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neverthelesstheinvisibleelf-blog · 2 years

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Writing about Epilepsy

@silver-stargazing @the-twitchy-life @fuckepilepsy @gomaduck and of course @justepilepsy @the-epileptic-toh-blog @hiimholalate thank you all for your kind answers about my question on absence seizures

It really helped me to actually approach writing something that I myself just never really experienced. (Which at first made me feel pretty uncomfortable.) I still don’t know if I actually managed to achieve it … but well I tried.

I also found the frivolous note about the hotness of the character very interesting and I might try to incorporate it at some point. (The main obstacle is that I myself do not really notice if or when people are physically attractive. I am much more drawn towards character traits that I find interesting. The other thing is that this story and this character is not a new thing it has been growing in my head for … a lot of years now. So, Fred just already exists. I just didn’t know much about his epilepsy before.)

Oh and as a psychology student who has performed testing on someone who was having an inpatient EEG because of suspected epilepsy. Yes, I can thoroughly imagine that that is one of the most boring days ever.

Also, thank you for the thoughts on control. I haven’t yet thought about it much but I will now!

I actually managed to write something! But I am really not sure if I managed to do you justice. So, if you have the time and the inspiration I would very much appreciate your feedback (because I probably fucked up at one point or another)

I hope this scene provides enough context. Because all of the context isn’t written yet. And the stuff that is written is over 40.000 words long… (Context can be found here or here) I just tried to explain it and it sounds way too boring…. just bother me if you want to know more!

The only really important thing is that it is about a group of friends who meet each other in a international exchange programme and lived together in Prague for a few years. This story takes place a few years after. And Ianna is a nickname for Lilli, so they are the same person. As is Rosie and Lynn and Princess Annmarie.

The room was surprisingly nice. The sofa Fred was sitting on reminded him of this one period film set in the Victorian age in England that his mom liked so much and the side table on his left looked like it was made from mahogany. On top of it was a lamp that looked so antique it easily could have been built with candles in mind, not the light bulb it now held and the artwork in golden frames looked like it could also adorn the walls of an art gallery.

Malu hadn’t strayed from his side their entire way to the palace and didn’t say a wuff when they were led into this room. One guard had demanded for the husky to stay behind but Malu had just stared at him so intensely the guard forgot all about his demand. The dog needed to be with Fred, everybody was somehow convinced of that.

Now though, they were alone inside a pretty room, so Malu was investigating the floor-length velvet green curtains by the window. This indicated that he deemed the room safe. A notion Fred couldn’t really agree with yet.

It wasn’t really the holding cell Fred had expected to end up in. Actually, when he rushed to the palace entrance with more panic than a plan he had never once expected to be let in. But there was still no real evidence that this posh, lavish salon wasn’t just a very luxurious mock-up for a holding cell and any minute a policeman would enter holding an arrest warrant. Because the only reason he could imagine as to why he wasn’t sent away yet was also the reason he was pretty sure he would end up in jail by the end of the night.

Malu suddenly abandoned the curtains and came over to lay his head in Fred’s lap and whined. Fred smiled and started to scratch his dog’s ears. It didn’t really ease any of his worries but at least it gave his hands something to do.

He could hear a door opening behind and braced himself for the inevitable.

Fred blinked slowly. He felt a little foggy all of a sudden. In front of him was an undeniably elegant middle-aged woman in a form-fitting dark grey pants-suit who he swore wasn’t there a second ago. The headache behind his forehead was new as well. His brain somehow felt as if it was working at half the speed it normally did.

The woman gazed at him rather suspiciously and Fred slightly shook his head hoping to get rid of at least some of the confusion that had manifested so suddenly. Malu pressed his head into his hands a little more forcefully and the cloudy haze lifted just enough to catch what the woman was saying.

“...-pect a visit from a self-proclaimed friend of my daughters.” It sounded rather like the end of the question than the beginning.

Daughter? Was this Rosie’s mom? Holy Hell! Was this the queen? She surely would have introduce… He was missing a little time. Oh no… This couldn’t be happening!

This couldn’t be happening! He didn’t have a seizure in years! He had his medication and it’s been working… Had he taken his medication today? Did he even pack enough pills? He couldn’t really remember counting them. Ianna had interrupted…

Malu woofed at the same time as the queen asked rather sharply, “Excuse me! Do I need to repeat myself?” Fred couldn’t help himself but kept staring at her without a notable reaction. His mind insisted on only repeating his most unhelpful thoughts. This couldn’t be happening!

Malu whined again and the thoughts retreated for now. They would probably return to torture him at a later time. But even his unhelpful mind seemed to realise that this was not the time for worries. Fred lifted himself up and tried to exude all the professionalism that he might have absorbed in some internship or another.

The queen took a seat across from him and stared at him with calculating grey eyes. And Fred hoped that this meant that she would hear him out despite this less than stellar start to their conversation.

‘Don’t panic, Fred! Everything is going to be fine!’ He tried to tell himself while another - very unhelpful - part of his brain reminded him that hyperventilating was a very common seizure trigger. He couldn’t really do anything right now. And besides, he wasn’t really at a risk of injuring himself when he zoned out a few times now. It would just be even more embarrassing than the situation already was. So, everything was fine. Just continue as planned.

“I’m sorry. I spent the last day arguing with several people on the phone. And the day before I was on several different planes just to get here. My manners are usually better than this.” Fred was proud of himself. That wasn’t even a lie and at the same time a pretty believable excuse!

“My name is Frederic Eric Nyanda. I am a very new human rights lawyer and two days ago I was woken up by a very tearful and desperate call from one of my best friends who I am assuming is your daughter.” He summarised the basic reasons for his being here. (Conveniently leaving out the fact that his other best friend probably already broke into the palace.)

