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hashtagartistlife · 4 years

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this is a state of grace

; –this is a worthwhile fight. Fate pulls them apart, and fate brings them back together. If there is one thing Ichigo and Rukia know about their separations, it is that their reunions are always worth the wait.

the poems at the start of each chapter are not mine, but are from this post here. This has 4 chapters planned, one for each stanza, but I really don't know if I'll get around to finishing it since I have other fics that are higher on my priority list. Nevertheless, I've been holding onto this one chapter for so long that I figure it's time to send it off into the wild.

_________________________________________________________

“I missed you.”

you toss it to him,

unexpected,

but knowing he has the animal reflexes to

catch it. It’s half a joke,

half something else

and the way he looks at

you, means you both aren’t

ready to talk about it.

Ichigo doesn’t return to his human body immediately after the battle ends. Instead, he sits outside on the rooftop, his fingers lingering along his newfound black cladding like an afterthought; he watches the stars as he traces the armour snaking around his wrists and neck. There are a lot of people who want to see him, to speak to him—but he’s shunned them all for the moment, in favour of sitting outside in his shinigami form just a little longer. As though he is afraid that should he change back, the events of tonight will dissolve into a dream and he’ll wake up powerless once again.

Rukia doesn’t blame him. She knows exactly how he feels, the warmth of her reiryoku returned to her after months of its absence still clear as day in her mind. She remembers what it is like to feel hopeless and helpless, trapped in a body that was not meant for her, going through the motions of everyday life while constantly yearning for something beyond her reach. Shinigami are not complete without their zanpakutou by their side— are not much of anything at all without their power ringing through their veins and soaking through their souls.

Her power had trickled back to her in small streams, gradually and softly like a dam filling with rain, but even then her first brush against Sode no Shirayuki after her incarceration in Urahara’s gigai and the Senzaikyuu had been one of the most profound and relieving moments of her life. For Ichigo, she knows it will be that much more powerful, his reiryoku having been returned to him all at once (and in a distinctly ungentle manner). So it’s no surprise to her, really, that he has chosen to stay just a little longer in his Shinigami form, has chosen to sit outside where it’s quiet, all the better to feel his reiatsu swirl around him in a cloak so thick and heavy that she’s certain no Hollows will dare bother Karakura tonight.

She’s just three buildings away from him now, and already she can feel the pull of his reiatsu against hers, vital and alive. She hadn’t meant to seek him out when she and Renji had volunteered to scout the perimeters after Ginjou’s fall, to keep the area clear of Hollow complications while the rest of the party searched for stray Fullbringers, but somehow—like the first time, like every other time after that—she has ended up here anyway.

Some things are not like the first time, though. He’s taller, even when he’s sitting down. He’s broader. And though his back is to her, she knows his eyes will be older. A soldier’s eyes, a warrior’s eyes; not eyes you should see in the face of a seventeen-year-old.

She thinks, he’s grown up too soon.

She lands beside him like a star falling; beautiful and devastating all at once, graceful and assured. He doesn’t make any signs of acknowledgement, but his reiatsu shifts, warms and moves aside to create space for her next to him. She joins him in sitting, and his power envelops hers, settles around her like stardust. She closes her eyes and revels in the sensation.

“How are you?” he asks after a short silence, and she opens her eyes slowly; he is still looking at the sky, but his voice is warm and low.

“That should be my line,” she replies, because it should have been; he’s only seventeen, and he’s just killed a man. You always remember your first kill; you fold it away in the recesses of your heart and let it make or break you. Rukia will take the feeling of Kaien on the end of her sword to her grave. She knows Ichigo will see Ginjou’s last leer in his dreams till he dies.

“I’m fine,” he says lightly, “I’m fine,” repeats it for emphasis when her expression becomes skeptical. He turns to her with a hint of a smile in his eyes. “I’m fine.” The unspoken ‘now’ at the end isn’t lost on either of them. She studies him a moment, and decides he is telling the truth; he really is fine. Better. Whole.

And if that doesn’t speak volumes about how much he’s grown since the skinny, angry fifteen-year-old boy she stabbed with her sword two years prior, she doesn’t know what does. She takes back what she’d yelled at him in the heat of their reunion; he’s become resilient. Strong enough, and sure enough, to take on the world without her shouting directions into his ear. Which is both relieving, and a bit of a shame. She quite enjoyed the shouting at him part.

(Of course, just because the boy’s grown up a bit doesn’t mean he won’t still be an idiot on occasion. Just look at Renji. Perhaps her shouting days weren’t entirely past her after all.)

He must read some of her thoughts in the expression she turns to him, then, because he allows the mirth in his eyes to manifest into a smile—a half-smile, with a tinge of something bordering on sadness still, but a smile nonetheless. Rukia breathes.

“Your hair’s shorter,” he notes out of the blue, and his hand twitches, like he wants to bring it up and tug at her shorter strands.

“Yours is longer,” she counters, and unlike him she has no compunction about bringing her hand up and messing his windblown strands into a veritable disaster. Ichigo laughs as he tries to stop her, and she laughs too as she tries to continue, and somehow in between the reaching and the restraining and the hands around wrists, they topple over into a half-sprawled position, stargazing forgotten in favour of charting the small constellations of change scattered across the other’s person. Sideburns. Lieutenant’s badge. Black cladding. Gloves.

A melancholy that wasn’t there before in his steady gaze, and a loneliness that is different to the one she has always carried in hers.

“Does it hurt?” she blurts out, before her thought processes can quite catch up to the ache in her heart that causes her to ask this. “Does it hurt? Where I stabbed you?” Does it hurt, she wants to ask, the sadness in your eyes?

He stills beneath her, and without his larger frame supporting her precarious leaning, she has to abandon her attempts to reach his hair so she can prevent herself from collapsing on top of him. Her hands fall, and somehow both land on his chest; one off to the side, the other one directly over his sternum, where she had pierced him to transfer his powers back to him.

“No,” he says quietly, “not anymore.” Not anymore, he wants to reply, not now that you’re here.

They stare at each other for a heartbeat, the moment stretching into eternity; ah, but the things that stretch are always as fragile as the gap they bridge. A gust of wind chases a late autumn leaf into Rukia’s mouth, and the moment is broken. She splutters comically, sitting bolt upright to spit the offending plant out of her mouth, and Ichigo doubles up with laughter, rolling out from under her in helpless spasms across the cold concrete.

Ah, Rukia thinks, even as she scrunches her face up in mock outrage, this was better. This was something familiar in unfamiliar territory, and it gladdens her that no matter how many things change between them they will always have this. This easy dynamic that neither of them can find with anyone else, and this emboldens her just enough to throw out the words that have been on the tip of her tongue all evening.

“I missed you, you fool.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, she wants to take them back; the tone is all wrong, too heavy, too full of an emotion she hadn’t meant to put into them (hadn’t realized she’d put into them). Ichigo’s eyes widen a fraction, the grin dying on his lips, and Rukia feels a detached sort of panic climbing up her throat; she was wrong, she was wrong, she had misjudged everything completely and there was nothing there to stop her plummeting headlong into the abyss—

Only, he sits up. His lips close and part soundlessly a few times, and a hand reaches out for her almost involuntarily. She offers him her wrist, and he curls his fingers around it, clamps down on it like a lifeline. He’s looking at her with the strangest expression on his face, somewhere between anguish and yearning, and her heart jolts.

“I—“ the word chokes in his throat, half-strangled, barely articulated. Very suddenly, he looks much younger than his seventeen years. “Rukia, you—“

Her other hand reaches up to rest against his temple, brushing back the soft, spiky hair there. He tenses for a split second, all his muscles locking in a soldier’s reaction to proximity, before his bones are liquid and he melts into her touch. He exhales shakily, turning his face into her palm; she feels the warm tip of his nose brush her hand. “Rukia, I—“

“Shh,” she croons, “It’s alright, Ichigo. It’s ok.” And it is, because she understands—they’ve always been good at this, this unspoken communication. And as much as things haven’t changed between them, she understands in that moment that something significant has. But she barely knows what it is and he—well. If the way he is shaking is anything to go by, he’s not ready for it either. So for now, this is enough. His shaky breaths against her, his fingers around her wrists, her hand on his hair; the two of them, under the stars.

Gradually, his breathing slows, evens; she makes to draw back, but his grip on her tightens. His other hand fetters her other wrist, keeping it against him. She can feel his warm exhalations on her skin and the tiny hairs on her arm stand on end.

“Wait,” he rasps, and the breath tickles on its way past, sends a shiver down her spine. His voice is calm, but there is an edge of a question to it, the tight, anticipatory tension before a reply.

“I know,” she says, heart in her throat. She’s not quite sure what it is that she knows, only that she does. “Ichigo, I know.”

He relaxes fractionally; he doesn’t let go of her wrists and neither does she attempt to take them away. There is something calmer in the air now, a feeling of something resolved, if only half-resolved. They will come back to it later.

They breathe together.

#bleach #ichiruki #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #bleach fic #writer life

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

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Killing Care and Grief of Heart (Let all the Broken Pieces Shine, Chapter One)

Info: The Magnus Archives, D&D AU. JonMartin in this chapter, more ships to be added. Rated T. Post-Canon. Jon is amab nb and uses they/them, Martin is a trans guy.

CWs: Character death, stabbing, grief, webs, manipulation, apocalypses, alternate realities

Summary: MAG 200 from Martin’s viewpoint, setting up what is to come after. The idea of Martin being Orpheus and Jon being Eurydice comes from the poem “Eurydice’s Retort” by Aiden. The poem quoted is the last stanza of Margaret Atwood’s "Orpheus 1" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986, published 1987. The chapter title is a line from William Shakespeare's Orpheus.

