"I don't feel particularly proud of myself. But when I walk alone in the woods or lie in the meadows, all is well."

– Letters to Friends, Family, and Editors by Franz Kafka, Translation by Richard Winston and Clara Winston

Genuinely though the Final Problem is really well-done.

It's a death story in which Doyle's whole goal was to kill Holmes off, but he still did it with care and respect and attention to what the characters deserved. He didn't drop a bridge on him or get him shot by a random criminal just so he could go "HE'S DEAD, NOW GO AWAY." He actually successfully created a nemesis for Holmes within the scope of one short story—someone we can believe is a big enough threat that it justifies Holmes dying to stop him. Without ever even letting us meet the guy face-to-face! That's insane. But it works. Moriarty has an established place in pop culture as Holmes's nemesis because Doyle made us believe it, just within FINA. He made Holmes's death an accomplishment for Holmes, a crowning glory.

And he didn't phone in the rest of the story, either. It's filled with Holmes and Watson being themselves. We have Holmes telling the ins and outs of his fight with Moriarty, intelligent and self-possessed and full of a zest for life even as he repeats that he'd willingly give it up to take this guy down; we have Watson's loyalty and stubbornness that keeps him close to Holmes and the need to help others that ultimately lures him away. We get an incredibly dramatic site for Holmes's death that Watson spends entire paragraphs describing.

We also get Watson's grief in the narration, which—again—is not colored by the author's own decisions regarding Holmes. Doyle might be tired of him, but he knows Watson isn't! And so Watson's narration is wholly and sincerely a tribute to Holmes, and mourning for his death, because that is both what the fans want to hear and what Watson would want to write. It's just...honestly, this whole story is such a good example of how to kill off a beloved character, if you're really set on doing it.

happy birthday to my friends and i’s knight chara and strange someone frisk aus/theories :]

hi for undertale reasons i don’t like any combination of shipping chara frisk and asriel. if you ship them go away 👍

wikipedia is certainly not a perfect encyclopedia--it has lots of flaws and things to be legitimately critical about--but it would be a staggering source of insight into our own culture and worldview. like a compendium of information about the world, in many different languages (with images!) that also comes with extensive commentary (in the user and talk and discussion pages) about why this or that decision was made in its construction would be a dream for an archeologist, if we found the equivalent for, like, the ancient near east, or preclassical mesoamerica.

this is why i think we should build a long-term storage vault on the Moon and every couple of decades update a repository with the most recent version of Wikipedia. that way, if our civilization or species ever die out, our successors (or at least some alien archeologists) can use that resource to learn what we were all about.

m. bienvenue my beloved

me on may 2: okay time to see if getting this 125 year old story emailed to me is actually as fun as it sounds

me on may 6: why has my good friend jonathan harker not sent me a travel email today? how is his castle dracula sleepover going? is everything okay? i miss him

"The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association. I was alone." holmes...

Dear Revali...

Dearest Revali...

Revali,

This letter idea feels... childish and futile. Apart of me can't help but wonder if you would feel the same. After my memories returned and I was able to understand the timeline of events... I found myself more lost than one perhaps should. I lived and so many died-- you died. I can't change these events and pondering on what I may have been able to do differently only brings more heartache.

Zelda hopes that writing these unsent letters may help me regulate and grow, these were the words she shared with me. Now that there is no threat looming over Hyrule, the Calamity is defeated and you and the other champions are forever gone I feel as though I have nothing. This is not to discredit the princess as she does her best to keep us busy with the rebuilding of Hyrule. She does not put expectations of my help but it is easier to be around someone who knows the loss I feel-- who knew you.

It is difficult not to feel the breeze and wonder if you're in it. If you can even see me now... hunched over this paper that becomes more and more full of my writing that I wonder if you had even had the opportunity to obtain a glimpse of. The sky tonight resembles one of your favorites... it must be the reason why I mustered up the courage to finally start writing to you. I can't tell if it helps or hurts knowing you will never see this. This does not stop me from imagining what you may say. The jests you may toss my way as the curve of your beak upturns in what I always saw as your smile...