The queen was twirling something between her fingers and Fred recognized it as the ring he’d used to convince the palace guards to let him in. “And because my daughter is apparently such good friends with you - even though she never explicitly mentioned you - she entrusted you with her sigil ring?” The queen continued his train of thought.

“Erm… yes?” It sounded too much like a question to be considered believale. “So… she didn’t exactly give it to me… She forgot it at my place when she was visiting while I was getting my law degree in another city and when I wanted to give it back to her she told me to keep it…” Was that convincing? Or would he be tried for theft in addition to fraud now? Did this even qualify as fraud? He just knew too little about Losikan law!

The queen’s steel grey eyes regarded him closely as if she was deciding whether to throw him in the dungeon or entertain him for a little bit longer. (Did they even have dungeons here?) It felt like an enternity passed before she finally put the ring in her pocket and sat back on her chair.

“Another very intriguing coincidence is that our lawyer, Mrs. LeBlanc - and now you desperately need to speak with us already. Barely two hours after you got off the phone with her. This seems strange, doesn’t it Mr. Nyanda?”

The headache had gotten worse now. And Fred needed to blink a few more times to shake the exhaustion and convince his eyes to stay alert. Malu had put his paws on his legs and whined again. Fred distractedly fondled his ears and tried to convince him to lay down by his feet while he thought about what the queen had just said. The wording was kind of weird…or wait…

Did.. Did he have another seizure? He really should get a full night's sleep and take some medication as soon as possible. At least he didn’t seize while he was talking and he still didn’t miss any crucial information. He could still extrapolate. (At least he hoped so.)

Malu could finally be convinced to lay down his feet. He acted as if he were sleeping even if Fred could tell with one look that he was not. Despite everything the mere presence of the dog gave Fred hope that he would somehow manage to work through his foggy brain.

“Erm… Yes, that is correct. I agree that seems somewhat contradictory. But there were… unforeseen circumstances so -”

Suddenly the doors to the small sitting room burst open and a determined Ianna strutted in followed by two rather disgruntled but ultimately powerless guards. “We… we really couldn’t stop her!”, one of the guards tried to excuse the sudden interruption.

After taking one look at his friend, Fred immediately decided that he wouldn’t say a peep about his seizures. Explaining that he already had two seizures because of all the stress and sleeplessness (and because he might have missed some of his medication), was really not a good idea when Ianna already looked like she was on the warpath.

“What I wanted to say was that I could have waited. But she could not!” He finally explained to the queen, nonchalantly pointing his finger at Ianna. (This way she would hopefully be distracted from his own strange behaviour.)

The queen didn’t really listen to him. She was too distracted by the breach in security that was the entirety of Ianna. “Who are you?” She almost screamed at the intruder.

Lilli just smirked and answered overly friendly, “It’s nice to meet you, too!”. She bent down to pet Malu who merely looked up when he heard her voice. Then she sat down on the sofa beside Fred. “Sorry, Freddie-Boy but I really got bored out of my brain listening to you terrorizing people on the phone!”

Fred just sighed exaggeratedly (in the hopes that Lilli finally noticed how much of a pain she was to deal with) and buried his head in his hands. “Just so you know, I was going to meet with the royal family's lawyer tomorrow morning. But you already decided it was a better idea to break into the palace!”

Fred almost yelled that last part although he was sure that it wouldn’t really impress Ianna. The queen on the other hand raised an eyebrow. “I am guessing that you are another self-proclaimed friend of my daughter’s”, she said in Lilli’s direction.

Ianna just shrugged. “If your daughter is the very tiresome, increasingly annoying best friend I managed to acquire a few years ago then yes!” Then she turned to Fred. “And I was still right to break into this place because that stupid idiotka isn’t here!”

Fred felt like someone had purposely taken the ground from underneath his feet. “What do you mean she isn’t here? She called me and told me to come to Losnik!”

“She called you?” The queen asked, alarmed, suddenly sitting on the edge of her seat.

Lilli answered for him. “She called him crying on the phone two days ago. That’s the reason we came to Losnik in the first place. From what I could gather from her empty room and some notes in the waste bin, she left without thinking and only packed the essentials. I’m assuming you’ve been aware of that as well.”

The queen nodded. “Yes, we realised that morning that not only did she post a picture of her letter of abdication online, she also left the palace and possibly the country as well.” A little quieter she added. “Just when we thought we got her back… she vanished again.”

Ianna looked stoically into the air. “I am going to find her. There are only so many places Lynny would run to. It’s just a few theories that I will have to systematically falsify. Sooner or later, I will find her.”

The queen looked at her with tears in her eyes. Fred wasn’t sure if it was hope or fear glistening in her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Lilli just shrugged. As always she was uncomfortable with such obvious displays of emotion. “I mean, she’s my best friend. I might not know where she is but she is crazy if she thinks I will stop before I find her.“

Fred turned to Lilli. “So, we’re looking for her. Where do we start?”

To his surprise Lilli just shook her head. “Not ‘we’, Fred. I will find Lynny. You will stay here.”

“What?” Fred was honestly surprised. (And worried. There was a reason for the clammy feeling in his chest. Ianna wasn’t really ok. And knowing the reason for that definitely didn’t make him feel any easier.) “I really can be helpful…”

“Freddie…” Lilli interrupted him calmly but surely. “She asked you to come to Losnik. She wanted you here. And whatever you might think…” She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “She thought you could help here. You said she sounded desperate. It was important to her that someone she trusted implicitly was here to oversee everything when she decided that she couldn’t be. You have to stay.”