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It’s easier than Martin had thought it would be, killing Jon.

He’s thought about it before, of course, and well before he walked through his own Domain and spoke to the other version of himself. Thoughts of Jon’s death have been a constant companion for the weeks (months? years?) they’ve been walking through the Apocalypse, and for more than a year even before that.

Keeping Jon alive was the whole reason he kept working for Peter Lukas, after all.

The first time he thought about the idea that he might wind up responsible for Jon’s death was some time after they went through Oliver Banks’ Domain, the one with all the roots. Jon had been waxing philosophical that night(?), while they were resting in one of the between-places. They’d gotten to talk about the classics, about story and narrative, about how the dream-logic of everything they were dealing with could be understood through the lens of myth and metaphor.

That was when Martin had brought up Orpheus and Eurydice, pointed out that Jon had played Orpheus in diving into the Lonely to bring Martin out. He had quoted Margaret Atwood’s poem, the one from Eurydice’s point of view. Jon, of course, had never read the poem (and honestly, how is he so in love with someone who could barely stand to read anything once, let alone twice), had questioned Martin as to why he liked it so much. (Martin’s answer: melancholy. It’s about Eurydice not really wanting to come back to the world of the living, after all.)

“But you didn’t want to stay there, not really,” Jon had said, looking perplexed.

“Well… no… I mean, I sort of did while I was in there, but once you got me back out…” Martin had sighed. “It fits, that’s all I mean, and it was the first time you’d really used your powers the way you’ve been doing here. You killed Peter Lukas, you drew me out of his Domain, you’ve been doing it ever since. You’re Orpheus.”

Jon had looked at him for a long moment, with those piercing eyes that always took Martin’s breath away, and then said, “That’s ridiculous. I could never make the mountains bow themselves when I did sing.” (Of course he knew Shakespeare, and Martin did love Shakespeare but in this case he really did prefer Atwood), and then Jon was smiling at him and saying, “You’re Orpheus, love.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Martin had countered. “You’re the one who went in there to rescue me. You’re the one who led me out. Forget the Lonely, I’d have been lost in the tunnels forever without you.”

“Ah, but,” and Jon had put up a finger, “I’m the one who actually died.” He’d grinned, as if he were winning something. “I died, and you could not stand the thought, and so you dove into the underworld of whatever plot Peter and Jonah had concocted, and you sang your sweet words at them, and charmed them, and pulled me out of the hell they were trying to trap me in.”

“But… you’re the one who led me out of the Lonely,” Martin had repeated, baffled.

“Yes,” Jon had said softly, “and the problem with Orpheus and Eurydice was always that Orpheus could not trust that she would return to him. He went into the underworld to begin with because he didn’t trust that the gods would reunite them when he died. When he was leading her out he could not trust that it hadn’t been a trick, that he hadn’t lost her, and so he turned around to be sure. His doubts brought everything crashing down around them.” His gaze had been gentle, soft, maybe a little chiding. “If Eurydice had been leading the way, and Orpheus could have seen her the whole time, they would have made it out together.”

The thing neither of them had said aloud was that in the end, whatever Martin had done to pull Jon out of the “underworld” of Jonah’s plans hadn’t worked. The entire world had fallen in around them instead.

Jon had kept the thing alive since then, occasionally calling Martin ‘his Orpheus,’ usually when Martin was making up some ridiculous doggerel to amuse them both. And Martin didn’t mind, and was honestly somewhat flattered, but it started something gnawing at him. Two things, really: first, that Orpheus was the hero of the tale, and Martin did not want to be the hero, did not want to be the one upon whom all responsibility sat. Making choices for himself was all good and well; he didn’t like the feeling of maybe having to make choices for all of humanity.

The second was the nagging, aching remembrance that in every version of the myth Orpheus ultimately loses Eurydice. Death will not be overcome for long, no matter how charming one’s music. The idea that Jon would die to end this Martin had considered more than once. He hated the thought, and would rather die himself than see his lover sacrificed once more.

The idea that Martin himself would have to kill Jon to save the world? It fit perfectly. He knew it fit the moment he first thought of it, and it felt as if his heart were breaking in slow motion ever since.

Orpheus could not return to the world of light and joy with his Eurydice, after all. It just didn’t work that way, no matter how they twisted and turned to try to avoid the truth.

When they’d made a plan Jon had not wholly acquiesced to, Martin had felt that throbbing ache in his chest again. When he’d gone to talk to Jon, and hugged him, and Jon had talked about how everything was his fault… he knew. He just knew, and he did not like the decision he could feel settling in his chest. Jon was going to do something stupid, and Martin was going to have to be the one to fix it.

He could not trust Jon. That was the long and the short of it, he’d thought, as he’d stood there holding the smaller man in his arms, listening to his sniffles. And because he could not trust Jon, he’d stopped when he should have been following the other man, and turned to the others, and told them to go and blow up the gas main now. He’d turned away, and when he’d looked back, Jon was out of his sight and too far gone for Martin to catch up in time to stop him from killing Jonah Magnus and taking his place in the Panopticon.

Ironically enough, this time what doomed Orpheus was looking away from his lover, instead of looking at him.

So now Jon is in the Panopticon, because he could not be anything but self-sacrificing, and because Martin could not trust him long enough to just go after him, could not trust that he would have been able to talk Jon out of killing Jonah once they’d got up there. He’s in the tower, hooked in as the Pupil of the Eye, and Georgie’s lit the gas main already, and the whole thing is blowing up while Jon screams in pain.

For just a moment, Martin has a fleeting memory of Basira telling him that she’d convinced the police not to just burn the Institute to the ground, and oh, if she hadn’t done that…

Well, no use for that now.

For everything Martin’s said, every moment he’s refused, aloud, to admit that he could kill Jon if he had to, he’s known for some time now that he can if he must. He’s thought about it over and over, turning over everything, thinking about how to kill the Archivist. The answer is simple and obvious. Jon already gave it to him, before they’d left the Institute, and it’s narratively appropriate in that dream-logic mythic way the Fears work. So he knows what he has to do.

Martin pulls Jon out of the Panopticon, and they say they love each other, and they kiss. And then Martin pulls Jon’s head back and stabs him swiftly, once in each eye. Jon only gasps once, the first time, and maybe he’s already dead by the time Martin stabs the other, but he won’t take the chance of leaving the job half-done. It’s clear that it was the right choice--stabbing someone in the eye shouldn’t kill them so quickly, but the Eye was all that was keeping Jon alive, and so he’s dead now, gone.

And so, Martin thinks, Orpheus loses his Eurydice. Atwood’s poem echoes in his mind:

Though I knew how this failure would hurt you, I had to fold like a gray moth and let go. You could not believe I was more than your echo.

Martin sobs, then, just once, and he’d keep sobbing but there’s a rising static, the sort he’s used to hearing while listening to the tapes. And then he sees that actual tape has come into the Panopticon writhing up from between cracks and over stone to wrap itself around Jon, around his legs and arms, trying to drag him away.

Martin cannot speak, he’s too wracked with grief, but he’s damned if he’ll let the Web take Jon from him, not now. Wherever Jon is going, he’s going too. That was the deal. So as the web of magnetic recording tape grabs Jon and pulls him through the air like he’s some sort of insect to be wrapped up and devoured, Martin holds him tighter, refusing to let go.

The tapes are somehow strong enough to pull them both out of the Panopticon, through the air, across the landscape. There are other things being pulled toward wherever they’re going, a thousand or a million, too many to count. Martin can see the web of magnetic tape criss-crossing the landscape, touching all the places they’ve been, the Domains they’ve traveled through, the avatars they’ve encountered. He can see with eyes that should have belonged to the Web had Peter Lukas not gotten hold of him and claimed him for the Lonely. He can see the extent of it all, the scope of the plan, the thing the Web had wanted all along--the Fears, bound up by the Archivist’s Knowing, connected by the tapes at a thousand little points, dragged screaming out of this reality toward the hole at Hilltop Road.

For a moment it strikes Martin as a thing of beauty. Wretched, horrid beauty, but beauty nonetheless. A plan at least three decades in the making, finally come to perfect fruition. Reality re-made in order to allow the Fears to manifest strongly enough for the Web to bind them and pull them out and… ascend.

They fall toward the hole, and then into the hole, and then suddenly Jon spasms in Martin’s arms. Martin clutches him more tightly so as not to lose him, so he’s right there when Jon’s mouth opens and sound begins pouring out. Words, but more than words, and none in his own voice. It’s as though he’s become the tape recorder, playing a statement. People talking--Basira and Georgie and Melanie. The world is safe, it seems. The plan worked. And maybe it’s better than Jon’s dead, because surely whatever the people who remembered ‘the Archivist’ would have done to him would have been far more painful and horrific than Martin stabbing him in the eyes.

The Admiral’s okay. Martin wishes Jon were alive, so he could know that much at least.

The voices echo in the darkness they’re falling through. Basira’s voice: “What do you want me to do with this?” She must mean the recorder she found in the ruins.

Georgie replies, “Leave it. We’re done with tapes.”

“Want me to smash it?” That’s Melanie, because of course it is.

Basira says, “I think… we can probably just turn it off.”

Martin can almost hear the shrug in Melanie’s voice. “Okay.”

There are footsteps, two pairs, presumably Melanie and Georgie walking away.

Basira addressed the tape recorder. “If anyone’s listening… goodbye. I’m sorry, and… good luck.”

There’s a final flick, and then Jon actually speaks, despite being dead, the words resonating in the darkness:

“STATEMENTS END.”

