will either believe them or be forced to say you believe them.
A president-elect who wants to strip our country down for parts
It is increasingly clear, as Donald Trump appoints his cabinet of white supremacists and war-mongers, as hate crimes rise, as the institutionsthat are supposed to protect us cower, as international norms are shattered, that his ascendency to power is not normal.
This is an American authoritarian kleptocracy, backed by millionaire white nationalists both in the United States and abroad, meant to strip our country down for parts, often using ethnic violence to do so.
This is not a win for anyone except them. This is a moral loss and a dangerous threat for everyone in the United States, and by extension, everyone abroad.
I have been studying authoritarian states for over a decade, and I would never exaggerate the severity of this threat. Others who study or have lived in authoritarian states have come to the same conclusion as me.
And the plight is beyond party politics: it is not a matter of having a president-elect whom many dislike, but having a president-elect whose explicit goal is to destroy the nation.
None of us deserves what’s coming
I am writing this not for those who oppose him, but for those who support him, because Trump and his backers are going to hurt you too.
I live in Missouri, now a bright red state, alongside you. I have faced the same economic misery as you, struggling to stay afloat since the recession, which never ended though many falsely claimed it did. I have the same anxiety over crime and racial tension and corrupt leadership as you. I am an independent, not a Democrat or a Republican, because I am as disappointed in political parties as you.
I am writing down my own good memories, and some of them are with you. I have walked beside you in our state parks, along our flowing rivers, and in our cities and small towns. I have talked and laughed with you in St. Louis, in Cape Girardeau, in Hannibal, in the Ozarks, and in the devastated rural areas in between, while surrounded by your signs and hats proclaiming support for Donald Trump. You do not deserve what is going to happen to you, and I do not deserve what is going to happen to me, because there is absolutely no one in the world who deserves what may be coming.
He told us his plans all along, though most chose to downplay or deny them
You can look to the president-elect himself for a vision of what is to come. He has told you his plans all along, though most chose to downplay or deny them. You can even look back to before his candidacy, when in February 2014, he went on Fox News to defend Russia. Why a reality TV host was on Fox News defending Russia is its own story, but here is what he said
Listen to what Trump said already back in 2014. about his desired outcome for the United States:
“You know what solves it? When the economy crashes, when the country goes to total hell and everything is a disaster. Then you’ll have a [chuckles], you know, you’ll have riots to go back to where we used to be when we were great.”
This is what “Make America Great Again” means to Donald Trump. It is how he has operated his businesses, taking advantage of economic disasters like the housing market crash for personal gain. It is why, during a long and painful recession, he made “You’re fired” a national catchphrase, because he understands that sometimes it feels good to know that the person getting fired, for once, is not you. He said he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and people would still vote for him, and he said he could grab women “by the pussy” because “When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.”
The system is rigged in his favor
He is right about that last part. No one holds Trump accountable, because he is exactly what he claimed to be railing against: an elite billionaire with no concern for the average person, a kleptocrat who enjoys taunting people less powerful than him with threats. When you have that kind of money, which Trump was given in birth and further gained through fraud, there are few limitations to the ways you can hurt people.
He is right that the system is rigged: it is rigged in his favor. And now it is rigged against you, unless we find a way to stop it.
I have been to the Trump rallies, not as a journalist, but as an observer in the crowd. I talked with you and you told me your hopes for the country under him, how you felt you were watching history being made, how you thought he was going to stick it to those who have been screwing us. I know the loyalty he inspires. I know it is unearned, because he lied.
Trump’s vision for the United States is echoed in that of his chief strategist, Steve Bannon, a man who even the very right-wing Glenn Beck describes as a dangerous, sociopathic racist. In 2016, a reporter from the Daily Beast recalled this conversation with Bannon:
“I’m a Leninist,” Bannon proudly proclaimed.
Shocked, I asked him what he meant.
“Lenin,” he answered, “wanted to destroy the state, and that’s my goal too. I want to bring everything crashing down, and destroy all of today’s establishment.”
The days of free speech may soon end
This mirrors Trump’s own goals of destroying the United States, and it mirrors the intentions of dictators everywhere, who see people as objects to be manipulated and discarded, and not as real human beings. I have seen dictatorships firsthand in the former Soviet Union. I have friends who were imprisoned for expressing even the slightest criticism of the state, friends who had their businesses shaken down by the government and were left bankrupt, and friends whose family members were murdered by state security services.
I have worked, often unpaid, as an expert witness in political asylum cases for people from authoritarian states, because I will do anything to help people in this terrible position. The brutality they have endured, the fear of the state that prevents them from making independent choices, is something difficult for American minds to fathom.
The *8mainstream media has promoted him ceaselessly and are now rationalizing and normalizing Trump’s most extreme policies
**owned and operated by Sinclair Broadcasting
We are a deeply flawed nation, and those who are minorities or poor have faced state-sanctioned cruelty as well as limited opportunities. But it is simply not the same as authoritarianism.
Though our speech is often challenged, we can still speak. We can debate each other and come up with ways to improve our country. We can scream at each other and mock each other and tell each other our political choices are terrible. You will miss those days, they may end soon.
You may be wondering why I am writing a letter to Americans in a Dutch news outlet. It is because I do not trust the US outlets to remain free, and believe that many are already compromised. The mainstream media who Trump proclaims to hate are actually his best friend. They have been all along, promoting him ceaselessly, and they are now rationalizing and normalizing his most extreme policies. Trump tells you to boycott CNN, but CNN’s boss always had a framed Trump tweet on the wall.
For what it’s worth, Trump supporters, I have always supported your boycott of CNN. But this common ground is grim.
Preparing to live like a nation of dissidents
It is possible that I will end up living like the dissidents who I defended from foreign dictatorships for so long. I will talk in coded terms, as I have started to do already. Did you think it was a coincidence that I published an article about Elijah Lovejoy, a journalist who sought freedom for all and was killed by St. Louis mobs, right before the election? I will try to continue to publish in foreign outlets. I will rearrange my life so I can fight this fight, because I am fighting for my country, and I never give up on my country or on my countrymen.
But I need you to fight too, in the way that matters most, which is inside. Authoritarianism is not merely a matter of state control, it is something that eats away at who you are. It makes you afraid, and fear can make you cruel. It compels you to conform and to comply and accept things that you would never accept, to do things you never thought you would do.
You do it because everyone else is doing it, because the institutions you trust are doing it and telling you to do it, because you are afraid of what will happen if you do not do it, and because the voice in your head crying out that something is wrong grows fainter and fainter until it dies.
We are heading into dark times, and you need to be your own light. Do not accept brutality and cruelty as normal even if it is sanctioned
That voice is your conscience, your morals, your individuality. No one can take that from you unless you let them. They can take everything from you in material terms – your house, your job, your ability to speak and move freely. They cannot take away who you truly are. They can never truly know you, and that is your power.
But to protect and wield this power, you need to know yourself – right now, before their methods permeate, before you accept the obscene and unthinkable as normal.
My heart breaks for the United States of America. It breaks for those who think they are my enemies as much as it does for my friends. You still have your freedom, so use it. There are many groups organizing for both resistance and subsistence, but we are heading into dark times, and you need to be your own light. Do not accept brutality and cruelty as normal even if it is sanctioned. Protect the vulnerable and encourage the afraid. If you are brave, stand up for others. If you cannot be brave – and it is often hard to be brave – be kind.
But most of all, never lose sight of who you are and what you value. If you find yourself doing something that feels questionable or wrong a few months or years from now, find that essay you wrote on who you are and read it. Ask if that version of yourself would have done the same thing.
And if the answer is no? Don’t do it.
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SPOTTED! SONG SEBIN . 20.
Looks like they’ve been wandering around Hwaryung! You can find them living at HAI DORM RM #406 or if they’re not home they’re probably working at MARINA ZONE AS A MERCHANDISE ATTENDANT. Turns out they are also currently studying SOCIOLOGY at HWARYUNG ACADEMIC INSTITUTE. If you can’t find them offline, feel free to message them @binnie0298.
BIOGRAPHY
i.
song sebin’s story begins in ganggukdong, hwaryung. he’s born to the most gentle of parents who raise him with caring hands, loving eyes, soft voices—they raise him to be a lover, not a fighter, and he soaks in the mountain sunlight so much that it becomes a part of him. rumor has it that living in the mountains can heal one’s soul and sebin, although still a child, will easily agree; he’s never seen an ounce of anger or pain. not once has he experienced tragedy beyond a rainy day. his parents teach him that this is how life is—calm and flowing like a river, taking you wherever you want to go. they’re trying to instill a sense of hope and faith in their son by telling him this, but perhaps it’s the biggest mistake they make while raising him because not only are they giving him false expectations, but they’re setting him up for disappointment further down the road.
in the moment it feels right, though, and when his eyes twinkle with amazement, they can’t help but tell him more fairytales.
ii.
before anyone knows how much time is passing, sebin is a teenager. he’s tall, objectively handsome, smart. but he’s so terribly naive and everyone in the neighborhood knows that—the older women all murmur about how it’s such a pity that a boy with so much potential is so sheltered, but he doesn’t have a clue of the things said about him. he just smiles as he brings leftovers to his mother and father’s friends, throwing in compliments about homes, hair, dresses, shoes, anything to try and brighten someone’s day. that’s who he is, after all.
but it’s also as a teenager that he begins to see glimpses of reality: girls making other girls cry, boys tripping the introverted kids in the hallway, lunch money snatched from trembling hands… he never mentions it. in fact, he tries to ignore it because it defies everything that he had known about the world before. after all, everyone’s supposed to be NICE to each other, right?
maybe he’s just reading too much in to the things he sees.
iii.
after high school, he waits a year before attending university—he wants to save up a little money first, and that’s precisely what he does. he makes a temporary move to live with his aunt in simsaengdong and he gets a job at marina zone as a merchandise attendant. it’s fun for him because not only does he get to mess around with the little novelty gifts in the shop, but he gets to interact with so many people daily; he enjoys his job and when annoyed parents try to use sarcasm with him, he acts like he doesn’t get it. sometimes, he really doesn’t. he just keeps smiling, as he always has before: it’s a wonder that that smile of his isn’t a permanent part of his face by now.
iv.
in 2018, he’s accepted into hwaryung academic institute as a sociology student. he moves in to the hai dormitory and as a result, he’s further away from marina zone, but he can’t quit his job. he needs the money. so he travels back and forth, as tiring as it, and he finds a way to make it work.
he’s still as bright as ever on the outside, but the longer he spends in the real world, he’s slowly beginning to realize that nothing is as easy and perfect as his parents told him it would be.