Fred kept his gaze locked on his hands and tried to stop them from shaking. There were only rare moments when he didn’t wish Ianna to be by his side. And leaving her to do something alone was never really something he enjoyed doing. No matter how capable she was. Now, it was even harder after all they went through a little over a year ago.

The queen looked at both of them imploringly. She stayed silent and only a curt nod of her head indicated that she agreed. (Maybe he wouldn’t end up in jail after all.) But her stoic way of surrendering to the fact that these two young people were very good friends of her daughter she never knew about reminded Fred that it was not always necessary to understand everything.

Fred sighed. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you? There’s nothing I could say to change your mind, anyway.”

Ianna smiled in this almost imperceptible way that always warmed Fred’s heart. “You might have been her friend first but whatever trouble she has run into - Lynny is my best friend. And I will not let her suffer alone if I can be there by her side!”, she explained. “And besides, you would only slow me down!”

Fred laughed even though he really didn’t feel like laughing. “But how will I know when you find her?”

The queen raised her eyebrows at that. “Couldn’t you just tell us?” She asked, rather confused by Fred’s obvious apprehension.

Fred laughed again this time more desperate than before. The headache had returned and he needed to blink a few times before he felt steady enough to talk again.

He didn’t let any of that deter him, though. “You would think so, right? The problem is that Ianna and Rosie have this kind of codex. They insist that either of them is still keeping a secret even when they tell the other. And on the flipside, there is no way of knowing what they told each other.”

Ianna was looking at him weirdly when he finished. “Freddie … I will not lie to you. I might not tell you where she is when I found her. But I will tell you that I have or haven’t found her. “

Only now Fred noticed that Malu had sat down in front of Ianna and she was calmly petting his head for a bit before she turned to him again. Then her gaze grew inquistory.

“You should probably call your neurologist and figure out how you can get your medication while you stay here. These seizures can not continue like this.”

(For more context, click here or go on the tag #the archangel programme)

#actually epileptic #epilepsy #writing #human rights lawyer #the archangel programme

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

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Purpose of Hearts | Song Mingi (ATEEZ)

Summary: Two lives. One purpose. And a hope that someday, their voices would be heard.

Part of @atbzkingdom's timecapsule collab! Song: Utopia by ATEEZ

Genre: angst, slice of life

A/N: This is a love story but it also revolves around issues of modern society as well as the environmental crises that have been happening lately. I wish to incorporate more of these real-life elements in my stories because that's the only way I can communicate to people the importance of living a life that does not take away what Nature has made for us. So I hope that you guys aren't too harsh on this one, considering I worked really hard to write it. Thank you all. Love, mae xx

>>>

The first time I saw Song Mingi was by accident. I had been late to my interview that day, rushing in and out between my room, the kitchen and the bathroom to get my scrambled self organized, throw on a blazer over my white shirt and black slacks — honestly, had I washed it before?— while barely managing to shove a toast in my mouth as I ran down my apartment stairs two at a time, almost tripping over my own feet as I did so.

That was probably the first time I had overslept ever since reaching Seoul and in all honesty, that had done nothing to set my mind at ease as I caught sight of the overflowing crowd of people moving in the direction of the subway.

Every morning was the same, packed in like tuna fish that wriggled forward in too-tight compartments that made it impossible to breathe, also another reason why I always woke up an hour before the rush of workers came through.

“Excuse me,” I pushed at someone’s shoulder getting shoved into my face, trying in vain not to let my nerves get the best of me, “sorry, but you’re crushing me—“ “Oh sorry,” a man that looked like he was in his forties dipped his head in what seemed to mimic a bow, before he slowly tried edging back, in vain.

I huffed into the window pane, my breath fogging up the glass as I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for the ride to be over. 10:45.a.m, my watch said. My interview was at eleven. There was no way I was going to make it in time.

It felt like eternity had passed before I finally heard my desired station being called out on the intercom. I slowly turned my entire torso to face the exit with slight relief flooding through me. I hadn’t died. Things would be okay, it would be okay—The doors slid open and no sooner had I stepped through that I felt a shoulder shove into mine.

I stumbled, throwing my hands out before me to brace myself for the impact only to feel warm fingers grip onto my forearm to pull me up and away from the throng of people flowing out of the train.

“You okay?”

A deep alto resonated in my ear, causing me to look up into an unfamiliar face. There was no doubt that this stranger was tall. Taller than the average in Korea, no doubt. He had a nicely shaped nose, perfectly sculpted for his side profile, I couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah,” I checked my handbag and quickly dusted off my pants, “thanks. Would’ve gotten crushed back there.”

“No problem.”

Needless to say, my interview was a complete and utter failure. That evening, I binged on some Mcdonald’s followed by a whole pint of ice cream while watching an entire K-drama on my own, ignoring the distinct ping! of my phone that signalled the upcoming stream of messages left unread. But I couldn’t do it. Not now, not when I felt like my life was falling apart and I felt powerless to stop it.

Why? I had thought then. Why me? Why couldn’t I succeed like all my my fellow friends did?

It was true that Marine biologists were at an unfair advantage from the get-go. Jobs were harder to find when you started out in a niche. I had known that much when I’d enrolled for the degree, when I’d cried by myself countless nights knowing that my future was all but a bleak, weak canvas of nothingness. But I couldn’t give it up, no matter how much I wanted to force myself to, for I knew that if there weren’t people like me around to help restore marine ecosystems, then the world as we knew it would end much quicker than intended. I didn’t have the heart to give all of that up when I felt partly responsible for all the lives that mankind was taking away.