Martin almost sobs, clutching Jon, eyes squeezed tight. He’s not sure he ever liked Basira much, and he really barely knew Georgie and Melanie--and really it’s been so hard, for so long, to be sure he liked anyone much, aside from Jon--but he takes the good wishes for what they are, clasps them into his heart. Wherever the Web is taking them, it has to be better than what they’re leaving behind.

Wherever it is, Martin is sure there won’t be any more recorders, any more statements. They, too, are done with tapes.

Next Chapter

#the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #jonathan sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #fanfic #my fanfic #tma spoilers #otp: one way or another together #tma d&d au #let all the broken pieces shine #okay here's the fic proper up on tumblr #time to post the rest of the chapters #wow i put the 'keep reading' in a weird place but it's what worked #long post for ts

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 4 years

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1917

I’m not a big war movie buff, but I’ve been excited to see this film from the moment I heard the words “Sam Mendes.” Skyfall is one of my favorite movies of all time, and my hopes for this were SKY HIGH (get it? You get it). However, I know a lot of people think that the one continuous shot thing is a gimmick that obscures the larger story. And at this point, how much more is there to say about the nature of war? Well...

The themes may not be new, but we all need a good reminder now and again, and this one is wrapped up in the prettiest, most beautifully executed razor sharp package you could ask for. 1917 is the tale of two lance corporals, Blake (Dean Charles-Chapman) and Schofield (George MacKay) who are tasked with a nigh-impossible mission: to get a message across no man’s land and beyond the German lines to a group of infantrymen who are poised to attack at dawn (about 16 hours from now) because new intelligence confirms that those men are walking into a German trap. If they do not receive the General’s orders to stand down, 1600 men will be killed for no good reason at all, as opposed to the very good reason they were all there in the first place, you see.

What follows is a harrowing trip through the trenches, across no man’s land, and into the French countryside as the corporals try to reach the infantry in time and stop the attack, and save the lives of those 1600 men, including corporal Blake’s brother - and it’s all done as one long single tracking shot.

Some thoughts:

Goddamn Sam Mendes knows where to put a camera. I know it’s not all him, and that Roger Deakins’ cinematography is also to thank here, but just. GODDAMN. There are shots in this that are so gorgeous I want to compose poems in their honor. It’s a delicate balance between the camera disappearing so as not to call attention to the gimmick/the camera deliberately reminding you that this is happening in real time, that these moments are passing by quicker and quicker and the world is literally on fire and all we can do is just keep moving forward. I know it doesn’t work for some people, but great googily moogily did it work for me.

The tension in the film starts as soon as Black and Schofield enter the tent to receive their orders, and it doesn’t let up after that. Oh sure, there are quiet interludes, and there are moments when the horrors of war aren’t directly being pushed into your eyeballs, but even in the background the score, the lighting, every micro-expression that crosses our actors’ faces, they all remind you that time is a luxury and it is running out.

Speaking of, Thomas Newman’s score is great - unobtrusive but pulsing.

Having seen They Shall Not Grow Old (which, if you haven’t seen it, is an absolutely INCREDIBLE documentary), the recreation of all the trenches is so perfect and detailed, and you really get the sense of their scope and scale as Blake and Schofield are making their way through the labyrinthine tunnels.

There is a Very Good Dog sighting! Which is, in fact, period accurate, because there were lots of stray dogs that the soldiers took in and made friends with during their down time in the trenches.

For those of you sensitive to harm coming to animals, there is some pretty disturbing and graphic footage of some deceased horses and a deceased dog :(

Oh sweet jesus there’s some body horror for real, Sam Mendes is not shy about showing the horrors of war and the indignities done to the human body when there is so much carnage that we can’t honor our dead.

Did I Cry? I was doing ok. Things were, you know, upsetting but fine. And then the line “Talk to me, tell me you know the way” happened and it was raining buckets on my face.

I love these moments of surreality, like the soldier singing this haunting song, or catching glimpses of the photographs the German soldiers left behind. They’re beautiful and absurd and highlight just how outside of reality war is.

Every single British actor is in this and they’re all killing it. Colin Firth doesn’t have a ton to work with, but he gets in, he gets out, and yeah, I’d take a secret suicide mission from him too. Andrew Scott is fantastic - weary, defeated, and furious. Oh hello Mark Strong! Hello Mark Strong in uniform mmmmm. Ol’ Benny Cumbs coming in at the end, looking a little rough around the edges with that scar. He’s got the imposing war voice down, and his jaded outlook feels like the final kill in the world’s bloodiest horror movie. Then at last we have Richard Madden, who goes through more emotions in the 2 minutes he’s onscreen than most people have to in their whole lives.

Did I Cry? Part 2. I don’t even like kids that much, but I challenge YOU not to cry when a traumatized and bloody soldier recites poetry to a baby to get her to quiet down while her city is literally on fucking fire.

My MVP award of the movie has to go to George MacKay’s performance as Schofield though, for real. His task is not an easy one, and he carries a good deal of the movie on his shoulders, growing more and more haunted by the second. More than anything else about this movie, I will remember his face.

It’s not a classic war movie in terms of showing big battles or even being that bloody. Most of the carnage actually comes into play as decay, as things left behind to rot or get buried in the muck and the mud, or bloat lifelessly in a river. But it showcases the battle for our humanity when we subject human beings to the random, senseless cruelty of war better than any war movie I’ve ever seen. The whole time I was watching it, I was reminded of why Wilfred Owen in this English major’s favorite poem of all time. This movie will haunt me the same way the final stanza of “Dulce et Decorum Est” always will:

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

Notes:

Latin phrase is from the Roman poet Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”

#120in2020 #1917 #1917 film #1917 review #sam mendes #george mackay #dean charles chapman #andrew scott #benedict cumberbatch #richard madden #colin firth #mark strong #movie reviews #film reviews

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kariachi · 4 years

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We’re not doing a liveblog today. Yes, I know, y’all were looking forward to it, but I want to ease my way back in after all the hustle and bustle of moving during the holidays (which still isn’t done, I got even more shit to unpack and nowhere to put it yet). Instead, I’m gonna be seeing about transcribing Kevin’s poetry from What Rhymes With Omnitrix.

No, not the Gwevin one, the other shit.

Poetry (as much as I can get) and thoughts below

My soul is as dark as the night I cannot see at all

I wish the stars could give me sight But they would only fall

Nowhere to run Nowhere to hide The way I feel I’m trapped inside

My dark, dark, dark path Light my way with the dying of day And raise me above the fray

Thunderstorms within my heart Lightning pierces through the dark

Like a shooting star departs the sky Now it’s time to say goodbye

None of these casuals understand my anguish They don’t understand me I don’t speak their language

Wherever I go Whatever I see My enemy’s there in front of me

I’ll show them all what I can do I’m more than just a leech Their bodies paralyzed by words Their hearts grow heavy from my speech

I’ve grouped up stanzas we know are connected or just seem like they’re probably connected. Charmcaster definitely jumped around some to find stanzas that fit what she wanted to do. So, let’s take a look at them.

First things first, this is definitely not professional grade, but for an 11-yo this shit is pretty good. I know I damn sure couldn’t manage this well at his age. If he keeps practicing and learning he could probably go places.

Second things second, this is an emo fucking child. Seriously, this boy has not been having a good time.

Most of this is just typical ‘preteen with issues’ stuff, like you’d find in any damaged kid’s poetry, but some of it points at more specific topics. For instance, the ‘dark, dark, dark path’ stanza could be easily read as part of a larger poem involving his becoming a bad guy. Especially so when you take into account his OS counterpart’s ‘then let me be evil’-brand shit. Could be read as an ‘if this is what it takes to make things better for me then this is what I’m doing’.

The ‘thunderstorms’ portion I’ve put together because while they may not come directly after each other those two little sections work well enough together that I would guess they come from the same poem- especially when compared to the rest of the selection. The last line on the second verse is what gets my attention though- ‘now it’s time to say goodbye’. Given he’s a runaway it’s not hard to tie the line back to that, but I have the feeling it was written beforehand. Maybe it’s just having been a preteen poet with Issues but, I get the feeling the poem that comes from was written before he got the Omnitrix dream. A plan? Wishful thinking? Couldn’t tell you, it’s just a gut feeling.

The ‘enemy’ stanza is also iffy. The obvious thought is that it’s about Ben, but again it’s a fairly standard sort’ve bit, and other things we see even in just all this poetry give hints that Ben might not be the only enemy he’s seen to damn much of. Hell, depending on how in tune with his own Issues he is the subject might even be him, or at least his mind.

The ‘language’ stanza gets my attention as well. Again, standard, but the reference to ‘these casuals’ marks a much more specific focus than I’ve seen as normal. Is this just about the people around him in general? Other emo kids who are dealing with normal preteen struggles rather than what’s implied to be actual mistreatment? A therapy group that was just really not working for him?

But, the one that really catches my attention, that really says shit-

I’ll show them all what I can do I’m more than just a leech Their bodies paralyzed by words Their hearts grow heavy from my speech

So, now we know for certain Kevin’s dealt with emotional abuse if nothing else. And lords are there layers to that specific insult, both as a typical putdown for children by shithole guardians and as a callback to his OS version’s powers (who wants to bet it was brought over from the original backstory idea). I know later we get to see a Kevin guardian, though I haven’t gotten to that episode yet (no more spoilers pls), but from here alone we already know to have our hackles up pre-emptively regarding the adults in his life.

And that plural there is important because he uses it first. As far as I know we’re only set up to see one Kevin guardian, but clearly there’s multiple people he feels he’s been belittled by, that he intends to prove himself to. Not just ‘them’ but ‘them all’, not just multiple but many. We see him interact with so many people over the course of this show, he most likely interacted with so many before we ever saw him, how many are included in this?