Do you miss me as much as I miss you? I wonder this and I wonder it often.

It is late and I fear I may spill too much at once... until next time, Revali.

- Link

Codex entry: Solas (2/2)

"Inquisitor,

Despite my efforts, I have been unable to locate Solas. From the site of your battle with Corypheus, he was last seen headed west, still distraught over the destruction of the orb Corypheus carried. From there he disappeared, evading my people so easily and so completely that I am forced to wonder how much he knew about them.

When Solas initially approached the Inquisition and offered aid, I questioned him extensively about his background and history. He was evasive, but he did give the name of the village where he grew up, noting that it was small, unlikely to appear on any map.

I hate loose ends, so I kept a few of my agents searching, to verify his story. They recently located the village… or what remains of it. It is a ruin, as it has been for centuries, its name preserved only in degraded form in Ancient Tevinter mysteries. Whoever Solas truly is, wherever he came from, he has deceived us from the very start.

I apologize for not investigating this more thoroughly while Solas was here. He was clearly helping us, and other matters were of greater urgency, but it was an oversight nevertheless, given how little he shared with us. It is not clear what his plans are, if any, but I will continue to search.

Leliana"

"I do understand and it is terrible."

-Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written c. July 1915, featured in "Letters to Felice"

So my baby's sisters absolute favourite book is Flowers For Algernon and I'm pretty okay at binding books so for Xmas I'm giving her a cool rebound version.

But here's the thing. It's a journal, right? And she loves when shit feels real you know like when books set in the 1800s have yellowed pages and those rough edges and shit. So I got it into my head that I'm going to actually write it out by hand, with the handwriting style reflecting the mastery of language that changes throughout the story (i.e. blocky and rudimentary at first, evolving into quicker possibly cursive as he learns, then blocky again but shaky at the end). I'm doing the short version bc I love my sister but not enough to handwrite 200 pages in different fonts.

So anyways this is a Project so anyone who sees this do me a favor and yell at me to work on it so it actually gets done this year lol.

i’m so overwhelmed by things that shouldn’t be overwhelming...

They warned me not to press play after dark, but here I am, to wound up to sleep after catching up on the last three episodes at 11pm.

Hey

You won't be surprised to know I'm doing worse than I was a year ago. I'm writing more than I used to. You won't read any of this, of course. I'll store them away for when I miss you a little more than usual. It's not as frequent as I'd imagined. It comes in waves - sometimes a low tide, sometimes a Tsunami. You're my Monday and Friday blues.

I'm better at playing the guitar. Better than you, probably. But all songs I play, I play for you. My fingers listen to my heart more than I do.

I've been well otherwise. My parents are not much kinder than they were, but I've learned to cope. I hope you did too. Some people grow in the presence of the person they love. But for me, it was your absence. Words don't roll easily off my tongue any longer. I know now they have consequences. If only you'd told me instead of letting me learn the hard way. It's not easy on me, but I make do. I hope it's the same for you.

You were home once five years ago. When I'm sadder, I recall you lying on my bed, sitting on the stairs and standing next to me in the kitchen. I wish I could recall all the conversations we had. I still have all our text messages, or at least what I could salvage. I haven't read them in five years in the fear of reading between the lines only to find someone I don't like. Time wasn't kinder to us towards the end, I know.

Remember when I told you you were the only boy I'd ever loved? Not much has changed. I've met many men - some wonderful, some undeserving. Some came close, but not quite. I wonder what it'd be like to have you around. I wonder who you would have matured into. Would you comfort me every time I was heartbroken? Would I let myself be heartbroken? After you?

I know now you knew you were leaving, so distance felt inevitable for you. But we promised we'd stick around. You promised to be my best man and I promised to always cushion your fall. But of all the promises I couldn't keep, I kept one - I won't let go even if you do.

June 3, 2023