All these thoughts were a dark cloud, each and every one of them slowly creating a storm that was out of my control as I went on in my day to day life. It consumed me from the inside until there seemed to be nothing left but an emptiness that blocked everything out. And that scared me.

That was when I met Song Mingi for the second time.

It was around late evening when my restless self decided to take a walk to clear my head. It seemed like my feet had a life of their own for no sooner had I allowed my mind to drift off that I found myself boarding a train to nowhere in particular. A heavy sigh left my lips and I sat back in one of the many empty seats. The peace and quiet was a nice change from the constant bustle and movement, and as I gazed out at the inky darkness of the tunnel, I noticed someone shift from the corner of my eye.

He was sitting on the opposite side, one row before mine, his gaze hollow and empty and directed at the ground, seemingly as lost in his thoughts as I was. I wouldn’t have recognized him if not for that particularly perfect nose slant that instantly caught my attention.

That man. The man who’d helped me out of the subway.

And as if sensing my gaze, his head turned around slightly to catch my eye. Though he was too far away for me to notice, his head cocked to the side as he searched my face for a minute. Before he nodded in acknowledgement.

I nodded back, looked away. Heat crawled to the back of my neck, embarrassed.

I need to get out of here, my mind raced.

The next stop couldn’t come fast enough. I jolted up from my seat once the station came into view and quickly scrambling for the exit, I failed to notice the said young man do the same until I bumped into him as we stepped out.

Stumbling to the side as his briefcase clattered to the floor and spilled the array of papers hidden inside, my eyes widened in horror as some of them started flying away as the train whizzed past. I launched my body onto the ground, curse words spilling from my mouth as I helped him gather the mess of artworks that decorated the floor, from pens to pencil scrawls to pastels to dabbles of oil paintings that even in the shitty yellow lights lining the station, they looked ethereal and raw with talent.

“I’m so sorry,” my head was ducked, I couldn’t possibly face him, as I quickly stacked up the papers.

“It’s okay,” was his only reply as we managed to gather most of his work. My eyes flew to the ones that now laid on the train tracks, crumpled and matted with dirt and practically unattainable.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated hoarsely as guilt filled me up to the brim. It wasn’t enough that I was having a shitty day. No, I had to go and ruin someone’s day as well.

Fuck me.

“It’s alright, really. They weren’t that important to begin with,” he held out his hands for the remaining papers and stuffed them into his briefcase once I handed it over, making sure that the lock was set right before straightening up to face me, “they’re just practice drawings.”

“Still though,” all that pain and effort, gone and wasted because of my stupidity.

He chuckled then and I looked up at him, quite surprised at the grin tugging at his lips, “honestly, it’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

I nodded and decided to drop the subject, wondering how it was possible to feel even sorrier for myself when I thought I had already hit rock bottom. We walked up the station staircase together in silence, which I would’ve probably found awkward if not for the fact that I was mentally beating myself up for acting so foolishly. He must’ve noticed the tired lines of my face, for his voice rang out in the silence as he stepped out into the street:

“Hey, if you still feel bad about the papers, don’t,” he stopped, gazing down at my form with what I hoped to be a reassuring smile, “it would’ve been another story though, if these were my finals.”

I flinched, though I forced a faint smile back, “okay. I’m sorry. Again. Please don’t curse me to death or anything,” an idea popped into my head, “are you heading home right now?”

“Uh—yeah. Why?”

“Please…let me buy you a drink. Coffee? Iced tea? I just—“ my fingers were already scrambling for some money, “please. I feel terrible about this.”

He cocked his head as an amused smile graced his lips, “wow, you really do feel bad.”

“I do. Please?”

And that was how we found ourselves sitting at a cheap plastic table outside the convenience store that night, huddled in our too-thick sweaters and blowing at our hands while holding our beers close. Conversation flowed naturally as we sat and breathed in the night air, allowing life to pause for a moment and enabling my brain to disentangle itself from overthinking too much. It was nice in a way, the distraction of having someone to talk to, just so that I didn’t have to wallow in my own self-pity.

I learnt that his name was Song Mingi, and that he had recently graduated from Art School with a dream to be a full-fledged artist. He had one cat that he’d named Kimchi and absolutely adored anime because of the art style and the unique story lines. I learnt that he was quite fluent in Japanese and loathed the subway as much as I did.

“Right now though, I’m working at a design company,” he took a sip of his beer, head tilting and side profile backlit by the fluorescent convenience store lights. He appeared softer, younger somehow, than his actual age.

“You like it?”

“Not really.”

I threw him a pointed look, “is that how you say no?”

“Alright. No,” he laid his chin in his palm, “I hate it. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

“But it covers the bills.”

“Yup.”

“That sucks.”

“It does,” he took another hearty sip as I gazed down at my own drink. And here I was, jobless and with no ambition, no dream to chase. Because I was burnt out before even starting.

“And you?” he asked as I glanced back up into his eyes — gentle eyes, I found. He had very gentle eyes, eyes that seemed to know a lot more than what he let on, “what do you do in life?”

“I am unemployed,” the words sounded even more grim as they fell from my mouth, and I averted my eyes to the table to avoid his own out of embarrassment, “and I’m pretty sure I failed all the interviews I had this week.”

“What did you study?”

“Marine biology,” my throat felt rough, choked up with emotion as I thought of how ridiculous I must sound to this total stranger who was both talented and seemed to have his life together. Maybe it was insecurity that made me spit out, “don’t laugh.”

A pause, before he said, “why would I? That’s amazing.”