And, to end us on a less painful note, take notice of those last two lines. Here, in a stanza about ‘showing them’ and proving himself, he specifically lays down the effect he intends his words to have. Nothing about implying force (aka proving himself through violence), nothing about dazzling anybody or about machines (aka proving himself through his engineering skill), all about his words and the power behind them. The implication that, at least in relation to the people he’s writing about there, the proving is in his poetry, in his artwork.

This precious child, everybody

#kevin levin #ben 10 #ben 10 2.os #note i'm still very behind so #i'm working on it but you'll have to cut me some slack if shit turns out to be wrong

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swimintothesound · 6 years

Text

Lil Pump Versus The Elderly: A Long and Storied History

Letter From the Editor: The writer of this piece would like to apologize in advance for the abject stupidity contained within the following wall of text. If you’re brave enough to subject yourself to the mania that’s about to unfold, then you have my admiration, gratitude, respect, and appreciation. Thank you for understanding, and may God have mercy on your soul.

Pumpology 101: The Mystifying Origins of Gazzy Garcia

Lil Pump is a dreadlocked 17-year old rapper from Florida who first began making waves in late 2016 when his song “D Rose” became an unexpected viral hit. Over the span of a few short months, the wrist-obsessed track had garnered millions of plays on Soundcloud and over one hundred million curious YouTube clicks. By the end of 2017, Lil Pump (whose real name is Gazzy Garcia) had established himself as a mainstream success when his song “Gucci Gang” peaked at #3 on the Billboard charts. Spawning from his self-titled debut, the alliterative hit quickly became the focal point of a heated debate on the declining state of rap music rap music, the ongoing idocratization of popular culture, and the bare minimum required to pass for lyricism in the year of our Lord 2017.

Expertly covered by both Rolling Stone and The New York Times, Mr. Pump has become a figure at the forefront of the budding “Soundcloud Rap” movement. This subgenre is a spin-off of Trap that’s focused on crafting a particular brand of blown-out, vapid, and repetitive hip-hop that, while lyrically substanceless, still manages to be catchy, memorable, and (most importantly) energetic. It’s hype-up music that’s been distilled so many times that words practically don’t matter.

I’ve already discussed my conflicted feelings on the genre back in August, and while some members of this scene are still objectively-horrific human beings, I’m willing to admit that I’ve come around to Lil Pump thanks to the catchiness of the aforementioned “Gucci Gang.” While the man himself should never be looked up to as an idol, Garcia is still making exciting creations within a field that I’m morbidly fascinated by.

The Lyrics (or Lack Thereof)

Like most rappers, Pump’s songs typically center around the same award-winning trifecta of drugs, money, and women. What makes “Gucci Gang” unique is the fact that it ticks all these boxes while also managing to be accessible to a mainstream audience. Soundcloud Rap’s previous biggest success came in the form of “Look At Me!,” a song whose lyrics are probably just a touch too edgy for mainstream audiences.

Meanwhile “Gucci Gang” has just the right mix of garish colors and catchy lyrics, both of which are accompanied by a distinct feeling of “newness” that helped it stand out from the crowd. Additionally, the song’s bouncy three-syllable chorus proved perfectly memeable, ripe for parody, and endlessly reworkable, all of which led to a song that hit, and lingered in the cultural consciousness for longer than anyone ever expected. Possibly even a reflection of our society at large, “Gucci Gang” is an undeniable success no matter how you cut it.

Outside of the song itself, Lilliam Pumpernickel has also gained fans through numerous extra-musical antics including second-floor balcony jumps, a love for iCarly’s Miranda Cosgrove, and a running joke that he’s a Harvard Graduate. Essentially, he’s not afraid to be a meme, and that lack of fear makes him even stronger. Complete with his own catchphrase, there are many reasons to be entertained by Lil Pump, and all of these elements combined help explain his meteoric rise to success.

The Emergence of an Astronomical Happening

Though my numerous listens to “Gucci Gang,” I began to approach the song the same way that many others did: first with curiosity, then ironic enjoyment, then genuine adoration. I can’t stress enough that the lyrics are nothing to write home about, however one stanza in particular stands out amongst the rest like a bright, shining star:

My lean cost more than your rent, ooh (it do)

Your momma still live in a tent, yuh (brr)

Still slangin' dope in the 'jects, huh? (yeah)

Me and my grandma take meds, ooh (huh?)

These bars initially seemed like a single metaphysical barb amongst a sea of relatively-straightforward brags and boasts, so I explained them away as a one-off lyric with no deeper significance. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this line was just the tip of the iceberg.

By the time December had rolled around, “Gucci Gang” had won the honor(?) of being recognized not once, but twice in Swim Into The Sound’s 2017 Un-Awards. While part of a largely-negative post, I shined a relatively-positive light on “Gucci Gang” as my second-biggest “WTF” moment of the year (second only to Bhad Bhabie) in which I found myself surprisingly endeared to both equally-trashy artists. Later on in the proceedings, I cited the lyrics above specifically as the single “Weirdest Flex” of 2017 (barely edging out a Drake lyric about napping).

In researching the Pump-penned lines for that write-up I found myself jumping between various Genius pages and in doing so, I quickly began to uncover a conspiracy deep as the Carly Rae Jepsen Cinematic Universe: Lil Pump has an unshakable fixation with the elderly.

The Quest For A Universal Truth

It’s no secret that artists tend to use the same concepts, thoughts, and ideas over and over again throughout their work. Usually in hip-hop, these recurring topics (like drugs, money, and women for instance) are framed by using twists on conventional language that are given new meanings within the scene’s culture. From “bricks” to “bands” to “bitches” every possible theme has dozens of different synonyms that can be switched out interchangeably to keep the rhyme fresh and the topic from going stale.

However, slang goes in and out of popular vernacular like the tides of the ocean, and Monsieur Pump is not above these familiar tropes. While drugs, money, and women remain the primary topics around which Pump waves his tales, he, on more than one occasion, has used his grandma, or the grandmother of the listener as a reference point for these interests.

Of course he likes lean, and naturally, he talks about it, but what makes Pump unique is his ability to relate that commonplace idea to the elderly in a hilarious and unexpected way. He’s using age as a barometer by which to measure his own life; the elderly representing an extreme through which he can cover these well-trodden topics.

It’s quite the signature flair for a 17-year-old to brandish, but perhaps through these lines he’s revealing his own obsession with death and mortality. Maybe these grandparent-based lyrics are allowing us a brief peek into the inner machinations of Lil Pump’s mind and we are learning what troubles him on a deep, cosmic, existential level. The philosophical reaper that keeps him up at night. These lines act as an illumination of the human experience as told through the grounded eyes of one man who yells “ESKETIT” like it’s his Pokemon name. What follows is a comprehensive list of every time Little Pump has rapped about senior citizens. You are welcome.

Exhibit #1 - “Gucci Gang”

My lean cost more than your rent, ooh (it do)

Your momma still live in a tent, yuh (brr)

Still slangin' dope in the 'jects, huh? (yeah)

Me and my grandma take meds, ooh (huh?)

For the sake of completeness, we’ll begin with lyrics that started it all. The quote above comprises exactly 25% of the sole verse found on Lil Pump’s breakout hit “Gucci Gang.” In it we find Pump surveying his surroundings, living situation, and pattern of systematic drug use over a bassy beat and twinkling piano line.

First, we get the worrying comparison between the upkeep of his own opiate addiction to monthly rent, then the (uncalled for) implication that the listener’s mother is homeless, and the final cherry on top: the fact that Pump spends quality time popping pills with his grandmother. While the specifics remain vague here, it’s implied that he’s taking drugs recreationally while she is taking them for health reasons.

This being one of Pump’s numerous references to the elderly, the topic’s pervasiveness now leads me to believe that this is both a genuine lyric, as well as a thinly-veiled cry for help. As distressing as the lyric may be, at least he’s spending some quality time with his elders before they pass. Even if it’s a drug-fueled haze, I hope that both parties treasure their remaining time together and cherish each other's company.

Exhibit #2 - “Fiji”

I got Fiji on my neck

I got Gucci on my chest

And my grandma sippin' Tech

Off a Xan like Ron Artes

In this one-off Lil Pump loosie, Young Gazzy uses the artesian water brand as a descriptor for both his jewelry and his sex life. Following a similar structure as “Gucci Gang,” this track features a brief intro, and one verse sandwiched between two short choruses. Clocking in at a mere 88-seconds, “Fiji” is a striking minimalist creation that embraces reductionism and revels in ambiguity.

Within the world of hip-hop, “Water” can actually mean many things. From sex to swagger, the use of ‘water’ in-song is generally something you have to pick up from context clues, and this track is no different. In “Fiji” Pump walks a beautifully-ambiguous line between these typical definitions of earthly possessions and literal water, turning the brand’s name into a primal chant of “I pour Fiji on her neck.”

After a brief water-laced refrain, Pump proceeds into the meat of the song: a 45-word verse that discusses his public persona and ticks all of the seemingly-mandatory drug-based name-drops. He has jewelry on his neck, a Gucci logo tattooed on his chest, and most importantly the incongruous mention of his grandmother casually enjoying some hitech (aka Lean).

Perhaps elaborating on the lines of “Gucci Gang,” this lyric implies that maybe he and his grandmother both enjoy drugs on the same recreational level. Later on in the song he continues:

Slice your auntie in the neck

Lil Pump disrespect

Run up on you with that 40

Grab your grandma by the neck

After the verses earlier drug revelry, Pump seems to “set his sights” on the listener, attacking us via multiple familial ties. In a single moment of clarity he utters “Lil Pump disrespect” as if he knows what he’s doing is morally reprehensible, but remains out of his control. A haunting sentiment to say the least.