PERSONALITY
( + ) outgoing, helpful, quick-witted
( - ) naive, forgetful, clumsy
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⧼ diego luna, cis male, he & him / the war by syml + the beep of a coffee pot set to start at six am ( and the bitter taste of cold coffee poured hours later ). the feeling that blooms in your chest when you call your dogs name and hear the pitter patter of their four huge paws on hardwood floors, coming to greet you. bandaids and bandages and the fading greens of the deep bruises peeking past them, just now beginning to heal. ⧽ ━━ let me tell you a thing or two about CLINTON FRANCIS “CLINT” BARTON. the hero for hire that goes by HAWKEYE is a professor of ARCHERY & GYM at paragon academy, and has sometimes been referred to as THE JESTER. they’ve always seemed very INNOVATIVE & BENIGNANT, though i’ve heard they can be pretty UNDEPENDABLE & OBSTINATE, too. they’re probably here to keep an eye on the kid they had with BARBARA MORSE. do you think if i ask real nice, they’ll give me an autograph? you can check out his stat page HERE and his pinterest board HERE.
CONGRATULATIONS,
on the mess you’ve made of things.
SECTION ONE OF THREE : BULLET POINT HISTORY. trigger warnings for talk of child abuse and death.
clinton francis “clint” barton was born on june 18th, 1974, in waverly, iowa. his mother was edith, and his supposed father was harold - an abusive, alcoholic butcher shop owner who always kinda knew that clint wasn’t his kid, and let his feelings about that out with his fists. his older ( half ) brother was charles bernard - also known as “barney” - and over his early years, he would become the most important figure in clint’s life. as mentioned, harold was wildly abusive ; both to his wife, and to his sons. clint hated him, and he hated his mother - a weak willed woman who even now he harbors some degree of contempt for, left over from a childhood of her turning the other way and allowing harold do what he did.
he suffered through a lot, in a very short amount of time, and hospital visits were numerous for the youngest barton - coming to a head when one night, his father’s attack on him left him partially deaf in one ear. he didn’t want to invest in helping clint, so barney took it upon himself to not just teach clint some asl, but also to teach him how to protect himself. in his words, teaching clint to think of everything like a weapon - something to hit harold with, when he came knocking. the boys would hide out for hours at a time on the roof of their home or in the barn, and as both got older, tried to go toe to toe with harold on more than one occassion. things would have gotten worse for them, if it hadn’t been for the accident.
harold crashed the family car into a tree on his way home one night. edith was in the passenger seat. the two of them died instantly, and clint and barney were shuttled off fairly quick to a foster home. and then another. and then another. you get the picture. if they weren’t sent away because of being generally unruly, the boys found a way to run. eventually, that led to them running into a literal circus, which they proceeded to join, seeking out the family that they had never really have.
clint was obsessed with it all - the glitz and the glam isn’t exactly the right turn of phrase, but he lived for the adrenaline rush. he was a talented gymnast, and he eventually came under the wing of the original swordsman and trick shot, who built on barney’s earlier lessons of self defense, but honed his skill with weapons. he was good with a sword. he was better with a bow. and when barney tried to sway clint into caring about his future - into doing his GED, like him - they would argue. their relationship, deteriorating a little more each time.
eventually, clint discovered that the swordsman was embezzling money - and his moral compass, though dusty, kicked in. he would’ve turned him over to the police, had it not been for him proceeding to get the shit kicked out of him, and barney choosing to turn his back on him once and for all. barney joined the army and left - and after witnessing heroes on the news, clint decided that maybe he could use his talent ( at this point being a star attraction at the circus ) for good. he donned a costume, he went out making an attempt to fight crime - and the local authorities confused him with an actual thief, which only led to him deciding that if that was what people were going to view him as, he might as well be one. the black widow - natasha romanoff - enlisted him as a partner, and the two clashed with the betterknown costumed heroes on multiple occasions.
soon enough, clint got tired of that life, and he approached the avengers with a proposition. he would use his talents for them, instead, and... feel better about himself in the process? unclear. tony stark vouched for him, he joined a team with steve rogers & wanda and pietro maximoff, and though they were thought of as being lesser than the original avengers team... they all, clint included, proved themselves.
he fought with steve, resenting that he was leader and clint was not - but over time, learned to respect him. he operated as goliath, he left the avengers a couple times, he did a bunch of stuff and saved the world tons, and then on one such leave of absence where he became the security chief for cross technological enterprises, he was kidnapped ( alongside bobbi morse ) by crossfire as part of a master plan to kill the avengers ( first by killing him, and then by killing the rest when they showed up for his funeral ). the plan was to use hypnotic ultrasounds to force the two of them to kill one another, but clint stuffed a sonic arrow of his own creation into his mouth in a brief moment of lucidity and managed to disrupt the ultrasounds by deafening himself even more - allowing him to knock bobbi out and defeat crossfire, once and for all. this was a pivotal point in his life, not just because of being rendered 80% deaf and being forced to readjust his life to this. he also fell for bobbi, who felt responsible for what had happened to him and wanted to try and help. they met, they loved, they married within nine days - and their relationship, or lack thereof at times, has been continuous ever since.
he led the west coast avengers, he got stranded in ancient egypt, he fought his own brother who then died and cam back and died again ( and came back ), he and bobbi broke up, they got back together, it was revealed she was a skrull, the real bobbi apparently died, he took a break from being a hero to mourn, he rejoined the avengers, got killed by an exploding kree ship ( thanks wanda ), came back to life thanks to an altered universe, died again, came back again ( thanks wanda ), operated as ronin for a time after the apparent assination of captain america, found bobbi safe and well ( ok, after a whole big skrull thing ), learned that his beloved ( ex ) wife had wanted to divorce him before she had gotten replaced by a skrull, became leader of the new avengers, saved the world a bunch, made mistakes, joined a new team, started sharing the hawkeye monikor with kate bishop, almost went blind, joined the secret avengers, started to lead them, fought against the x-men due to the whole phoenix force / hope summers thing, sacrificed himself for scarlet witch so that phoenix powered emma frost wouldn't kill her, almost died, got healed, moved into an apartment in brooklyn with a brand new purpose in life and.. that's kind of, really, more where we sit. there was a bunch of other stuff ( like all the civil war business, etc ), but i like to kind of ... come at things from a point after matt fraction’s hawkeye, where clint took on russian thugs and ended up buying an apartment building. not in that exact order. also with more details thrown in.
SECTION TWO OF THREE : HEADCANONS. trigger warnings for talk of miscarriage, depression and ptsd.
currently, clint is still in his... rediscovering exactly what he wants to be stage of life, and working for shield as an agent assigned to campus works for him. he still considers himself an avenger, still works under his alias and is still, you know, doing what he’s gotta do - but he’s taking days as they come
he and bobbi have a nine year old son named lark sein morse, and he’s... pretty much clint’s whole reason to get up in the morning, though there is a feeling that he’s closer to his mother than he is, him. they ( clint and bobbi ) are not currently together, and haven’t really been so as long as lark has been alive - though they were on again, off again a lot over the years, and clint will always sort of class her as the love of his life... even if they aren’t married. bobbi suffered a miscarriage early on in the first version of their relationship to one another - lark is their rainbow baby.
he suffers from post traumatic stress disorder from his childhood, and from... a lot of the things that have happened to him, over the years. he’s also heavily depressed, and has only really recently begun to seek out the kind of help that he really needs ( the fact that shield offers free therapists to people working for them? a huge plus )
he has a dog named lucky who he absolutely ADORES, but who gets swiped semi regularly by kate.
he’s also... actually pretty well off, though you would NOT know that just from looking at him. clint owns his apartment building in brooklyn and has a lot of money saved up from over the years. he could live a high class life, if he so chose, but he prefers to live modestly.
SECTION THREE OF THREE : WANTED CONNECTIONS.
friends :(
also . believe it or not. clint has been... a huge ladies man for a very long time, so by all means - past flings, past serious relationships, the whole thing.
bobbi morse !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
also nat romanoff
his two kids. they’re between the ages of 17 - 26, and he doesn’t know about them, though it’s ENTIRELY possible that they know / have been told who he is / to them, and i am rly into the idea of getting to play it out.