My eyes slid back up to his, “I—because…well…” and I couldn’t help myself from spilling it all out. How I came to this major because this was presumably the most passionate thing I’ve ever stumbled across in life, how I’d studied so hard not to fall behind when all my classmates seemed to pass their exams with flying colours, and how out of all of us in our year, I was the only one still roaming around like a lifeless soul while most of my peers had landed themselves some high-standing positions at big-shot NGO’s and companies focusing on Marine Environment protection and sustainability.

I didn’t realize that my eyes had filled with tears by the time I was done rambling about the fact that our planet was dying and nobody seemed to be interested in that fact whatsoever. Not until Mingi’s hand came into my peripheral and I blinked, catching sight of the napkin he was offering me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, voice small as I quickly wiped away my tears. My cheeks felt hot, flushed from a mixture of alcohol and from the way his eyes were intent on my face.

“I…” Mingi bit down onto his lower lip. He’d moved on to his second can by then, “I don’t know what to say. You’re…”

I waited for the insult. For him to laugh at my ridiculousness. Or maybe offer sympathetic words that were devoid of meaning.

“You’re amazing.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly, my eyes fluttered up to his.

“What?”

“All these things you’ve told me, they’re so…real. And I wish I could be more like you, you know?” he leaned back in his chair, “I’m always complaining that my life’s not good enough. That I don’t have purpose. These kinds of thoughts that make you question your existence. But then you come along and you tell me all these problems — real problems that should concern everyone around us — that make me open my eyes.”

Was this flattery? A compliment? I didn’t know how to take it, considering the fact that I’d basically laid out all my cards in front of this man who’d been a total stranger just a few hours ago.

He continued on despite my silence, “the world needs more people like you. Kind people, who really want to change the world for the better. Not because they want to prove something. But because it’s the right thing to do.”

My heart lurched in my chest. Stranger or no stranger, hearing that made some of the weight lift off my shoulders, even just a little. How stupid. How pathetic, that all I wanted to hear was to be praised and recognized by someone who I barely knew.

Nevertheless, it warmed me. The warmth of his tone as he gazed at me from across the cheap table. That was incomparable to an entire life filled with nothing but disappointment.

“I—“ a hollow chuckle escaped the back of my throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

He was the one to flush this time, “sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—“

“No no! Don’t say sorry,” I protested, eyes darting between him and the drink in my hand, “it’s—it’s refreshing, compared to what I’m used to hear.”

"Wah, I mean...I took art so I'm not one to talk."

I can't help but giggle, "so we're just a bunch of nerds. Bet you watch anime too."

"Don't get me started unless you want to stay here till four in the morning," he chuckled.

I wasn't really sure how to describe that night in particular. It felt like catching up with an old friend and yet, I barely knew this man. Somehow though, it seemed like he understood the pain that simmered in me, the feelings that I bottled up for all this time and it brought me comfort that someone else could empathize with the thoughts that pulled me down by the ankles every time I tried to swim.

Something had changed between us by the time he walked me back to the station that evening. What had started out as a coincidental meeting of two strangers had ebbed into the softest brushes of friendship. I was more than giddy to exchange numbers in hopes of meeting him again.

That night, I fell into a deep and soundless sleep. The best sleep I'd had in ages.

>>>

The third time I saw Song Mingi, we promised to change the world.

It started out as him inviting me over for his apparently out-of-this-world shrimp pasta, to which I'd scoffed and broke his heart by stating that I was vegetarian. But that had only fueled his desire to make me fall in love with his cuisine as he promised me the best alternative to that.

He'd bought wine for the occasion, had managed to secure the apartment all to himself that evening, and had even decorated the table with soft scented candles and matching plates that brought out the magical air of first dates.

That was enough to bring a smile to my lips and I had looked over my shoulfer at him in amusement, "aren't you a romantic?"

I swore I caught his flush even in the dim golden hues that bathed the room, though he answered back with a scoff, "I'm an artist. Of course I'm a romantic."

"I was friends with some art kids, back in uni," I said as I sat down at the table, Mingi following my movements as he placed the pot of pasta between us, "and I gotta say, I felt like they were more cyberpunk and dark than actual romantics."

"Yeah, even art kids have their own little gangs," he wrinkled his nose, "honestly, I was pretty normal. Didn't dye my hair, no piercings in my nose, no tattoos 'coz I hated needles. People would keep asking me if I was a design student."

"Wait--isn't that like, kind of the same thing though?"

"It's different in the way we approach the subject matter. But yeah, I don't get it either. Why can't I be an artist and a designer? I don't want to choose."

"Ah, let the existential crisis strike again."

We clinked glasses, gobbled up the pasta with vegan meat that he'd replaced -- with too much confidence bordering on arrogance, I might add -- and as we spoke, my attention couldn't help lingering over his works until at some point, Mingi had relented and gestured for me to grab his sketchbook.

And that had been a game changer. It had opened my eyes.

Sure, I'd seen his sketches when I'd caused his spill a few weeks ago. But at that time I was all too panicked to actually care what had been sprawled over the paper...until now.

"So you draw characters?" My mouth was practically hanging open as I constantly gazed at the array of faces sprawled before me. They were beautiful. Stunningly so. And haunted somehow, as if wrapped in narratives of their own.

"Yeah. I like faces. I like people." I heard the shyness in his alto as he stood next to me, hand going to scratch the back of his neck, "I think they all carry so many different stories."

And they did. Their eyes said something different within each and every scene. My heart tugged with emotions I couldn't quite decipher for myself as I pondered oveer his intent.

That was when the idea hit me.

"Mingi," I turned to him, "you said you wanted to tell stories?"

Raising a brow, he said, "yeah?"

"How comfortable are you with animated movies?"