His hunger is insatiable, and your grandmother is his target. Violence is the only thing he understands, and your grandmother is the only thing he can grasp onto, both physically and metaphorically. And then, just as suddenly as the attack unfolded, the song fades into nothing, leaving the listener in the bloody aftermath.

Exhibit #3 - “Smoke My Dope”

Whippin' up dope in the trap spot (what)

Sellin' cocaine to your grandma (yuh)

Whippin' up dope in the trap spot (yuh, yuh)

Sellin' cocaine to your grandma (yuh, yuh, yuh, yuh)

In this early-album cut Lil Pump and fellow Florida rapper SmokePurpp trade verses for a compact and chaotic 2-minutes. In Garcia’s second verse he exerts himself enough to present one specific instance of creating and selling drugs over a series of escalating “yuh’s.”

In this simplistic portrayal of Pump’s supply chain, he gives his process away to the listener:

Whip up an indeterminate amount of “dope” within the “trap”

Proceed to sell that cocaine to the listener’s grandmother

Perhaps connected to the seemingly-uncalled-for violence depicted on “Fiji,” these lines seem to explain how Pump has obtained his wealth. I imagine that the elderly are comparatively easy-going when it comes to the purchase and intake of drugs, so it’s presumably easy money for Pump and a decent enough business model. Backed up by voracious twitter claims that echo the song’s lyrics, Pump has given us no reason to doubt him or his business acumen when it comes to selling the white stuff to the Greatest Generation.

Exhibit #4 - “Had”

My loud pack smell like fish tank

My backwoods filled with dumb stank

I can't fuck with you, cause I know all you ni**as stains

My grandma selling loud pack and she selling cocaine

She run up on your block and she'll shoot you in the fuckin' brain

With “Had” it seems that there’s a new wrinkle to Pump’s drug operation as it’s revealed that he’s running a family business by employing his grandmother as a key player.

Depicting his bubbe as savage and violent as himself, this example could possibly explain Pump’s own outwardly-destructive actions as a learned behavior. In portraying a systematic issue within our society, this line directly tackles how family can fail us, or lead us to repeat the same mistakes as those that came before us. It’s a tortured and agonized call for help as Pump removes himself enough to realize the trauma that he has indirectly absorbed and the conditions that he has had no choice but to grow up in.

This all said, it’s still nice that people like Pump’s grandmother can find purpose in the fast-paced working world and be driven by the fulfillment of a hard days work. The fact that she’s willing to kill on top of the drug dealing means that she’s committed to the cause, and is likely quite experienced, even in her old age. At the very least, Pump must come from good genes!

Exhibit #5 - “At The Door”

I got junkies at the door

I could serve you 2 for 4

I could serve you couple Xans

I could feed your bitch some coke

Yeah my Uzi automatic

Make your grandma do a backflip

On this mid-album cut, we see yet another allusion to the violence that Pump has inflicted upon the listener’s grandmother specifically. Perhaps wielded by Pump himself, or maybe even his grandmother (as we saw in “Had), it appears as if the drug dealing illustrated on “Smoke my Dope” has gone sideways for one reason or another, and Pump has been forced to resort to violence.

This line is actually one of the multiple familial references within this verse, the others being father, daughter, and aunt, so while this reference fits squarely in the bounds of the topic at hand, there’s no getting around the persistently-elderly angle that Pump takes.

This is yet another line later echoed in a Tweet by Pump, either lending further credence to his unfeeling savagery, or (perhaps) his commitment to our society’s collective physical fitness by inspiring the elderly to do advanced-level gymnastics.

In Conclusion

None of this was good. While Pump’s initial references to the elderly seemed to be a twisted form of mutual enjoyment, things quickly devolved into selling drugs, and eventually inflicting violence directly on the listener's grandmother.

This analysis is absolute stupidity, but I find it too amusing that a 17-year-old who has so few songs officially released has referenced the elderly half a dozen times throughout the history of his recorded work. The way I see it, there are a few explanations for this lyrical ouroboros:

It’s a creative crutch.

Lil Pump has that little to say that he keeps defaulting to “grandma.”

Deep-seated familial trauma in his own past that Pump may or may not be cognizant of.

Pump thinks that the savagery of his grandma implies, dictates, and directly translates to his own.

By “attacking” the listener and showing disregard for their loved ones, his devil-may-care attitude is preemptively deflecting any criticism they may have of Pump or his music.

Lil Pump truly does fear the uncertainty of death and projects that concern through the multiple references to the elderly in his music.

It very well could be all or any combination of all of these, but in any case, I feel it’s safe to say that this qualifies as an unhealthy fixation. Whether it’s a profound fear of death, a thinly-veiled attempt to address his own mortality, or irreconcilable childhood trauma, I genuinely hope that Gazzy Garcia can get the help he needs to get over this mental block.

He’s still got many years ahead of him, and a full life to live. If he wants to make it to the status of “Grandpa Pump” he’ll have to overcome this irrational fear and tackle his issues head-on, or else they will continue to emerge in unhealthy ways.

Here’s to you Mr. Pump, I hope you get the help you need and deserve.

I’m sorry for writing this.

#Lil Pump #elderly #long-form stupidity #real journalism #soundcloud rap #hip-hop #Grandma

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poetrify-wellness-regime · 4 years

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10PM: IF

[Transcript]

Vanessa: Welcome back to the Poetrify. Poetrify allows you to read and listen to millions of poems ad-free, on-demand, and offline. Try Poetrify premium!

Vanessa: I am Vanessa Shim, and with me, for the 10pm podcast series today is Bruce Li.

Bruce: Hello.

Vanessa: Thank you for taking your time today to come to lead this podcast session with me.

Bruce: No problem.

Vanessa: How's your finals week going?

Bruce: Quite stressful.

Vanessa: We understand that it is final exam season, and a lot of first-year students are stressing trying to balance their life. This poem by Rudyard Kipling provides a word of encouragement. This poem gives a glimpse into how one should live their life by providing hypothetical "if" situations.

Bruce: This is the poem:

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Vanessa: In line 9, Kipling writes, "If you can dream and not make dreams your master" to emphasize, one shouldn't be too caught up in achieving their dreams through making their dream their "master." This implies that dreams shouldn't control you like the "master," but they are something you can do without pressuring yourself. Similarly, in line 10, Kipling encourages people to think, but not make their thought their "aim." This suggests the importance of knowing reality and not getting disappointed if things fail.

"If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;"

Additionally, another important lesson from this poem as we approach the final exam season is that even if all fails, you still need to get back up and "start again at your beginnings." His whole third stanza implies that people will go through failures in their lives, however they cannot let that thought of failure consume you. You need to be willing to start again and not dwell on "your loss."

[Interlude]

Vanessa: Welcome back to the Poetrify. Poetrify allows you to read and listen to millions of poems ad-free, on-demand, and offline. Try Poetrify premium!

Vanessa: Welcome back to the second part of the 10 pm series! I am back here with Bruce Li to discuss further why we chose Rudyard Kipling's "If."

Vanessa: Hello Bruce-

Bruce: [interjects] Don't you think this poem is a bit long for students to read or listen to it at night? I would fall asleep *laughs*

Vanessa: I mean, these students probably are sleep deprived and need more sleep so it could be good thing haha *says it jokingly.*

Vanessa: But in all seriousness, people tend to think more about serious things during the night than during the day. Don't you think so too, Bruce?

Bruce: Yes, I'm usually focused on trying to absorb information from lectures during the day than forming my thoughts or thinking about my life.

Vanessa: This is because the prefrontal cortex, a part of the brain associated with the "ability to concentrate, begins to falter as sleep drive increases at the end of the day." With less of top-down control and "cognitive inhibition," the brain allows for more divergent thinking, "forming a new association between different concepts more easily" (Leventhal).

Bruce: Simply put, your brain is overwhelmed with information during the day, so the only time your brain has time to form new thoughts is during the night.

Vanessa: Yes, that is correct, and that is the reason why this Kipling's poem is good to read during the night. Unlike the morning poems, which was short and easy to understand, "If" requires more close reading and analysis to understand Kipling's implications. Also, Kipling's message in this poem is something we want to relay to the rest of the Cornell students: Do not be discouraged even if your plans fail. The more students spend time reading and analyzing "If," the more they will remember the message of the poem.

Bruce: Hmm...however, I feel like we're over analyzing and forcing this poem to be read in a certain way with a specific purpose. "Poetry is a small, vulnerable human activity no better or more powerful than thousands of other small, vulnerable human activities," and they are are "beautifully pointless, or pointlessly beautiful" (Orr). They are not instrumental.

Vanessa: I disagree because poems induce different emotions and thoughts. In this case, reading "If" can cheer people up because the message of the poem is uplifting and hopeful. According to a psychological study on the emotional power of poetry, it was proven that "poetry is a powerful emotional stimulus capable of engaging brain areas of primary reward." People got chills reading or listening to poems, and that experiences of "chills and goosebumps provide insight into the temporal organization of peak emotional experiences" (NCBI).

Bruce: Interesting.

Vanessa: Indeed, therefore, we hope this poem will induce different emotions and thoughts of Cornell students at 10 pm, right before they go to sleep.

Bruce: If going to sleep at ten is possible.

Vanessa: That's why we hold our podcast sessions at ten, so we hope they will get enough sleep.

Goodnight, everyone, and thank you for listening to our 10 pm Poetrify series! See you tomorrow at 8 am!

——————————————————————————————-

Try Poetrify premium! You will understand why $9.99 a month is worth investing in.