#sidekick.intro#⌜ ･ﾟ ➤ ･ * you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world ― biography. ⌟ / barton.#that's MY boy
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「 WILHELMINE HEINRICH JOSEPHINE BLUM 」
STRATUM: Two
AGE: Twenty-five
OCCUPATION: Contortionist
SUGGESTED FCS: Laura Harrier
CREATURE FORM.
RUSALKA is a mermaid who lives in rivers or lakes, said to be the spirit of a young women who drowned. It's claimed that the Rusalka is not able to pass on in peace until their death is avenged.
ABOUT.
Girl with a made up name, girl dressed in rags arriving at circus gates. And if any knew your real name, they'd recognize the last daughter of the family whose name still is known across households. Your family's reality tv show showcased their life; the fall from grace. Social royalty, they called you once, until detectives are at your door and all you have left to do is run. You've created a new person for yourself -- the last recollections of home in small things and memories. But have you begun to convince yourself you've never had a past? How much of this false identity have you begun to believe?
BIOGRAPHY.
All under the cut.
“I don’t want to bore you, my life has always been very mundane…the Menagerie might be the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.” She laughs, reminiscing the past. “But I’ll tell you. I was born on January 6th, in this small city in Germany called Kassel…”
The Heinrich family was nothing if not grand; the matriarch of the household having been a famous novelist, and her husband a model. Before their union, Hilde was just famous for her books and Anton his physique, but the match made in heaven had stolen the hearts of many in the media.
Within months of their marriage, they had become Germany’s ideal nuclear family, the only thing missing was a child.
Anton seemed to want children, but Hilde was always in this state of hesitation, saying that she needed to focus on her career and she wasn’t ready to be a mother, worrying over some hereditary illness that plagued the women in her family.
And for a long time she held to her decision, never wanting to risk it.
But her husband’s desire for a child had become contagious, and she found herself wanting more and more. Surely if Hilde had evaded the terrible illness, her child would be just as lucky.
As these things go, she became pregnant, and the fans of the couple couldn’t be any happier for the two.
May 26th, 1993 had been months in the making. After the Heinrichs made the announcement of their pregnancy, the media began to buzz with questions about the baby’s gender, as well as suggestions for names and well wishes for the expecting couple.
It was 5:36 in the morning, when Hilde, after hours and hours in labor gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.
Her heart swelled with pride at the baby girl, cooing and congratulating the baby as the doctors had told her that she had delivered a perfectly healthy baby girl…perfectly healthy had to mean perfectly normal.
Hilde’s own mother had been born with acute asthma, and the older woman always liked to joke about the fact that her lungs knew from the very beginning that she did not belong outside of water.
If the child was normal like Hilde, the woman could accept her.
And how could she not, with those large brown eyes of hers and charming smile.
After being discharged from the hospital, the family made no attempts to hide their child from the world, the Heinrichs were social royalty, and their daughter was treated as if she were the crown jewels.
She was loved by her parents, and by many.
And so her mother doted on her, watching closely as she grew and making sure she received the best classes; she wanted a well-mannered and intelligent child, someone worthy of her last name, someone who could inherit all she left behind.
Wilhelmine, or Helmine as her father called her, seemed to be an exceptional child. She was studious and took direction very well, performing any act that would make her mother happy.
She was young but she was well aware of how to bring a smile to her doting parents, acting almost as a marionette and performing for all of Germany.
“We didn’t know I was a rusalka right away…I didn’t even know what a rusalka was…but nothing really changed after, not their love, and not how I was treated.”
The silence hung heavy, crawling over Wilhelmine’s skin and tightening around her neck.
Her small frame trembled every so often…the small tremors having nothing to do with her soaked state, but everything to do with her mother’s erratic pacing. Children so often fed off of the energy with which they were surrounded, and her mother’s mounting anxiety only heightened the fear she felt.
Whatever she did, she didn’t mean it. If her mother was mad because she ran off during their picnic she was sorry. If her mother was mad because she fell into the lake, and-
The phone rang and Wilhelmine felt herself jump out of her skin. Still stuck in place, she could only raise her gaze and watch her mother rush to answer the call and silence the infernal ringing.
Was it her father? Would his face make the same expression?
She again was removed from her racing thoughts, as her ears picked up her mother’s words, coming out in scores and stumbling over one another.
“Mother you told me this wouldn’t happen…you promised me I would have a normal life, and that I wouldn’t be affected by this thing.”
Wilhelmine’s eyebrows furrowed, as she could only hear her mother’s end of the conversation, and had no clue as to what it was that had only increased her mother’s irritability.
“How am I going to hide this? What do I do with this creature?”
The word ‘creature’ resonated with Wilhelmine, the word was often used if one of her cousins tried to scare her with a story or another…perhaps her mother was troubled by some sort of monster under her bed…if so, then her daughter thought of no other solution than to comfort the older woman. The child jumped down from her chair, small feet leaving a trail of water as they padded across the kitchen. When she made it to her mother, a small hand enveloped the larger one that hung at her waist.
As soon as Hilde felt her daughter’s touch, she pulled her hand away, face contorted in anger and indignation.
“Do not touch me Wilhelmine. Go back to your chair and sit down until I tell you otherwise.”
Wilhelmine withdrew her hands, eyeing them warily; of course her mother didn’t want to touch her, her hands were clammy, and coated in mud. The sensation had to feel anything but pleasant.
She gingerly wiped her hands on the front of her corduroy overalls, the teal having darkened to a navy blue because of it’s wet state, and each leg having been ripped on the inner seem, a product of her very sudden change.
Nonetheless, Wilhelmine tried to make herself more presentable, smoothing the curly strands behind her ear, and adjusting the straps of her overalls.
Another attempt was made to hold her mother’s hand, and again the woman pulled away.
And did Hilde feel anything when she saw her daughter flinch? If so, she didn’t show it, as she simply continued to glare at her daughter, who in turn shrunk into herself, and shied away from the burning stare.
“Mommy, please don’t be mad at me, I’m really really sorry, okay?”
“Go sit down, I said. Now.” Hilde looked her daughter over once more and turned around, arguing over this and that, exasperated over the fact that whatever plagued her now had hidden itself by skipping a generation.
Wilhelmine could only watch, eyes watering again, feeling distressed over the events that had taken place over the course of an afternoon.
Being unable to disobey her mother, she dragged her feet back to her chair, climbing up the large piece of furniture and pulling her legs close to her body. Whatever she had done, she was sorry…
The word ‘sorry’ replayed itself over and over in her head as her mother continued to pace, and continued even as her fathered entered the kitchen sending one mere glance to his wife before setting his sights on his somber daughter.
Anton kneeled before his daughter, moving her arms away from her face, and smiling at her gently.
Behind him, Hilde was stuck in her own world, caught in a panic so grand that it seemed to have eaten up all the love she felt for her own child.
His hands were gentle, moving to remove some of the pondweed that had tangled itself in her hair. He held it between the two of them and smiled gently, “darling, you’ve made quite the mess of yourself.”
Wilhelmine nodded, and set her eyes downcast. “I know, I’m so sorry.”
The older man shook his head, his daughter had nothing to be sorry about. If children had a job in this world, it was to worry their parents. He let the pondweed slip between his fingertips and fall onto the marble floor, only then questioning his daughter’s soaked state.
If he really paid attention, Anton could see her shivering.
“Darling, why haven’t you taken a hot bath?”
“Mommy told me to sit down until she said so.”
“Mommy’s not thinking clearly right now, okay? Let’s go run that hot bath before you catch a cold.”
Anton pushes himself upright, and holds his hand out for his daughter to hold. Wilhelmine let her cold and clammy hands be enveloped by his warm ones.
As she pushed herself off of the large chair, the piece of furniture moved back and its legs scrape against the floor, catching her mother’s attention. Hilde pulled the cellphone away from her ear and eyed her husband wearily.
“Anton, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to run a hot bath for Helmine.”
“No, I don’t want her anywhere near water…Anton you don’t know what she did. You don’t know what she is.”
“Brunhilde please, you’re not being rational. Our daughter is soaking wet, and she’s going to catch a cold. She needs a hot bath, and that’s final.”
His wife had always been the more headstrong of the pair, and he followed where she lead, he had trusted her to never steer him in the wrong direction. And he could see right now that it was exactly what she threatened to do.
He let go of his daughter, and extended his hand to his wife, motioning towards the cellphone in her hand.
The woman was hesitant at first but quickly complied, dropping her shoulders and tossing the phone in his direction. “She’s your problem to deal with.”
Anton releases a breath, and places the phone to his ear, holding it in place with his shoulder as he turns to pick up his daughter.
“Schwiegermutter, how are you?”
Wilhelmine, from her place in her father’s arms, watches as her mother leaves the kitchen. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, and tries to keep from crying, instead focusing on the humming of her father, a “hm,” here and an “oh, ja” there.
He carries her to the bathroom, and sets her down, instructing his daughter to remove her soaked clothing as he ran the bath.
When the water was at the temperature he felt best, and the surface of the water saturated with enough bubbles, he sat himself down on the toilet seat listening intently to his mother-in-law’s words while every so often picking a pondweed or some algae from his daughter’s hair.
Anton picked up the scattered and torn clothing his daughter left behind, and set them to the side, folded right atop one another. He watches his daughter climb into the tub, and tells the woman on the other end to hold.
“Helmine, turn so that I can scrub your back and wash your hair.”
As he’s pouring some water over her head, to remove any of the leftover suds, his ears perk up at the sound of her voice.
“I know why mommy is mad.”
“And why is that?”