"Hm. I did some modules back in college so I'm not unfamiliar with it. Why?"

"This is going to sound crazy okay?"

Alarm flashed through his features. He blinked, "okay."

"Let's make an animated movie. About the ocean."

>>>

And he said yes. Just like that.

He heard me out first, worked through all the logistics of how we were going to create something together that would bring to life a vision of a new world, a world that would bring life within the marine ecosystem. Our meetings were flexible, in-between scraps of time that we'd get either during his lunch time or during evenings where we'd get dinner and discuss. But while I was unsure of whether I'd pushed him before even asking him about it, I caught a glimpse of the twinkle in his eyes, and that had made me pause for a minute.

It was the look of pure love.

Love for life.

In all honesty, a little part of myself fell for Mingi there and then.

"I was thinking it to be more like a kid storybook," I told him from my place on his sofa, watching him at his tiny kitchen desk sketching out some panels, "so that it's got a light mood with dark undertones."

"Yeah, it'll be more effective that way," he murmured, brows stitched together and lips puckered. That expression took ten years off his age, "I was thinking maybe we need a protagonist. Maybe she's a mermaid or something. Has animals friends and lives in the corals--"

"And she watches as all the fishing destroys her home," I finished with barely restrained excitement, "and she falls in love with a fisherman who decides to help her out!"

Mingi's eyes lifted from his paper -- that must've been the first time in a full hour since he was so focused on the task at hand -- and locked on mine. A grin slowly spread across his face, "I like that. A lot."

There was something in his gaze that made me heat up, though I made an attempt to shrug and look away to avoid the heat slowly spreading through my limbs as if someone had suddenly turned up the temperature in the room.

My week followed with a few more interviews, most of which were unsuccessful. One of them seemed interested enough -- a Marine conservation company that focused on dolphins and whale protection -- but upon scheduling an official meeting with the manager, I couldn’t reel in the horror that struck me as soon as I stepped foot into the enclosure. The dolphins barely had any room to swim around, let alone the condition of the waters that were more of a murky green than health aquamarine blue. The animals themselves didn’t look too happy to be here and god knows one could understand, considering the circumstances and the fact that this pool was the size proportionate to a tuna can.

The cherry on top though, was definitely the orcas. Top fins flipped to the side and with only three left -- the information board stuck to the entrance stated that there were at least ten of them -- it definitely appeared more to be a morgue than a conservation area.

At this point, I couldn't stop the tears. Pain scratched through my chest before I swivelled around with barely restrained anger, "you--" my nostrils flared, jaw clenching, "that's--that's what you call keeping them safe?"

The manager's eyes narrowed, "With all due respect, we--"

"You're killing them!" I yelled out, unable to restrain myself, "this is called murder! And you call yourself a marine conservation? What is wrong with you!?"

Needless to say, I was kicked out a few seconds after that.

But the damage was done. My heart was aching, practically empty of anything else apart from the horror I had just witnessed unfold before my very eyes. If they had a good reputation and were treating their animals badly, how about the ones that didn't have any funding? The ones that had smaller acres and less manpower to help?

How many animals were they killing in the process?

Sure, not all of them were like that. But that was a bit slap in the face. By reality.

Mingi noticed my wallowing silence when he came over that night -- I had cooked vegan burgers for the occasion -- though I tried to hide it behind the pretence of tiredness and lack of sleep. He wasn’t convinced though, for as soon as we’d dumped our plates in the sink and collapsed onto my worn-out red couch with frayed fabric ends hanging from its sides, the first thing he uttered was:

“Did something happen?”

I looked up, surprised that he’d picked up on my nonverbal cues since I usually prided myself on always managing to keep my emotions in check whenever I was in the public eye.

Admittedly though, this was a feeling I had never felt before. This wretched, this broken-hearted. I had seen documentaries, countless videos of slaughter and poor conditions.

But this, this was something entirely out of its league. This was horrendous. I couldn’t understand how one could even do such a thing. How one could think of this as humane, as a service to those beautiful animals that never hurt anybody.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mingi continued in a rush, “I didn’t mean to pry--”

“They barely have any space,” I cut him off, voice practically on edge as the sight of the dolphins flashed through the back of my lids, “they--they looked ill. Mingi, you should’ve seen them. They didn’t--they didn’t look like they were going to survive in there and, I--I couldn’t not do anything so--”

My tears had already gathered at the corner of my eyes and I buried my head into my arms so that he wouldn’t have to fall victim to my sobs. It surprised me, though, when his warmth came to wrap around my figure, hand pressing against the back of my head so that I was nestled into the crook of his neck.

The murmur scratched the back of my throat, “I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Mingi’s soothing alto washed away the nervous thought that maybe he was doing it out of sympathy. Out of pity, even. But he sounded more comforting than uncomfortable, which made me cry even harder into his shoulder.

It might have sounded stupid to anyone else; crying about animals that still had a chance at life, crying because they were forced to be in cages that didn’t serve them any better purpose than leaving them out to sea as dead meat. But I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t help my heart, from the deep sorrow that washed through me every time I pictured those lifeless creatures -- usually so alive and vivacious and just amazing to be around -- just wallowing in the waters like a bunch of dead floating bodies.

This wasn’t about allowing them to live. This wasn’t about carving out a better future for these animals. This was merely about trying to build a good reputation, and feeding off all the money they received because of good samaritans that wanted to do good and yet, had no idea of what was going on behind the scenes.

It was horrifying. Heartbreaking. And I couldn’t stand by to watch them all fall to pieces, to be killed to extinction.