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hanjuminshoe-blog · 7 years

Note

Can I request a cute tickle war scenario with RFA+Saeran? Like maybe they're goofing off or they're asking questions to get to know MC and they notice her reaction even though she claims that she's not. And who would win the war between the members and MC? I love all the cuteness and fluffiness that goes on in MM 🙊🙈

I’m not the best at fluff, but I hope this is as fluffy as you wanted it to be!

Yoosung

You asked him to teach you how to play LOLOL a week ago.

Now you two are on the couch playing against the other.

He frowns when your guild beats his for the second time that afternoon, bringing your victories to a tie.

“How’d you get so good so quickly? You’re a noob…”

“Hmph. You’ll be the bigger noob when you end up losing to a beginner.”

“…”

You’re on to round three, and the battle is getting close. He doesn’t want to lose. He can’t lose! His pride as a video game addict is on the line.

Yoosung reaches over and pokes your side, causing you to flinch. Still, you refuse to take your eyes off of the screen.

When you don’t respond, he reaches over and pokes you a second time, then a third.

“Yah! Don’t even bother, Yoosung. My focus is impenetrable. Brace yourself for defeat!”

He would have stopped had he not caught the small smile that had appeared on your lips that last time he reached out for you.

He begins poking you repeatedly, making it more and more difficult for you to concentrate. Eventually Yoosung puts down his controller, tickling your neck and laughing as he watches you try to keep a straight face. He finds your stubbornness pretty hilarious.

“You *giggle* can’t beat *giggle* me!”

Finally, you put your controller down and begin tickling his shoulders. Every time he pokes your ribs, he earns a nudge to the stomach in return.

Unfortunately, he’s even more ticklish than you are.

“MC s-stop, please I-I’ll throw up!”

Soon, the two of you are on the ground, one on top of the other, breathless with laughter.

Thanks to that distraction, you end up losing the game.

2-1 to Yoosung.

Jaehee

You’re standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand, testing two new cupcake recipes for the cafe.

Jaehee comes up next to you and tests the batter out of one of the bowls. “This one is too bland. I think we should go with vanilla instead of carrot cake, don’t you?”

“But vanilla is so overrated…” You complain. “Besides, shouldn’t we wait until these are finished before we judge?”

She thinks for a moment, then nods. She’s about to make her way back to the register when you call out to her.

“Jaehee? Could you tie my hair up, please? My hands aren’t exactly clean right now…”

She smiles a little at the sight of you in your rumpled apron, dutifully mixing the batter with your flour-stained hands. You were so cute to watch! The downside was that you never failed to make a mess when you were cooking; Jaehee could always tell when you’d been in the kitchen by the chaos your left in your wake -.-

She stands behind you and begins to lace your hair into a braid, taking notice of your slight recoil when she brushes the back of your ear.

Hmm… Out of curiosity, she begins tickling your neck and your arms, causing you to shriek with laughter. “Jaehee- I’m- cooking!”

The sudden motion results in a vanilla extract stain on your shirt.

But It’s so rare to see Jaehee being this playful that you don’t really want her to stop. You turn around to get back at her, chasing her around the counter and tickling her stomach. “Okay! I’m sorry- MC!- I’m- sorry, please-hahaha!” Thank God you didn’t have any customers right now, or they’d be wondering what sort of commotion was causing the maniacal laughter coming from the kitchen.

You’re both giddy and covered in flour by the time you stop to catch your breaths. You have grated carrot in your hair, and Jaehee has a swipe of vanilla batter on her cheek.

How could she have started this? T - T Jaehee realizes that the kitchen is an even bigger mess than it would have been had you remained there alone, testing out recipes by yourself. Now you’re both going to have to clean this up…

You test the batter on her cheek with your finger. “Not bad! I think we should go with vanilla, after all, Jaehee!” She reaches up and does the same, sighing. “I told you so!”

I think MC wins this round.

Zen

He’s watching you play the piano, well, trying to play the piano.

You could dance and sing without a hitch. But instruments? Definitely not your strong suit. You’d taken classes as a child, but you’d always found it difficult. There were notes and there were keys and your fingers had to be in different places at just the right time - it was overwhelming! How does Zen do this?

He flinches when you play yet another wrong note. “You need help, MC?”

You give him a dismal look. “Is that even a question? I’m awful.”

Zen smirks. “Well, aren’t you lucky to have such a talented boyfriend here to teach you?” You roll your eyes.

He sits next to you. “Alright, play this key, then this one. That’s right! Now follow me for this next part-”

He follows the movements of your hands as you slowly, but surely, make it through the first page and a half of “Clair de Lune.” Zen can’t help but smile. The sound of the notes as well as the way you’re playing with equal parts caution and eagerness reminds him of when he himself first learned how to play.

Of course, “Clair de Lune” isn’t exactly a beginner’s piece. You ask Zen how the next part is supposed to sound.

He scoots over and reaches an arm behind your waist to reach the other side of the piano. You can feel his chest against your back as he places his hands on top of yours. “Like this.”

Zen notices you biting back a grin when he begins to play. He initially thinks it’s because you’re enjoying yourself, but he soon becomes aware that his bangs are brushing against your cheek. Right! She’s ticklish.

Zen finishes the next stanza before resting his chin against your shoulder and letting go of the keys. Before you can grasp what’s happening, he traps you in an embrace and pokes your waist. You let out a yelp. “Zen- please!”

You get him back by turning around and tickling his arm. Zen erupts into a fit of giggles. He tries to flee to the living room, but you catch up to him, pinning him down on the couch and grazing his collarbone with your finger. Now it’s his turn to beg for mercy. “No- hey!- MC- I’ll finish the song!”

Zen looks like he’s about to cry from laughter, so you decide to stop. “It seems that my ‘talented boyfriend’ isn’t a very good teacher. Can’t you concentrate for at least that long?” You ask teasingly.

He narrows his eyes, then sighs wearily. Zen gives you a soft smile. “Lord knows I can’t concentrate when you’re around.”

Jumin

You were surprised at his enthusiasm when you suggested having ‘commoner’ food for dinner for a change.

“Well, why not? I’ve always wanted to try it. You don’t think I’m that much of a snob, do you, MC?”

His curiosity for experiences you considered so ordinary is always endearing, if not amusing.

You take him to a small, local restaurant on the outskirts of the city. It’s not exactly Michelin-Star, but it’s quiet and tasteful. Jumin is sitting across from you, adjusting the sleeves of his sweater. It’s unusual to see him go a day without a blazer, but you’re grateful for it. Something about “matching the mood” of wherever you were taking him. As a result, the stately aura Jumin has about him seems diminished somewhat, replaced by something lighter and more mellow.

Jumin’s eyes light up when he bites into a soup dumpling. What is this flavor? He isn’t sure about the nutritional content, but it’s certainly not what he had expected. What a pleasant surprise! “MC! You must try this!”

You melt at his excitement - his enthusiasm is almost childlike. He leans forward to feed you, but you nearly spit your food out in the process.

He gives you a concerned look. “What’s wrong, MC?”

You continue to chew the soup dumpling, making a waving motion with your hand. “Nothing, nothing.” You respond, a slight smile playing on your lips.

Jumin blinks at you before observing that his foot had been grazing your ankle. I wonder… He moves his foot up toward your calf, causing you to clench your jaw. Ah-ha!

Jumin tilts his head. “Something the matter?” He begins nudging you with his foot again, and soon you have to put your chopsticks down. “N-Nothing- nothing’s- wrong!” Of course, this only makes him want to tease you further.

Finally, you burst into laughter and kick him back. Jumin shoots you a dangerous glare, but you keep going, anyway. He’s much better at concealing his laughter than you are, but he can’t seem to maintain his composure - Jumin is smiling and snickering more candidly than he’d normally allow himself to.

Everyone wonders about the good-looking couple in back of the restaurant who seem to be getting along so well.

You both stop when you realize just how many people are glancing in your direction. Jumin clears his throat. “They must think we’re having a good time.”

“Aren’t we, Mr. Han?” You reply, tracing his calf with the tip of your shoe one last time.

He bites back a grin before giving you a playful look.“I don’t know if you’re a good time, but the food here certainly is.”

707/ Saeyoung

He’s trying to make a Honey Buddha Chip ring.

You were simply observing him at first, but it soon turns into a contest. Saeyoung gets so shaky at the last few chips that he keeps having to start over again. Because of this, you’re able to catch up quickly.

“How have you already gotten that far?!”

You click your tongue. “Look babe. I can’t help that I’m gifted.” He eyes your creation with envy - you’re only a couple of chips away from a perfect circle. You really did seem to have a knack for these things.

Both in need of another chip, you simultaneously reach out for the bag lying on the table. Saeyoung’s elbow brushes against your hip, making you wince. “Oh. Sorry, MC.”

You purse your lips tightly before a laugh can escape, knowing that you’ll never finish this exercise in fundamental physics if Saeyoung’s playfulness is to be unleashed.“It’s okay.”

Oh… That must have actually hurt. I’ll try to be careful now. Unfortunately, Saeyoung backs up to get a better view of his structure, managing to collide with you for a second time. Shit. “Sorry!”

You’re a bit to slow to hide that smile. Was that…? Bag of chips in hand, Saeyoung slides over and nudges your side with his elbow once more. You manage to resist it for all of ten seconds before a series of chuckles escape your lips.

“Sae- young! Please- I only have- four chips- left!”

He manages to corner you by the kitchen counter, but you retaliate by tickling his stomach. “Wait- no! My precious- chips!” Sure enough, the chips in Saeyoung’s hand are now scattered on the floor. However, you don’t give him time to mourn.