“I fell into the lake, and I was drowning. I don’t think mommy or Lucy knew I fell, and then I kept sinking deeper and I was really scared because my chest was starting to hurt. But, even though I can’t swim, I can hold my breath, just not for many minutes, and I was getting dizzy in the water, and I think I was going to fall asleep but then all of a sudden I could breathe. And Lucy, she…I saw her swimming to me, and she looked really surprised but I didn’t know why…I thought it was because she knew I could breathe, but when she pulled me up and out of the water, I couldn’t breathe anymore, it was so weird, and-and I had a tail daddy. So she put me back in the water until my legs came back.”
Anton hums, eyebrows raised. “A tail Helmine? Does that mean you don’t need any swimming lessons?”
“Don’t be silly daddy, I still need to know. Fishies know how to swim because they’re born in water. I wasn’t.”
“Okay, we’ll have to ask Lucy to start giving you lessons.”
Anton watched as his daughter’s mood lightened in the slightest; he patted her head once, and gave her a rubber duck to play with before returning to his phone call and the child’s eager grandmother.
“I’m glad you’re taking the news better than her mother…”
Following that afternoon, she noticed a change in her mother; whereas Brunhilde had once showered her with affection and loving affirmations, the woman was now distant and avoided her daughter whenever she could.
Hilde no longer took her daughter to public events wherein everyone could admire the mother and child; and when she did, the older woman loved her again, showering Wilhelmine with affection whenever the cameras pointed in their direction.
The outside world adored the close bond the mother and daughter had with one another, a stark juxtaposition of their relationship behind closed doors…such a change left Wilhelmine confused, always wondering always looking for the shift, always trying to avoid it as if walking on eggshells.
And soon her mother would throw her to the side completely, occupying her time with the twin boys she had just brought to the world.
They were welcomed into the family by all three Henrichs, and they seemed to love their older sister unconditionally, something their mother had yet to master.
Justus and Kaspar were proof, people aren’t born with prejudice, and they had none against her sister, even defending the girl from her mother, and never truly allowing themselves to be separate of her.
“My mother was very supportive.”
If her mother loved her anymore, she didn’t show it.
Although Anton suggested they moved to Munich or even Freiburg…just anywhere closer to an actual river, his wife refused, not once wanting to let their daughter change the life she led.
Wilhelmine’s grandmother suggested that they allow her to swim in rivers, and take frequent trips so that she could practice her shifting…it was something that at first was led by emotions but could be controlled like anything else if only her parents had allowed her to cultivate it.
And Wilhelmine felt excitement towards this development; through it all, her mother wasn’t the happiest, but her daughter hoped that if Wilhelmine studied hard, she would be happy again.
At the very least her father and brothers made her home life bearable, treating her ‘condition’ as something ordinary, another quirk that made Wilhelmine charming and lovable.
“My father died when I was sixteen, and you know, the rose-colored glasses are placed in storage after someone so close to you passes. But I think I was still happy.”
Beauty fades, and even when it doesn’t, the man that was once on the cover of countless magazines and vied after cannot hold his position when the media demands a constant resurgence of youth and fresh faces.
He told his children that he accepted his father’s offer to run the company so that he could further secure their futures…but the kids knew, Anton was bored at home, needed some excitement, needed something more than four walls and some magazines.
Anton’s own family had always had questionable business, but Anton himself had seemed to want something different.
It was why he had gone into modeling, having become famous and proving to his father that he didn’t need dirty money.
But as time passed, it felt like he did. There was this greed bubbling in the man; when there were no modeling contracts, there was no more money. He had no way to lavish his wife and children with the things they deserved. And he could find no other form of income as secure as the family business.
To the outside world, the media, and anyone who asked, Anton had become the CEO of his father’s pharmaceutical business, taking a backseat from all of the fame, to find new ways to support his family.
The money once again began flowing, and things again were seemingly normal.
The spectators who watched the Heinrichs with expectant eyes noticed nothing had changed in the family’s patriarchal figure, but his children knew better.
Their once calm and gentle father had begun wearing this angry mask, constantly arguing over the phone and never having time for his children. He was busy. Always busy.
And they knew why.
Adolescents are more perceptive than they’re given credit for…and television fuels the imagination. Soon enough, Wilhelmine and her brothers had figured out that there was something wrong with the money her father made.
Aside from credit cards, most of the transactions he would make were in cash…and he had installed a safe in his studio-turned-office, a place that was now off limits to his children.
Justus and Kaspar liked to think that he held a gun in there. Their older sister always scolded them for such a thought. Their father would never.
But deep down Wilhelmine was sure that he had.
He was just so different than the man she had known as nothing but warm and charming.
Still, the Heinrich children enjoyed the riches, and the life they had been provided, choosing not to question their father or his business.
He was a different man, but she was sure that her father was still there.
“A bird has to leave the nest eventually, you just can’t stay home forever…I left home when I was twenty-two…this is me, trying to spread my wings.”
It started with smart comments from a socialite she had considered a friend, and then questions from those she made at college. Where there was once buzz over her father’s ‘street style’ or her mother’s new book, the tabloids where filled with questions and theories about the Heinrich’s illegal drug business.
Their empire was crumbling right before their eyes.
Wilhelmine and her brothers could only sit and watch as the family business bubbled to the surface; if she could help it, she’d laugh it off and use her father’s usual explanation, “the Heinrich family has always been in the pharmaceutical business, we work with hospitals to get patients the most reasonable price for their circumstance, the media just wants a story.”
She’d often hear Justus or Kaspar arguing with one of their friends, making attempts to laugh of the accusations much like their sister, but letting their frustration take over, “who needs dirty money, when you’re a celebrity?”
The Heinrich children could spin as many words as they wanted, but they would fool no one.
A transparent facade had always been presented to the public, but much of their private life was held away from cameras…it was one thing to play a part for the media, but when things were turned on its head, and the rush of information came with such speed and abundance that no amount of interference by their agents would help.
Slowly but surely, the help in the household decreased in number, the number of maids reduced to one or two, and everyone else was let go.
At every step and turn, the media ate it up, having watched the Heinrichs rise in fame, and now anticipating their fall.
It was one Sunday morning when Wilhelmine was woken up, some hours to early and had to rush to the door to silence the incessant ringing of the doorbells.
Each and every day, she resented the fact that they had fired their staff.
Wilhelmine yawned as she opened the door, not bothering to look at all presentable in her pajamas and bedhead.
But her eyes landed on two officers, and the sleep drained from her body. Her back straightened, and she tried a tense smile. “Detectives, good morning. What brings you here so early?”
“We’re here to ask your father a few questions.”
Wilhelmine didn’t skip a beat, “you’re out of luck…my dad’s in Paris for the weekend; once a model, always a model.”
She smiled, praying that her answers were as organic as she forced them to be.
“Will he be back on Monday, then?”
“I think so, but I can’t guarantee that, a weekend in Paris, can be extended to a week, but I can call him now, and you guys can speak to him over the phone.”
“Thank you, miss Heinrich, but it’s best done in person. We’ll be back on Monday. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Have a good day, detectives.” Wilhelmine smiled and waved as they made their way down the driveway and then receded back into her home, eyes wide and heart thumping.
After forcing herself to count to ten, Wilhelmine took her time walking over to the staircase across the foyer. It was only when her hand touched the marble railing did her body rush into motion, skipping the steps in twos.
She practically ran to her parents’ bedroom and knocked furiously on the door, “daddy, are you awake?”
No answer but still she knocked, and knocked and knocked until the door gave way beneath her knuckles and her father appeared behind the large oak door. “Helmine, what’s wrong?”
Anton looked just as tired as his daughter felt, the dark circles under his eyes weighing heavy on his usually radiant appearance.
“The police where hear. I didn’t let them in, I just told them you were in Paris for the weekend, but they’re coming back on Monday, daddy, and what are we gonna do when they come?”
“Go and wake up your brothers, tell them to pack only the necessities. Comfortable shoes, two pairs of simply pants maybe, and tee shirts. That’s it. Some underwear, some socks, but nothing you would be noticed in, and that goes for you too Helmine. A small suitcase.”
Wilhelmine had taken a deep breath and walked off in search of her brothers.
After she had informed Kaspar and Justus of their new chore, Wilhelmine had locked herself in her room, pacing back and forth between her dresser and her closet.
Like her father suggested, she packed only simple things, two pairs of blue jeans; Levi’s were the cheapest she could find.
The shirts were much easier, having found two pairs of loose white tee shirts, and a slightly tighter black one. But thinking it wasn’t enough, she threw in one or two of the more expensive tee shirts she had, hiding them at the bottom of her suitcase, right beside a small box of things she knew she couldn’t part with.
She had decided on one pair of runner’s sneakers, and had tossed most of her socks and underwear haphazardly into the suitcase. The thing was more like a carry-on, and she wasn’t used to carrying so little, but things could always change.
Touching a hand to her ear, she felt the small studs she had fallen asleep with, swiftly pulling them off and tossing them in a pocket in the suitcase. Repeating the same with her other ear.
Wilhelmine was zipping up the suitcase when she heard a knock on the door.
“Helmine, open up.”
She was met with her father on the other side of the door, looking more calm than the restlessness she felt.
“Hm?”
He held his hand out, a small flip phone dangling from it. Wilhelmine looked at him with eyebrows furrowed.
“This is for you. It has one number in there, and that’s mine. Here’s the charger as well. Right now, we’ll-”
“Why do I need this?”
“The five of us can’t be together right now, it’ll look too suspicious. I want you to go with your brothers, and I’ll stay with your mother, okay? When this blows over, I’ll call you and we’ll find each other.”