“It’s okay,” he shushed me when he heard my sobs get a little louder. One of his hands soothed down my back, stable and comforting. I tried breathing in and out, raggedly, but eventually slowly settling into small hiccups as the night wore on and the pain subsided.

How stupid. How embarrassing. What an idiot.

Those were the thoughts that circled my brain as soon as my consciousness cleared.

"My neighbour had a cattle field,” Mingi said a while later when we sat side by side, one of his hands still on my back and rubbing slow circles. I had grabbed a pillow, hugging it for comfort, “back when I was still a kid. I had to walk to the nearest bus stop because we were so far out. We didn’t have any buses coming our way. Whenever I passed by that farm though, I’d feel so helpless to see all these cattle, bunched up together. There was barely enough space for them to breathe, let alone move.”

I sniffled and wiped my nose, nodding at him to go on.

“So one day, oh god. You’re going to laugh,” he chuckled softly, rubbing his face with his other hand, “one day I decided-- you know what? They didn’t deserve to live like this. I felt sorry for them. And they were getting slaughtered. Every single day. I was so angry that I went over to the backyard fence that afternoon and just opened the gate.”

“You did what?” My eyes bulged out of their sockets.

Mingi burst out laughing, “I know, I was stupid. And I wasn’t thinking about how this was the man’s hard work you know. It was what paid the bills. But I was naive and I just really wanted to help the cattle. So I set them free,” His laughter dimmed into chuckles, “all fifty-five of them.”

“Holy shit Mingi,” my mouth formed an ‘O’, “you’re crazy!” I started cackling, imagining a younger version of Mingi storming up to the fence with that same determined glint in his eye. I’d definitely done some crazy things back when I was still a child. But this one was unheard of.

He joined in and soon enough, we were laughing our heads off for god knows whatever reason. All I knew was that the ache in my heart had dissolved into a tiny stub the size of a burnt-out cigarette and my stomach now hurt from too much laughing.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” Mingi smiled down at me, those feline eyes soft and the curve of his full lips lighting up his features, “if they can’t see the wrong they’re doing now, then our project will.”

Right then and there, I believed him.

>>>>

I fell in love with Song Mingi the same way I fell in love with the sea.

I was not, until I was.

And when the realization hit me, I was in a little too deep to retract my footsteps.

Maybe it was in his gentle demeanour. Something I wasn't used to in guys. But Mingi had a sensitivity to him, a way with human emotions that made it easy to communicate. He was soft and kind and so open to everything and anything I said. He had a stubborn streak, but mostly for things that concerned his self-worth. And I hated how he couldn't admire his talent the same way I did.

But that was the thing with artists right? They always shied away from the limelight, let their works of art speak in their stead.

And what I loved the most about Mingi, was the fact that he listened. He actually took the time to listen and remember the things I said. It might have been little, insignificant. But it wasn't for me.

"Y/N! Guess what I brought for you!" He hollered one particular Wednesday night after work. He practically lived here, for his things were already sprawled onto the kitchen table from last night, and the night before.

"A donut? A latte? A pizza?" I called back while stirring the red bean stew as a quick dinner. The lack of response caused me to turn around, only to be faced with a bunch of red roses. I yelped in surprise, "what the-- what's this for?!"

My face heated up on its own accord as Mingi laughed and said, "Happy International Women's Day."

"What?" I blinked in shock, my curry now forgotten on the stove, "you mean, happy valentines?"

"Nope. No mistake. Today's International Women's Day," he grinned, "so here you go, a bouquet of roses to one of the strongest women I know.”

My face explode with heat and if it weren’t for me averting my head and hiding my face amidst the roses that tickled my nose, he would’ve guessed the way my heart beat for him. Too fast for it to be normal.

Another time, we’d been hanging out by the Han River sloppily eating our way through ice cream in zero degree weather and he hadn’t hesitated to give me his hoodie when he’d noticed the raw redness of my hands, the sniffles coming from my nose.

“You’re cold,” he’d stated with a small tut of disapproval. I protested with a shake of my head, but it had been no use. He was already pulling his coat off and not a second later, his hoodie was flung onto my face.

“Ow,” I mumbled as I maneuvered my hands through the sleeves, chest warming at his kind action. Mingi was a sweetheart, no doubt. And I really needed to stop crushing on him. He, however, did not make it so easy.

“Thanks,” I glanced back at him after stuffing my hands into his hoodie pockets. It smelled just like him, as if Mingi himself was wrapping me in his arms. The thought made my heart melt, “you didn’t have to, you know. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Sure, Y/N. You look like you could fly away if I pushed you too hard,” he reached over to ruffle my hair and I’d pouted then before jabbing playfully at his shoulder.

The more I spent time in Mingi’s flat, the more I got to know of his entourage, met his friends and saw how they genuinely cared for the said young man. In return, he met mine and it had become a habit to drag him along wherever I went and vice versa. So much so that it elicited a few curious glances and poignant questions that I tried avoiding at all costs for fear that they’d find out my true feelings.

“Mingi’s never been an outgoing kid,” Hongjoong said -- he was one of Mingi’s older childhood friends and they’d known each other all their lives -- during one of the evenings when the boys had crashed into Mingi’s living room and the flat had turned into a Mario Kart competition. Much to the displeasure of Mingi’s flatmates.

“Huh, that’s something I can’t quite picture,” I replied, gaze trailing back to Minig’s face as he yelled and high-fived Jongho and San. A series of groans echoed from the opposing team.

“Yeah, he’s grown out a lot more since university,” Hongjoong took a sip of his beer, “he does gets quite emotional from time to time. That’s why I worry about him so much. He’s sensitive.”

“I guess all artists are, in a sense.”