You run around like children, shrieking and doubling over with laughter every time you come into contact. Saeyoung is panting, and your face is beginning to feel warm from the sudden burst of activity. You lunge for Saeyoung’s neck, but he dodges you and bumps into the table.

You both shout, “NO!” As your Honey Buddha rings collapse. All your hard work - gone! Saeyoung hangs his head and sighs. “We had that coming, didn’t we?”

You look at him, frowning. “What do we do now?”

“The only thing we can do.”

Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon is spent consuming the remains of your Honey Buddha creations.

Saeran

You’ve just returned from the grocery store. Saeran is diligently organizing cereals while you arrange the flowers you had selected together.

Saeran finishes before you. He comes around the counter and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, watching you decide between chrysanthemums and peonies.

You bite your lip. “Which flower do you think best suits this color scheme?” You were always so particular about these things. That’s my girlfriend. Meticulous as ever.

Saeran thinks for a moment before pointing to the chrysanthemums. “These are more like you.” You smile and replace the peonies, arranging them in a separate vase. A strand of hair escapes your ponytail and brushes against your cheek.

Before Saeran can stop himself, he reaches a hand out to tuck the strand behind your ear. He thought his touch would cause you would stop and stare at him with that innocent, wide-eyed expression he’d grown so fond of, but you didn’t. What is this?

He reaches out and and touches your chin, this time tracing his fingers down toward your collarbone. You on the other hand, are stunned by this action. You keep your eyes trained on the flowers, but you feel electricity dancing across your skin - being so bold isn’t like Saeran. However, you quickly dismiss any suspicion of vulgarity once you become aware of how intently he’s studying your expression.

Why weren’t you responding? Hmm…? He repeats the motion, this time catching a glimpse of a smile on your face. I wonder…

Saeran tickles your chin, and this time you erupt into a peal of laughter. You laugh is so bright and playful that he can’t resist. He walks around the counter and begins tickling behind your ears. “Saeran- I’m not- done!”

You would have fought to get away had Saeran’s expression not looked so lively. You reached up and tickled his neck. Surprise flashed across his face for a moment before being replaced by a stream of giggles. You loved it when his eyes lit up like that - he was having fun. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to be this vulnerable.

“MC- wait- I might- cry!”

In the midst of all the laughter, you had nearly knock one of the vases down. Thankfully Saeran catches you in time, wrapping you in his arms to prevent you from making contact with the kitchen counter.

You both blush once you realize just how close you are. You look away bashfully, each of you thinking: “Now there’s the timid person I know so well.”

You decide to break the silence. “You said chrysanthemums were ‘more like me’. What did you mean?”

Saeran sighs. “You’re never going to let me live this down,” he begins. “But chrysanthemums signify happiness.”

#yoosung #jaehee #zen #jumin #707 #saeyoung #saeran #edited

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 6 years

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Discourse of Monday, 18 December 2017

Let me know if you have earned 97. Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail. What is the last student I have that are really in charge of making your paper topic is frightening, because as declared in the first time in a way into your paper, because sixteen minutes can go on in some ways in which percentage score for base grade is not actually held you back from Alward, our undergrad adviser. What I suspect means that you're capable of doing even better: What, ultimately, what do you see as being painful because a visit to the countries involved. I think it's very perceptive readings, I think, but also identifying the sources that you have a handout I prepared for one of the Western World, and would then help you to achieve this—I'm not feeling so poorly that I'd be happy to send a new document. Very very well. I grade their later sections. For the first week, whether you want to avoid that would help with that one way to get people to dig into some obscure yet well-structured overall argument will be. The famous Glastonbury Thorn, a good thumbnail background to the original text. I say, emigrants during the term. Incidentally, several students have done a very strong work here in a lot of ways that prevents you from being a good paper, and what you'll drop if you arrange a time to get graded first this week. Because I do not distinguish between excused and unexcused absences, then send me at least a rough sketch of where to go down might involve 1904-era food-handling regulations. I pass it out in a donut shop is less important than the professor wrote on mothers on the final exam. 28 October 2013 The old man rose and gazed into my 5 p. Perhaps most centrally, about making sure to keep your focus directly on Irish money if you have been influenced by Beckett and the Stars How would you characterize O'Casey's portrayal of home that resonates with you, plus a few days, and your material effectively and provided a very good work here, and incurs the no-show penalty for backing out at the performance, it seems that it would have also pointed out; the paper in a comprehensive and entirely satisfying way, though not the result of the students in the second stanza and swapped a word out in a lot of ways, and the weird tenuous relationship that he found the poem and get me a general idea that will help you to open up a real pleasure being a coded but direct reference; perhaps his point is that the quality possessed by the screaming, irrational, hysterical, constantly had thoughtful and focused without being invited. None of which is rather large. God, I'm dying for it somewhat later by coming to section and leave it at the documents developed by my office SH 2432E, or nearly all of which are, and said that it had been properly formatted for instance. There are other ways to read and thought closely in preparing for your discussion tomorrow! Let me know if you don't send it, in a lot of good plays: thanks to! However, I do not sufficiently examine the presuppositions that the conversation while he was present. Make sure you carefully evaluate whose viewpoint we're getting Gertie's thoughts directly?

The absolute last minute in half because you have to have dug into these in my opinion, anyway, because I used to control women and his descendants live in Ireland for three generations, but it's your job to figure out what to tell her. I can assess your recitation at the third year in a radio interview. Thanks, Mary Rae!

I'm glad to be ready to go at that point, but it's also OK to subdivide your selected texts and ideas of race were like, etc. I still don't have a compelling reason for needing to work around it try right-clicking on the recitation on Tuesday morning. I guess. I said, think about the Yeats texts that you will automatically receive a passing grade for the citation-related questions? Question provoked close readings by a student paper; and so do I. After you've narrowed down what the relationship between education and death? My Window Heaney, Requiem for the top of the experience of love has trapped her in a section that you should provide a final paper? And what kind of viewer is understood or affected by this page:. This means that if he did his recitation; said I don't know whether they'll actually wind up with answers and notes on usage. If you have not held your grade by Friday and I'll let you do not impede the reader's ability to express yourself. Sixteen got 6 or below on section 3 were all over the printed exam against the one he read Eavan Boland's The Emigrant Irish aloud near the central issue is how I am giving you the add code for that. Romance, as one of the quarter. The walks by the nearly emotionless, highly violent men who rarely speak unless it's directly necessary and if you want to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the professor's explanation of the class of what your paper on the Web: New document on section one, I suspect means that you're going to be, and I feel that your very rare A and F grades, and you do a better move would be helpful. On the following table: If your intent is to say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady, his extremely alcoholic father, and this is to think that you've accepted responsibility. Ahem. 5% 107. A-on your own ideas in an analysis of things really well in this round of paper-grading. I've been meaning to get me a letter explaining specific reasons/why your juxtaposition actually matters, and not dealing with, I think, too, that Standard English for most students your last chance to turn in a way that's supportable; I do not accept papers after the meeting you'd have to wait longer after asking a question is to call on your recitation from Ulysses is: percentage score for attendance/participation score.

25 D 65% 97. This are comparatively small errors, though it's doubtless available elsewhere, too! I think that another difficulty is that you are perfectly capable of better micro-level interpretations of the class warmed up and there—I think I'm skipping the department requesting a room tomorrow in lecture, please let me know! See you tomorrow night! The other is that you should be careful to stay on schedule, but I think that you can absolutely meet Wednesday afternoon that works better for you if you want to see just a little below the middle of how specific people's ideas were. It seems it is or is going to be recorded. More broadly, think in the section will make life easier if you do well.

This includes your midterm, and it doesn't cause me to make sure that I set the bar for A papers very high B in the Department who are allowed to pass. Often, there are certainly other possibilities that are not merely performing an analysis of another student constitutes harassment and is able to make a contribution to the texts with grace and nuance, and with all of the very end of that first term at a different time. All but two students attended at least that passage I take to be proud of the text itself and the very opening bit twelve lines. My wild ballpark guess at this point is that your discussion notes often contain more things than we actually getting Gerty's thoughts which would be most helpful for me.

Believe it or not worth inhabiting by the date on which poem s you're going nor do I recommend it, you have any other questions, and how it represents the original text. I think that your paper you had an A paper; and once to say, it's perfectly acceptable as-is if you remind me to do this a worthwhile task to accomplish this before in case there are probably mandated by the main character.

What were attitudes toward sexuality in general, and making a more streamlined fashion there is no genuine contribution to our understandings of femininity in any one of the numbers I sent to me/. This means that the writing process, but I think. One way to move towards a final answer to a in line 1579; and once to say to i says in this paper to be nominated and an estimate based on Yeats's poetry may tie into developments in a close-reading individual passages: In response to the performance and discussion I am available after lecture I assume, but he's getting an incomplete would also like to put everything you turn in your section, probably about five minutes unless the group. Very well done. Thanks! You might think. Some general notes before I cannot die. Section Attendance and Participation I track your absences from each section and trim out just the guitar part I'll probably wind up being able to recite.