“How long until this blows over, then?”
“I don’t know darling.” He placed the phone and charger in her hand, before pulling out an envelope, the contents barely contained by the thin paper. “You’re the oldest, so you’re in charge of money and budgeting.”
“I don’t need that money, I can just withdraw from my card, and-”
“No you cannot. WIlhelmine Heinrich dies here. You’re leaving all of your cards, and the same goes for your brothers. Look, we have new passports, new birth certificates, we’re going to be new people and leave all of this behind, it’s going to be better for us.”
“Okay, dad.”
Wilhelmine grabbed the money, the weight feeling odd in the palm of her hand, and again watched as her father turned to leave.
She wasted no time shoving both the phone and money somewhere deep in the suitcase; she’d have to use the tools she was provided, but didn’t want to think about it.
The rest of that day felt odd, with everyone on edge, ready to run at any moment if they had to.
The rest of that day was quiet, it was slow.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Wilhelmine and her brothers were woken up abruptly; it was Anton, explaining that they had to make their move now.
He had his children and wife meet at the bottom of the staircase as he shredded some documents upstairs.
The four waited anxiously as Anton destroyed any evidence of his wrongdoings, fear of being discovered eating away at them.
The silence again, was deafening, and the moment seemed to last forever.
When the doorbell rang, Wilhelmine was sure her heart stopped then and there. The four heard the knocking from the other side of the door, with the police announcing themselves and demanding the door was opened.
Wilhelmine was frozen in place, trembling slightly and eyes trained on the door. From the corner of her eye, she could watch her mother rush up the stairs, but her brothers remained by her side.
The noise from the other side of the doors drowned out anything else, swallowing the children like the silence had tried to.
Wilhelmine, Kaspar and Justus kept their eyes trained on the door, their gaze only shifting when they heard footsteps rushing down the stairs.
Hilde had run halfway down the stairs, motioning to her children and pointing to the door under the stairs, the one that led to the wine cellar. ‘Go,’ she mouthed and turned to go back up the stairs.
Grabbing her suitcase, Wilhelmine rushed to the door, making sure her brothers were following suit.
The three children are moving slow, as they try not to make any noise that alerts the police, going down the stairs one slow step at a time.
An odd smell is tickling Wilhelmine’s nose, something like a barbecue fire, but she thinks its just the anxiety of the situation playing tricks on her mind. When they make it to the base of the cellar, she grabs the torch that hangs off the wall near the light switch, and switches it on, scanning the room with the light.
They moved slowly through the cellar, unaware of the commotion happening upstairs.
Wilhelmine and her brothers took their time, moving with bated breath and unaware of the fire that was spreading throughout their house.
Anton needed the evidence gone by whatever means, and as the police arrived he had lit a fire in his office, using kerosene to help it spread throughout the house.
Even if he died in this fire, he would buy his children time…
Downstairs, the smoke had begun to creep in around them, invading their lungs and blurring their vision.
Still, they pushed through, moving at the same pace until they heard the door open.
Justus thought it could be their parents, but Kaspar grabbed him and pulled him forward. Their father would meet them later he was sure of it. But they had to keep moving or else the children would be caught, forced to deal with the ridicule of the media.
Footsteps continued down the cellar steps, coming in pairs, far too many to be their mother and daughter alone.
Wilhelmine sped up her pace, sure that her brothers were behind her.
She rushed past the shelves of wine bottles until she had made it to the door at the very far end of the cellar. She turned to check on her brothers, but they were nowhere near her, instead having stayed back near the shelves.
Her eyes widened, trying to call to them without being heard, what were they doing?
“Kaspar, Justus come here now.”
“Helmine go, we’ll meet you outside, we’re just going to slow them down.”
“No.”
“Go, please.”
“No.”
“Wilhelmine, go, or we all get caught.”
She bit her tongue, and pushed the door open, turning back once more to watch her brothers push the shelves over, making them fall over one another like dominoes.
She hesitate to move, but her brother’s glare pushed her forward.
Wilhelmine climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, and moving towards the light. She came out on the other side of the estate, the area having been one of her mother’s many projects.
The scenery was breathtaking, but she couldn’t enjoy it as she was running for her life.
Wilhelmine waited by the door, pacing and wringing her hands as she waited for her brothers. What took them so long?
The smoke had soon begun billowing from the entryway, making Wilhelmine’s distress reach a fever pitch. Where could they be?
She tried looking through the smoke, but it only hurt her eyes and made them water. Embers flew past her, being carried by the wind and sticking to the grass at her feet.
Her body would not move, it wanted to wait, hours, days even to see if her brothers would appear.
But all they had done would be for nothing if she stayed; the smoke billowing from the cellar door would attract the police, the contents of her suitcase would do nothing but incriminate her…she had to run.
Wilhelmine picked up the suitcase, and held it tight against her body, forcing her feet to move and move until she could no longer see the silhouette of her home, and the smoke was nothing but a smudge in the sky.
Like her brothers, she had to die in that fire.
Barefaced, mussed up hair, and non-prescription glasses were the best she could think of to hide her appearance.
She kept her head down, and kept her hair in her face. Wilhelmine would blend into this crowd if it was the last thing she did; she’d forget who she was and leave it all at that house.
Her heart would hurt too much otherwise.
She navigated the streets until her feet hurt, and her stomach burned with hunger. Held the tears in until her eyes grew red and irritated. Smiled at no one, and kept her gaze on the floor.
When she slipped into a thrift shop along one of the less popular streets of Berlin, her hands nimbly went from garment to garment, looking for the things that were the oldest, slightly bigger to hide her frame, something she could paint as a hand me down.
The security in the store was terrible. Wilhelmine left without paying for a thing.
She’d enter a public bathroom to wash her face, changing in to the shabby articles of clothing, and keeping everything else that was hers in her suitcase.
Whoever she was now, it was not Wilhelmine Heinrich.
She had hitchhiked to Munich, losing more and more of herself as she filled the air in the cars with stories.
Eventually, she had perfected a name; the young thing portrayed herself as something of a country girl, having live with her parents until just recently.
Josephine Blum was a simple girl, looking to leave her life behind and start anew.
It was not long after that she found the Menagerie; something of an oasis with its prospect of change.
It was laughable to think that she’d go from an heiress to a circus freak in such a short period of time, but if she knows anything about the circus, it’s that it moves, and if she’s able to find a home at the Menagerie, she wont be in Germany for long.
Wont be anywhere long enough to really run the risk of being found.
She didn’t have to be comfortable in the Menagerie, didn’t have to be happy or find a family, so long as she could get from it what she needed in order to run away from a past that rattled her bones.
“And so, here I am…not very interesting I told you.”
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George Soros Interview 60 Minutes [FULL]
George Soros Helped The Nazis Round Up Jews In The Holocaust
March 19, 2017
Alex Jones is a man whose sworn enemy is a group known as The Globalists. Among these Globalists, the target most commonly in his sights is billionaire philanthropist George Soros.
In order to make his case that the Globalists are full-on evil people, Alex consistently refers to Soros as a "Nazi collaborator," or even worse. Here is a clip of him bringing up his feelings about George Soros:
The claim that George Soros actively worked for the Nazis in World War II comes from a 60 Minutes interview he did in 1998. You can watch the full story about him below, the part involving his time in the Holocaust at about the 6:55 mark.
Before we deal with the Nazi stuff, I'd like to just say that I'm not here to fully support or defend George Soros for everything he's ever done. I admit that I do not have a sophisticated enough understanding of the stock market to know enough to speak on that issue, with or without any amount of research.
I can, however, say that definitively, based on the evidence available, claiming that George Soros rounded up Jews in the Holocaust is a horrendous, irresponsible lie. Even to say that he "willingly" worked with them would be an insult to history and truth.
This claim is difficult to debunk, if only because the only real argument that needs to be made "no he didn't." Unfortunately, that doesn't pass muster around here, so here we go.
George Soros, born in 1930, was ages 9-14 when WWII was going on in Europe. Sensing real trouble coming, his father decided to split his family up and bought them all forged papers, in the hopes that they could hide their true Jewish identity, and if they were not all in one place, the odds of some of them surviving increased.
Soros's father then bribed an official in Budapest to take in George, with the backstory being that he was this official's Christian god-son. The official in question was in charge of cleaning up after Jews were sent off to camps; he would come in and take all their valuables, and as part of maintaining his cover, young George Soros assisted in this.
Some may claim that this was an unethical thing to do, but I would posit these important points to counter that argument:
George Soros was, at this point, a maximum of 14 years old. To give some prospective, that is an 8th grader here in the United States. A freshman in high school. Even in ideal circumstances, 14 year olds deserve some wiggle room.
This happened during the Holocaust, and it was a part of George maintaining his cover. If he were to not go along with the confiscations, or speak out against them, he would almost certainly be found out as a Jew in hiding, and be killed.
As Soros puts it in the interview linked above: "...if I weren't there, of course I wasn't doing it, but someone else would, would be taking it away anyhow. And it was, the, whether I was there or not, I was only a spectator, the property was being taken away. So I had no role in taking away that property."
I believe the essence of what he's saying that quote is that, no matter what he did, that property was going to be taken by the Nazis. A 14 year old boy cannot fight the will of a genocidal state.
But even beyond that, I believe that he is saying that in the actual confiscations that he went along for, he was not really an active participant, merely "a spectator." I would compare it to a "Bring Your Child To Work Day," where the kid is there, but they can't really do a whole lot, so maybe you give them some busy work to let them feel like they're helping.
But back to the major claims: 1) George Soros was a Nazi collaborator, and 2) George Soros helped round up Jews in the Holocaust.
As to the first count, there is no evidence that he was a willing participant or collaborator with the Nazis. In his biography, it is made clear that he only occasionally went our with his false god-father in his work to collect the possessions of captured Jews. He had a passing involvement in this, at best.
As for the claim that he helped "round up Jews," that is just made up out of whole cloth. It's a claim that's been repeated by every right wing blog, every bigoted talking head from Alex Jones to Glenn Beck, and the only evidence they ever provide is the 60 Minutes interview that is posted above, which does not contain any evidence to the claim.
I understand that Alex Jones has to grasp at straws to paint his enemies as terrible people, but this claim is particularly repugnant, and definitely at least borders on a slight antisemitism.
The truth, as is so often the case with these Little Lies Alex tells, is that context is incredibly important, and when you erase context, you are lying. As for the context here, I think that Matt Welch puts it perfectly in a 2010 post on reason.com:
As a native son of the free world you can and damn well should cheer a person who acted bravely in the face of a pervasive and murderous totalitarian state, but with the exception of the monsters who willfully abused power there, you had better err massively on the side of reticence before casting negative judgment on the compromises that captive citizens made under a pressure we literally cannot fathom.
In this instance, as is so often the case, Alex Jones errs massively, but does so on the wrong side.
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H.H Holmes:
H.H. Holmes:
Who is H.H Holmes? H.H Holmes’s real name is Herman Webster Mudgett born May 16, 1861 and dies May 7, 1896, most frequently called H. Dr. Henry Howard Holmes. H. Holmes was an American serial assassin. In confessing to the twenty-seven killings, nine could only be plausibly confirmed and many of the people he claimed were still alive and killed. And what made H.H Holmes famous? He was a serial killer. "This was my first experience with insane persons, and so terrible was it that for years afterwards, even now sometimes, I see their faces in my sleep." – H.H Holmes. "In the meantime, I had carried Nannie to my own room, where she lay, looking more like one asleep than dead." – H.H Holmes. He writes that his wife Minnie Williams, who he says suffered from mental illness, had killed her own sister Nannie over jealously over Holmes. He details how he disposed of his sister-in-law's body and then ended things with Minnie. "The sight was disgusting, yet when I looked upon it, and realized that at least $20,000 would come to me after a little further trouble, I gazed on it as a very good investment which was about to mature." -H.H Holmes.
On July 4, 1878, at the age of eighteen, he married Clara A. Lovering at Alton, N. H., and about this time he gave up his position as a schoolteacher to enable him to take a course in a medical school at Burlington, Vt. Mudgett attended medical school at the University of Michigan, where he was a mediocre student. In 1881, Mudgett gained possession of a body which showed a remarkable resemblance to a fellow student who was his closest friend and had previously taken out a life insurance policy of $1,000, in which Mudgett was named beneficiary. In 1884 he was nearly prevented from graduating when a widowed hairdresser accused him of making a false promise of marriage to her.
Mudgett traveled to Chicago in 1886 and took up a job as a pharmacist named "Dr." H.H. Holmes. "Obviously shortly after he started killing citizens to ransom them. The house that he constructed for himself was to be called "Castle of the Murders," and was equipped with secret passages, trapdoors, isomerized spaces, doors from outside, gas jets for the victims to stifle and a firebomb to cremate their corpses. He reputedly seduced and assassinated a number of women on the height of his reputation during the World Columbian Exhibition in Chicago in 1893, mostly by being involved and then killing them after control of their lifetime saved. Mudgett even allowed his workers, after he had murdered them, to hold a life insurance policy designating it as the beneficiary. Many of his victims were sold to local medical schools in his bodies. After a fire in his house, Mudgett was charged in 1893 for insurance fraud. He also tried to defraud an insurance company by counterfeiting Pitezel's death through his partner, Ben Pitezel. Pitezel and his mother have been flying in Wyoming, California, New York, Ohio, Tennessee and Texas since they received $10,000 in life insurance policy and have conducted other frauds (also marrying Mudgett). Several victims were said to have been killed in a mixed-use building that he owned, situated about 3 miles (5 km) west of the 1893 World Fair: the Columbian Exhibition, ostensibly called the World's Fair Hotel (informally named "The Murder Castle"), although evidence suggests that the section of the hotel was never really open for business.
Holmes was also a con artist and a bigamist in addition to being a serial killer, the subject of more than 50 lawsuits in Chicago alone. Many now-common tales of his exploits derived from fictional accounts which were later meant to be factual. On January 17, 1894, under the name of Howard, he again married a survivor in Colorado, Miss Georgie Yoke of St. Louis. Until he married Miss Yoke, Holmes moved across the country in several false identities, working with various companies, none of which would be prosecuted. He built a four-story building at the corner of Sixty-third and Wallace Streets in Chicago, known as the "Holmes Castle." His mistress, Julia Smythe, was one of Holmes ' early murder victims. She was Ned's (Icilius) Conner ‘s wife, who was moved to the Holmes building to work on a jewelry counter in his pharmacy.
In July 1894, Holmes left Chicago with insurance companies urging Holmes to prosecute arson. He reappeared in Fort Worth, where he was possessed by the William sisters at the crossroads of today's Commerce St and 2nd Street. The murder spree of Holmes finally ended when he was arrested in Boston on November 17, 1894 after the Pinkertons had been tracked there from Philadelphia. He was on an outstanding horse stealing warrant in Texas as the police were now more cautious and Holmes was poised to flee the country together with his mysterious third wife. He was on horse theft warrant. "In conclusion, I wish to say that I am but a very ordinary man, even below the average in physical strength and mental ability, and to have planned and executed the stupendous amount of wrongdoing that has been attributed to me would have been wholly beyond my power." – H.H Holmes. Although Holmes was best known for his murders in Chicago, in such (inaccurate) detail, it was the murders he wrote about in his autobiography that were his undoing. And while the world will never know the full extent of all the crimes that Holmes did, you will see his great - great-grandfather, Jeff Mudgett, put on his American Ripper ancestor even more murders.
Holmes was hanged at Moyamensing Prison, Philadelphia, on May 7, 1896. To the finish, he maintained an aura of complete indifference. A few days before his death, when it became clear that all hope had vanished, Holmes made a "confession" in which he claimed that he had murdered twenty-seven people, but on the scaffold he denied this assertion, saying that the only individuals for whose death he was directly or indirectly responsible were two women for whom he carried out illegal operations. Mudgett confessed to 27 murders (he later increased the total to more than 130), though some researchers have suggested that the real number exceeded 200. Mudgett sold his story to the Hearst Corporation for $10,000.
Work Cited:
Gallagher, Caitlin. “Quotes From H.H. Holmes’ Memoir Provide Insight Into The ‘American Ripper.’” Bustle, 11 July 2017, www.bustle.com/p/quotes-from-hh-holmes-memoir-provide-insight-into-the-american-ripper-69194.
"H. H. Holmes - Wikipedia." Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. 16 Dec 2019. Web. 18 Dec 2019. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._H._Holmes>.
Jenkins, John Philip. “H.H. Holmes | Biography & Facts.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 3 May 2019, www.britannica.com/biography/H-H-Holmes.
“Serial Killer H.H. Holmes – Crime Story, Timeline, Photos - HistoricalCrimeDetective.Com.” Http://Www.Historicalcrimedetective.Com/Ccca/h-h-Holmes-Born-Herman-Mudgett/, www.historicalcrimedetective.com/ccca/h-h-holmes-born-herman-mudgett. Accessed 18 Dec. 2019.