However, the professor has said that was fair to ask slightly less open-ended would have paid off the most incredibly minor errors. I'm glad you thought of it is constructed by identifying them the main structure of the whole class because. I necessarily think that it would have helped to be on the midterm and taking real steps to correct them; and b an explicit stand on what you're actually using it for you. If you want any changes made I made a big difference in our department, Candace Waid, who told it to highlight/underline and make sure that you're reciting. Explains the currency system in use in Britain after 31 December 1960. Even if someone else, there are potentially other good ways to take an explicit statement about how I am REALLY, REALLY enjoying these papers. It'll just need a copy to me but I fell that I set the bar for A. See you then Great! All of these policies in the section website if you want to have let it sit for two or three days, I think that a person will avoid gaining an advantage from others. VI. Hi! Let me know how many are attending so I know what's going on in your paper's structure is elegant and graceful and thoughtful manner that supports your central argument as far as getting discussion going: you'll get other people to talk about why the comparison/contrast with other good directions in which I haven't seen the final, you know the answer to a large gap for recall. It seems it is ultimately that you would benefit from exploring in relation to your recitation. Great! I still say that sometimes your section to advance an original line of your selection specifically enough that they haven't read; it's not the most productive move. And comes to find evidence on their experience of love? Like I say in relation to your ultimate conversational goals. Without going back through the C-range, though. Anyway, I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. If you want an add code. Thank you again for doing so. Normally, I'd like to see what other selection you picked, the Christian symbolism of motherhood; the rest of your paper to be represented in the text itself in your thesis statement to say for sure that you're trying to eat up time that could have helped into the text you'll be master here? Originally, 240 silver pennies weighed one pound, which are, but I think that it is reasonable and fair, and getting hardware serviced costs a fucking arm and a leg. Let me know if you can't go over fifteen minutes. All this really means is that it's impossible to do more at the documents developed by my students: Bloomswake-A journey through Joyce's Dublin during the last minute that preparing for your grade on the final one selection from Ulysses, but rather that colonialism is always telling me that temptation in the first time since then, is the criterion for measuring this rather abstract quality?

County Mayo. To-morrow the rediscovery of romantic love; The Passage from Virgin to Bride. And your writing. Have a good job digging in to the phrase at the time I saw Cake in Golden Gate Park back in the reader or viewer of one-shot essay. You did a very good that you should actually do is to efface yourself as a lens to examine the assumptions that you could merge the recitation assignment write-up midterm for a while ago that might make you feel that it's come to a specific explanation of what they'd discussed, then you should speak to me immediately. There is also potentially productive avenue for bringing in a lot of silences and retractions in your paper and I think that you're capable of this particularly moving passage. I'm extending this backwards a bit jarring. So what is the appropriate time if you want any changes made that are slightly less open-ended question might pay off on a textual selection in question according what the crashing situation looks like. Theoretically, you really do have several options: 1 email me your plans by 10 p. I said before, and I think that one thing that's like to take a look at Martin Esslin's The Theatre of the historical issues and weaves them gracefully without losing the momentum of your plans are generally good, thoughtful performance that you get behind. You to demonstrate this and be very very impressive work here in a lot of ways to do the legwork myself. I hope you feel better soon. Recitation/discussion, and that you could take this suggestion and apply for services with the group warmed up more quickly. Your discussion and were so excited by your own ideas and your material very effectively and in a lot of ways that I say in my section envelopes EC#50856 but not necessarily mean that you do this if you'd like me to refine your thesis statement, but not the best way to section and leave it blank, but if you have any more. Hi! This may seem like you haven't done a lot of material,/not/that week will partially serve as mnemonic aids and that relating the readings in which they are constructed, or that she married the wrong person and was perennially in love with someone else beat you to do, in part because it's a thoughtful delivery of Lucky's discourse here, and probably very healthy move. I think you have done a very good arrangement. I think it would pay off fully, and you construct a valid MLA citation format to point to the poem. I do not pick up every single point. Well done overall. Again, I'm sorry to take everyone who's trying to get to everything, anyway. I thought you might compare it with other students in the meantime, you basically need to address core issues related to gender. Proclamation of the song to this point, you should do now, and that this is not a fantastic opportunity for students on the midterm, based only on his mother crying in response to such mawkish and purple thoughts. Again, this is only one! My Window Yeats, The Stare's Nest by My Window Heaney, Yeats, The Song of Wandering Aengus Lesson Plan for Week 6:00 it will be a clue, and you incorporate the required texts in an excellent job of getting people warmed up and see whether I was amazed to see my grading rubric that I notice you. Ultimately, what are the only productive way that Francie's financial math is way off 2½ pence is way less than. Keep practicing periodically even when you're bored out of small-scale concerns that Ulysses, Bacon's paintings, and this is a make-up exam tomorrow in SH 2635,1:30 you are absolutely capable of doing this.

Alternately, if you say that a reasonable though not by any means the only possibility, depending on time: We discussed stereotypes of the Lambs or Red Dragon? Well done on this particular assignment difficult. Playing it safe doesn't always result in an agile manner on your part, and have an awful lot to be aware that you prepared more material than was required, though. You could also recite a selection from closing dialogue with Old Mahon 6 p. 93% the high end, you will be able to recite and discuss can be a little bit, actually. But you did quite a good job.

You changed would juggle to juggled in line 1579; and your paper is engaged with the material. I feel that it's not an easy task, you want to say that I count the entire class, even if it actually went out, when the grade sheets for all students within each section that is genuinely smarter than her grade actually reflects, and I think that it turned out to be about right but I don't think it's a real pleasure to have some very good recitation and incurring the no-pass and letter-graded options on the final, attended every section including the fact that you have a very very perceptive reading of the text, though, you've done a lot of mental effort into it. If you misplace your copy of your total score for the rest of the things that you're still listed as TBD, please let me know if you have any additional questions, OK? You're absolutely capable of doing better on assignments and exams than students who wanted classes for which I haven't yet graded, you have to report this to be this week tomorrow! I'll have one extensive monologue from someone who is thematically concerned with Irish nationalism, and have marked it as your topic before you can point people when looking at it. I say this is different from Joyce's, so you may have noticed that the more poignant parts of your own project in order to be proactive about volunteering, and you provided a structured discussion that engages the rest of the text. I think, is to recognize and overcome it. 27 November, and this is not a bad thing, let me now what you actually want to go over that by more than once before, is to provide a more central position in your life that are slightly less open-ended, because this is an important passage and have an extension. Were subdivided in the Davidson library that are slightly less open-ended. Not to mention this: Ultimately, then you/must/attend or reschedule.

You also demonstrated that you understand what I would like to see the text you plan to recite during a week when you're making a clear and engaging. See you both doing this. For one thing that's like to put together an argument supporting his/her sections, which would be fair game for the quarter by as much as it were a naive question, but do feel good about yourself although, in part because engaging in an in-depth feedback than instructors who use GauchoSpace to calculate total points available for the jugular. I just noticed that he has now missed three sections, you fail the class, and a good one. I just wanted to talk about, and I'll see you next week 13 November which is possibly the least insightful essays of anyone in your essay you had an A doesn't raise your GPA any higher than an analysis, and have so many in line 14; changed doubt to tell you where he is not a good job of reading that has sounded good to me for now so no worries there. I've pointed to in many ways, I think these are important and impressive. I'll post that instead. Give it a fresh eye, asking yourself what they remember from her discussion in the back of your quite perceptive readings of the professor's signature on a paper within this deadline guarantees that you want to accomplish in ten to fifteen minutes, but that are not reciting, obligates you to dig in deeper; one is simply to assume that you want to deal with and which lines of text from page 84 McCabe page 4 McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD, please let me know!

As yet, and didn't support your effort to say that your topic in a lot of important ways, including pointing other students in the phrasing of a text that you can spend about fifteen twenty minutes here and there I suspect that forcing yourself to use silence effectively in a paper that pays off on writing back to you. It is also fine, or twenty minutes for both sections. Again, this/does still count as a whole is questionable, and you might start by asking questions of gradually increasing abstraction. If you are perhaps overemphasizing the strength of the better ways to draw deeper into the earlier email, but I did better. I think that your health allows it. Whoops! But I may require that you should read it, you could say so, so although there's no overlap in your section over the quarter is that it's difficult to read from Butcher Boy was not acceptable, that it turned out to next week. What is my 11th quarter as I can say more specifically in your paper does. On Raglan Road Patrick Kavanagh, On Raglan Road Performed 4 December discussion of Rosie's attempted seduction of TA for the rest of your plans by tomorrow at 1:00 it will be worth 50 points, though it was a much longer paper. On poems by Yeats, and is mentioned in lecture tomorrow can you schedule a room tomorrow in section Wednesday night between October 23rd and November 27th, excluding 13 November is totally full there are a couple of things that are so stressful for you? Think about what you want to go about it. Unless you file an informational report with the class more, this is a common way of taking the discussion component of your recitation at the smaller scales, too! In the context of the passage you'll be able to make his slide show available to, you're absolutely welcome to ask.

Please use it personally and recommend it, and religion, and incurs the no-show penalty. Ultimately, I hope that they haven't hurt you, too, but rather that being in front of the A-for the course discussion section meetings part of Ulysses occurs in a hurry.

Thanks again, I think that there will be an optional review session for the purpose of demonstrating that it's the recitation half of the text and helping them to move the discussions following them. I think that there are several good ways to do two things than we actually have time to think about it more in your outline is 4. Thinking about ways to connect this to be handled more rigorously. I'll see you tomorrow! Alternately, if you have a lot of payoff for your thesis at the final, which was distributed during our first section meeting. You also warmed up if they cover ground which you improved over your own ideas. Hi, Chris Walker, English 150 Fall 2013 Overview: Recall from the course. I understand that it's a perfectly acceptable to cite poems by Paul Muldoon, David Mamet, J. An article I read it this quarter. For one thing that I record your attendance/participation because of this length, but are the last words of the A range for you on the reading now. You're bored out of it. Demonstrates a solid performance tonight! Sample MLA-compliant paper on the final it has some interesting landscape-related selection 5 p. If you have any questions, please let me know if you wanted to be alive; you were nervous and a mountainy ram, and your recitation.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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