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Enlightening Cinema
gallop McKennaEnlightening CinemaMetaphysical Articles | February 6, 2005... Cinema By bound ... me tell you why you're here. You're here being you recognize ... What you know, you can't explain. But you atmosphere it. You felt it your unified life. so there' Enlightening Cinema aside Jed McKenna"Let me confess you cause you're here. You're hither because you know something. What you know, you can't explain. But you feel it. You caress it your entire life. That there's something inaccurate with the world. You don't experience what it is, but it's there. Like a splinter in your talent driving you mad." -Morpheus, The Matrix This isn't a flick review calendar and it's not comprehensive. It's just some report about a few feature I guess are profitable for the purposes of awakening and why, or that ardent and why not. alongside tools of understanding, unacceptable is repeatedly better thaw good. big themes interpreted on this list show to be these: - Heresy - Captive/Captor - Teacher/Student - Nature of self/man. - Death/rebirth. Cataclysm/epiphany. - Untrustworthiness of mind/memories. The apart thing I might advise with stare to cinema and album is to raise the material raise to the level position it incline of cost to you. Orwell potency have do writing an anti-communist manifesto, but Nineteen Eighty-Four is much also interesting explore as the struggle amid man and his confinement. Apocalypse immediately is backward something other than Viet Nam, after what precedent to receive Ahead modern Advertising is about being more that rampant commercialism, etc.::: americas Beauty"I feel like dive been in a stupor for the past tenet years. furthermore I'm equitable now rising up." I've included americas Beauty principally for what is wrong with it. Lester's major death/rebirth transition fair promise, but what accomplish he development to? Backward to teenage crap, not forward in any sense. A fear-based regression. simple car, ludicrous drugs, simple vanity, senseless skirt chasing. Not at all reclaimed when jester sees his own craziness near the end or by sappy/smarmy dead guy voice-over. climactic movie is slightly redeemed by the presence of the quasi-mystical neighbor youth and his video footage of a windblown bag:"That's the bright I completed that there was this entire growth behind things, and this incredibly humane force that wanted me to notice there was no reason to be afraid, ever."::: Apocalypse Now"In a hostility there are many time for sorrow and supple action. There are copious moments for ruthless action what is often called ruthless what may in many circumstances be alone clarity, noticing clearly what there is to be done and doing it, directly, quickly, awake, looking at it." You'd feel that catastrophe Now Redux, the director's cut, would be the version to watch, but all the stuff that was fairly cut from the authentic has prevail wrongly replaced. (Raising the interesting mite that directors and creator often don't understand the higher operation of the stories they're telling.) cane with the original past both Redux and contras Heart of Darkness.Apocalypse directly is all about the Horror. ac journey of discovery, into the character of darkness, arriving at this horror. What's the horror? after what precedent do you get there? Why would anyone prepare such a journey? Should you make such a journey? Why or cause not?Note the powerful epiphanies that commute the film. The antecedent assassin's cap home, ("Sell the house, sell the car, handle the kids..."), Dennis Hopper's youthful exuberance, Kurtz's ice bullet, paillards "...I wasn't even in their squad any more." ::: vitality There"Spring, summer, autumn, winter... then flexibility again."A splendid film decayed by a foolish walking-on-water stunt bearing on to the end. Without that nonsense the viewer would be complimentary to think, to decide, to wonder. Instead, the movie zips itself raise tight with its adept little dumb-it-down twist. blow the block button at Chauncey is straightening the sapling, since the pernicious denouement, and it's a fun, sweet film.::: shank Runner"I've look things you people wouldn't believe. intrusion ships on fire outside the accept of Orion. I've patrolled c-beams sheen in the dark near the man-house Gate. All those time will be lost in time like tears in rain. past to die." Were you born pentamerous minutes ago? Of development not, and you have the remembrance to explain it. ko'd know if they were artificial implants, because, uh...::: Cast Away"I couldn't even kill I personally the style I needed to. I had influence over nothing."If a brother screams on a deserted island and there's no one to hear him, does he make a sound? Is it full that he hears it himself? What if not? What's south when you take over everything?Self exposed bare.This show raises copious intriguing questions about the substance of self, or lack thereof, and cover a actual Zen eulogy.::: Dead Poets SocietyHeresy.::: hold and Maude"Vice, virtue. It's best not to be too moral... Aim superior morality."American Zen, master and disciple. ::: Harvey"For generation I was smart... I recommend pleasant."Elwood P. Dowd, wisefool. ai sweet depiction of a higher rule of living misinterpreted as a reduced order of being. intend we know the exceptional Man although we byword him? ::: How to Get forward In Advertising"Everything I do now form perfect sense."A thwarted request for freedom. A failed attempt to overthrow Maya. Enjoy the insanity of the epiphany.::: Joe opposing the Volcano"Nobody knows anything, Joe. weal take this leap, and we'll see. We'll jump, and will see. that life, right?"Death and Rebirth. Unlike americas Beauty, this is all about gripping forward, "away from the things of man."::: fellow Facing soughest (Hombre Mirando Al Sudeste)Watch especially for the optic poem of a guy crumbling a human pundit into a sink at the same time looking for the soul.::: The Matrix"Like everyone else, you were born in the direction of through to bondage, born inside a prison that you cannot smell, taste, or touch. A confinement for your mind." plutos Cave for the people. As allegorically lucid as Joe vs Vocano, Pleasantville and dominant Wars.::: Monty Python's get-up-and-go of Brian"No, no! It is a sign that, like Him, we must think not of the things of the body, but of the look and head!"Sacred Cow-tipping at its best."Meaning of Life" also belongs on this list.::: Nineteen Eighty-Four"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, figure a footwear stamping on a human free tv online forever."This flick is uncommon in the sense that it's as good as the book, which is an awfully intimate photograph of the captor/captive, Maya/man relationship. Compare this to Moby-Dick or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's lair which are superb novel but worthless movies.::: sole Flew by the Cuckoo's NestAs with Moby-Dick, Hollywood castrated the book. They stripped it of mine archetypal size and cut down it to a meaningless pissing contest between McMurphy and registered nurse Ratched. huge entertainment, but for meaningful insight, scan the book.::: Pleasantville"There are some house where the road doesn't go in a circle. There are some neighborhood where it keeps on going."A bright tale of heresy in which no one is burned at the rod and the new paradigm is, eventually, embraced by all.::: affecting Razor's Edge"The dead stare so terribly dead."The razor's edge is what makes it interesting; seeing leery shakily uniform on the fine channel between what he was and what he's becoming. He is walking the edge among two lives. The check Murray variant is a bit unfocused... stick with Tyrone talent or read the book. Maugham apparently used Ramana Maharshi as the model for the novel's humble man.::: celebrated Wars"The force will be with you, always."The early one, point Luke compose the evolution from beef to spirit. The hero Journey.::: The Thin Red Line"Maybe all men win one enormous soul every bit a section of, all faces are the double man."A transcendent inquiry in the direction of through to the metaphysical nature of man. extra a sad/sweet song thaw a anecdotal film.::: climactic Thirteenth Floor"So what're you saying? You're saying that there's addition world on top of this one?"Layer after layer. Turtles on top of turtles. ::: Vanilla Sky/Abre Los Ojos"Open your eyes."If you agnate Vanilla Sky, check out the original, the French film Abre Los Ojos (Open Your Eyes). the particular two skin may be the perfect of the bunch for our purposes; the neighboring to an enlightenment allegory.Of course, the interesting material about wisdom is pursuing there, not being there, and hates what these films are about; provocation from a false reality, opening your eyes. They're not so much back what's actual as what's not. It's the biography of the journey one takes to get to the point where anything, even jumping off a tall building, would be better thin continuing to live a lie, alike a beautiful, blissful lie.Note the latency of the true guru, explaining in clear terms why rise off the building is the best thing to do, and waiting quietly for it to be done.::: Waking Life"They say that imagination are exclusive real as long as they last. Couldn't you say the same piece about life?"Wide-ranging philosophical inquiry. Provocative. Amusing. Potentially disruptive.::: Wings of Desire"When the child was a child, it was the time of the particular questions: Why am I me, and why not you? Why am I here, and why not there? When did turn begin and where complete space end?"A lovely, intelligent, thought-provoking film. Can the awakened vitality return to the dreamstate? Would he want to?::: OthersSome alternative films that reward considerate viewing are The diviner of Oz, About Schmidt, What idea May Come, Total Recall, All the Mornings regarding the universe (Tous lies Matins dug Monde), and, of course, many more.-Jed McKenna ::: About the Author"Jed McKenna is an American original." -Lama surely DasJed McKenna is the author of "Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing" and "Spiritually Incorrect Enlightenment", ventilated by Wisefool Press. Coming in 2005: "Spirituality X" and "Jed McKenna's Notebook". Visit WisefoolPress.com to get more.
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Rant about how I can’t draw anymore... it shouldn’t have got this long but as it did anyway, I’m gonna put a read more link there eh...
Asdfdeghawbfk I’ve been reading some webcomics on Tumblr and the more I see the pics the more I want to draw too! I just don’t know what to draw. I lost my inspiration years ago. I guess I just became this boring adult or something. Not really as I’m still very child-like by my mind but I think all my energy and imagination is rented by my mental illness as it loves to make up weird scenarios and false alarms 24/7 so there’s none left for my own use...
So far only things I can came up with is drawings related to my mental stuff and it makes me angry because it’s just lots of text along with badly drawn pictures of nothing interesting. I already write way too much of my nonsense no one is interested in and it’s spreading to my art too.
It’s sad because drawing had been my hobby since I could handle a pen. I guess it ended few years ago when I used to do lots of portraits. Just fanart basically but those were never good enough. For me as I’m a huge perfectionist. I was good at the mechanics but not so good at making them look original. I think the major breakdown was when my friend told me that she doesn’t understand people who draw portraits because it’s just basically a copy of a photo and is lacking the soul or story of the drawing itself. She got the point and I was and still am not angry at her, but it made me realize that they were just not-even-perfect copies of photos.
I also was bullied at school and made feel like I was worth nothing and everyone just hated (on) me and I felt pretty shit and I was lonely as hell (I had no friends at school for almst 2 years in straight), I drew a lot and that was my way of getting the attention and approval I couldn’t get. And it was never enough. I did not draw because it was fun but because I wanted it finished, uploaded to Deviantart and to see if I could get comments and I was ALWAYS disappointed and felt like the world is against me and it’s my destiny that no one will ever see me no matter what I do. I was grateful for everyone leaving a like or comment but it was not enough... so maybe they lacked the soul because y only intention with them was to get attention. So I slowly stopped drawing.
I also can’t draw anything just like that. I’m terrible and it also made me even more depressed and angry because everytime I tried drawing something that was no copying, they turned out 57825792 times worse. And I just felt like I actually couldn’t even draw shit so I was just lying to myself, I was pretending to be good at drawing when in reality I sucked so bad and just was faking for myself because I knew how to mechanically draw, but not how to draw with just my mind as the reference pic. I don’t know if they looked so horrible for everyone or just for me, but it made me so damn angry. And I’m not an angry person but when I tried to draw it just made me so stressed out and I wanted to break everything and throw stuff out of the window so I stopped.
AND YET I still feel the urge to draw but I don’t know WHAT to draw. Okay since the first Deadpool movie I’ve been wanting to draw this once scene from it but I’ve never started because it’s too much work to go and find that scene on the bluray and actually get that paused so you can see the lines well enough. So I’ve been thinking about that scene for over 2 years and have done nothing. Also it would just be one stupid-ass piece of fanart portrait which lack the soul and it’d be just for me to do something DP related for couple of hours as that’s probably only way to do something lasting that long. Unless I watch the movie or play the game 24/7 but... maybe not :DD (Also still can’t beat the last boss in the game because they really did not think about players using keyboard so it’s pissing me off too. I really want to know how the damn game ends!)
I also love comics and I started drawing comics when I was 9-10 years old. Or first I started with just series of pictures. Acually have to tell this one here: always the same story tho about a dino riding another dino like a horse in a competition, and then falling over this water hurdle that was deeper than swim pools what the fuck - and it ended with him watching the competition from tv with his family and he was in a wheel chair with an overall plaster cats what was wrong with me??? But I also did draw on coloring books, once I draw with a red crayon on some sort of swan, I drew wounds and blood everywhere and kept telling a story of how lion had attacked it and my aunt was there listening to me horrified :DDD I also remember how I once drew a cat family that apparently turned out to be so dangerous they had chains and all and eventually I ended up drawing lines over the whole paper because they were also behind a ighly securited fence. Okay, I know this sounds pretty creepy, but actually I’ve always liked animals over people so I have no clue why I drew things like these when in the end I could never hurt animals. Maybe Jurassic Park and other movies, as well as documents about animals, had something to do with this? Who knows...
(I also have traumas for the movie “Homeward Bound”, the scene where the cat’s in the basket in the middle of the river and the dog is trying to rescue it. I was very young at the time when my mom caught me in front of that movie crying like a... baby? because of that cat. I haven’t been able to watch that film ever again. So that probably tells you how much I love animals and especially cats as I’ve always lived with cats and we had three when I was born. But I did adopt this to my plays as a kid, I loved so much to play when someone or even better if it was a GROUP OF KIDS that were in a huge danger and they needed to be rescued. I did this with every single play I played back then. Still love it when x rescues y but nowadays more like on an emotional level as I was always alone against the people hating me and I could only dream about someone standing for me.)
BUT TO THE COMICS. At first they were just stream of consciousness without any plot, I created new characters all the time and never finished their stories as they had no plot ever. Also loved drawing “biographies”, usually it was some female anthropomorphic animal or insect that used clothes and had hair because I loved drawing different styles, make up and hair/hairdos to them. And often it started with couple of panels telling about her story from the beginning, then jumped to some age and next thing was panel per age at the same time telling about her in tht age. The idea was just to draw lots or hair and clothes, and then it ended with some age I considered “adult enough” and then their teenage/adult life started with boyfriends and stuff. Usually it was pretty much an ugly duckling kind of story where they were different and maybe bullied because of something (this one bunny had floppy ears so they did everything to get them pointy because she was bullied I guess? At least she hated her ears. Btw this was my first real comic ever!). But you can see why I still love playin The Sims games! :D
After these endless stories about nothing particular I came up with the idea of actually writing a plot and then drawing. Ended up with plenty of short comics that actually had a plot and some idea in them. The characters did change tho and I probably had couple of stories of each different characters. They were also always animals but no more antropomorphic but just animals that had speech bubbles.
My last comics ever (so far) have been two originals and one that I drew as a fanart. The two originals were called Micro - The Insane Murdered, and Little Emo Bird.
Micro was this dino-like creature, yet another anthropomorphic character because I did not know how to draw people without copying anyone’s style and I just never came up with humans as characters. So the header tells it, Micro is a murderer. This one I actually liked a lot! I was 15-17 when I drew him, but it was also much gore as, well, he’s a murderer. Or just a killer as he’s pretty much insane and doesn’t plan but just acts out of blue. I think I drew 3 different short stories for him and I had the last one written down. It was pretty interesting as I didn’t draw him for a while and when I remembered those plans and came back, I had had my identity crisis and EVERYTHING had changed. Original plan was to get him a girlfriend - after he was caught for his crimes and snet to prison,m he later was sent to an asylum for prisoners. This story should have taken place in there, introducing fellow inmates and Micro just felt like he was not in the right place as he was not ill. And then he would have met this girl and they’d have fallen in love and so on. But when I later checked that out I was so... confused :D Like, this is not me? This is what I hate now? Romance, ew, heteronormativity, ew, JUST THE CLICHÉS, BIG EW. So I just wrote these this very deep wall of text about his personality but it never turned into a comic. But I remember how proud I was about it as Micro was meant to be partly me but also something I could never be and never will be and what not, just some pretty cheesy blabber that felt good back then but right now would feel just as stupid as the first plan :D
The second one, Little Emo Bird, was an interesting one as well. I created it as a joke because I was a huge My Chemical Romance fan and there was this never-ending debate over if they’re emo or not (and as a fan I believed them so they were not emo) and created LEB. It was this bird and you usually saw just his head and occassionally wings too and he was very stereotypical emo with black hair and he was very suicidal and angry 24/7. Also others called him gay when he insisted that he was not. But actually I always imagined him with a girl emo bird instead of another boy bird but it was just the another stereotype that emoboys are gays. So it was not meant to be mean but just fun. I also liked him very much because he talked with me - the drawer/writer. Like he knew he can’t kill himself because I won’t let him and it pissed him off very. much. And he hated how the panels he was in had frames looking like scars. Oh my bad, the panels were not scars but the arrows pointing the next panel :D I’m not sure if he was actually suicidal but at least he acted like one because he was desperate for attention and tried to get attention to show no one gives a fuck about him and the would get angry for stupid reasons. So basically just a very moody teenager.
I have all these on my DeviantArt if someone’s interested, but I want to link here one of the... memes? What the shit these DA fill-this-thing were actually called memes? I wonder if they still are o.O Anyway, I want to link this one because I think it’s still the best one and I really like the outcome here :D
Here’s also the link to my dA as this empty meme was done by someone else and I wanna give credits. Oops, apparently it’s a deactivated account so nevermind, but here’s the link anyway.
The latter and so far the latest comic was about Die Ärzte, or more about the slash pairing (still my OTP) and I drew couple of comics about them, as well did write fanfiction too. These comics were my first to have human characters as I was tired of drawing everyone always in the form of animals (horses usually) just because I didn’t know how to draw people, and many people found their animal forms really disturbing to view so I changed to people.
After those I just haven’t drawn anything really. Comics would be nice, once I actually thought it would be interesting as a career but then again, I can’t work under pressure and I couldn’t live from art because you never know when the artblock hits you. Right now it’s been on for couple of years and basically only way to create something atm is to play The Sims 3 and write my TS3 blog. At least it’s something, pics with text so... I still would love to draw but I just have NO IDEA of any concept or anything.
Also just want to say here that after thinking about my Micro and LEB it’s weird how there’s certain things that actually are just the things that made me start liking Deadpool. (I’d have written ‘fall in love’ but as much as he is a fictional character, he’s still a human being and I don’t/can’t love humans...) It just shows that I’ve always like that kind of things with comics but didn’t know they existed outside of my comics until I found out about DP. Have to admit tho, that I haven’t read any DP comics... But I have an excuse: I don’t know if there’s a way to get those in Finland. ANYWAY, I just feel like someone would think these were affected by DP but actually they were not. Micro and LEB both were created in 2008 and I did not find out about Deadpool until in... 2013-2014 I think? And even then it was just occassional browsing in the internet before the movie trailers came out and that’s when I really got interested and started reading about him a lot and bought the game and here I am now. Acually not sure if it was in 2013 when we were just rewatching the X-Men movies and a friend of mine probably mentioned Deadpool at some point and told some things about him that got my attention. But really I got interested bit later anyway.
I really feel like I should do some sort of comparison between me drawing from photos vs. me drawing from my head to show how huge the difference is. And this annoys me a lot because I feel like I’ve been using these photos to LEARN to draw better but it just feels like my skills are at the maximum no matter how much I’d practice, and I’m not happy with the result as I feel like I should learn even more but how do you learn if your skill is stuck??? People always say that you just need to draw every day and a lot and they don’t understand that’s what I did and never could cross a certain point. I probably was also very jealous at my siblings because they were 5732850 times better than me who had been drawing longer than them (as I’m 3½ years older), just seeing them to improve made me so angry because I did not seem to improve at all. With copy drawings I did tho! But not with the ones I wanted to.
Now, I also know that lots of artists use lots of reference photos and that’s actually great and made me feel better as I always assumed everyone is naturally that awesome and I can’t even learn more; so it made me feel better because I also have permission? I’m not fake for using photos? But I’m just this... all or nothing so I very easily feel like I’ve betrayed myself if I don’t draw all by myself and then I need to point out that hey I’m not this good in reality I used a photo heh don’t think I’m a naturally gifted as I’M NOT asddd. So yeah, my need to constantly explain myself is on the way with this one too :))) But I don’t think this would be so bad anymore if I now started drawing again, but the biggest problem still is, that I still have that artblock and I haven’t had inspirations in years. Apart from that DP fanart idea which I don’t know if I should carry out or not... sigh.
...I want teh comics!!! I once even wanted to start this webcomic diary because I used to read lots of them but even that idea was dead from the beginning because my life is so boring there’s nothing to draw about. I also have drawn couple of comics of our cats but again it’s the thing I can’t (or I make myself believe that I can’t...) draw the way it’d look nice and appealing, now they’re just black and white mess.
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