The man nodded, “yeah, but he’s been a lot brighter. Ever since you two started that project.”

I tried not to show that I was slowly becoming a blushing mess but it was hard to keep my feelings in check when Hongjoong’s eyes were piercing on my own, suddenly alert and filled with an intensity that made me want to squirm.

“You like him?”

The words were like icy shards. I froze.

I couldn’t keep the surprise from my face when I turned to face Hongjoong. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper.

“Mingi’s fragile. If you’re gonna play him, I suggest you don’t.”

“I’m not--” the words ached as they escaped my voicebox, “I’m not playing him.”

“Then please, take care of him. He doesn’t show how weaknesses to everyone. But he has a habit of overworking himself, especially when it comes to pleasing others,” Hongjoong shot me a look.

My mouth reacted before my brain did. I blurted out, “why are you telling me this?”

And there was that look in Hongjoong’s eyes; the dark softeness filled with affection for the said young man that reminded me of that of a father’s. When he spoke next, his words were barely above a murmur, “because he cares about you, a lot. And I don’t want him to get disappointed.”

I wasn’t sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Hongjoong’s words bordered on threatening, though I knew that it wasn’t the case. He was just doing his job after all; looking out for Mingi. But if he thought, for one moment, that I would go out of my way to hurt the latter, then that statement was proven wrong the moment I realized my heart beat for him.

As the coldness of spring melted away with the warmth of summer, sakuras went into full bloom and more and more people gathered outside to take pictures, couples strolling hand in hand while enjoying street snacks that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Empty streets suddenly turned bustling, just like our current storyboard coming to life.

“I don’t get it though. Why does the fisherman do that when he knows he’s going to go jobless when he exposes the fishing industry?” Mingi asked one night while we watched the animation roll by in comfortable silence. The frames were almost done at this point, with only the ending to wrap it all up and the music to be added in the background.

I leaned against his desk table, slightly curving of his sitting form, “because he loves the mermaid,” I went straight to the point, not realizing that my voice had dropped to a whisper until Mingi turned in my direction.

“He loves the mermaid just enough that he’s willing to sacrifice all of that?”

It sounded dumb when he put it so simply. So I shrugged, “people do stupid things in the name of love.”

A slight pause as my words buzzed through the air.

"Would you?” He spoke up,” do that?”

My eyes dropped to his face. The depth of his orbs reflected in the dim light of his room had my heart shaking and impulsively, my hand went to fist onto my jumper sleeve. Just enough to keep me grounded.

“What--” I swallowed thickly, “do you mean?”

A few beats of silence ensued. Our eyes locked.

“Would you give all that up for the one you love?”

I kept my eyes on his even as heat littered through my cheeks, “yeah,” I bit my lip, “yeah I would. Probably.”

Something flashed in his eyes then. Something different, darker than what I was used to seeing. A silent breath escaped my lips. Electricity curled through the air, buzzing in-between us.

I didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare look away.

Mingi’s eyes traced my every feature, gaze flickering to my mouth.

My lips parted on their own accord and he must’ve heard me, for his eyes flickered straight back up to mine and-- had his eyes always been this intense? This beautiful?

His hand suddenly fluttered over my arm. He tugged.

I stumbled into him.

And then his lips were pressing onto my cheek. Softly. A little shy. Breaths warm where his mouth hovered right upon my skin that burned as butterflies suddenly exploded through my stomach. A gasp died in the back of my throat and as I gazed down at him in growing surprise at his stroke of boldness, I saw his eyes widen in realization of what he'd done.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get into your space--" his scrambled murmur died when I shook my head to silence him, a slow smile spreading across my lips. I didn't know what to say though, what to do.

I finally found my voice after a while, "what...was that for?" I asked, tentative.

Mingi's head ducked shyly, hand going up to rub at his neck while avoiding my gaze like the plague, "I don't know," he admitted, "I just--I wanted to cheer you up. I guess?"

"You guess?"

His orbs flickered to mine, "don't make fun of me," he sounded like a child and a giggle erupted from my mouth, "I'm not. Just making sure what your intentions were."

I almost missed him murmuring out, "even I'm not sure."

That shut me up. I blinked at him.

"You looked sad," he looked away, "I don't like seeing you sad."

Was that a confession? Or was it just me being overdramatic?

I didn't bother responding out of fear that flat-out rejection was waiting for me just behind the door that broke the boundary between friendship and romance. I moved away and his arms dropped, clearly sensing that something had changed in my demeanour. For the rest of the night, we didn't address the issue, made it out to have been an accident, a small 'slip' if you will. In truth, I was a coward. Couldn't muster the courage to spill out the weight that was heavy on my heart and would rather lock up my feelings away, push them at the far end of my mind.

Maybe it was for the best. We were partners only for this project.

After that, who knows when I'd be seeing him again?

>>>

The day our story came to life was the day I almost told Mingi how I felt about him.

"It's done."

My brain couldn't process what my eyes saw. The animation kept on rolling forward and repeating itself, the melody becoming a numb buzzing background noise as the roaring excitement flooded through my veins, my heart beating so loudly I feared its sound echoed through the room.

Mingi sat next to me at his swivelling desk chair, chin on his palm and eyes glancing between me and the computer screen.

Ever since that night, there had been a weird tension every time we looked at each other for too long. It felt like an itch under my skin I couldn't quite reach, something that made me want to squirm restlessly.

"That..." my throat went dry. It was beautiful. The shading, the fluidity of the storytelling. Everything. "It's..." I struggled to find my voice.

It was beautiful.

"It's beautiful."

Choking up on the wave of emotion crashing through me, I couldn't restrain the sob echoing through the back of my throat and turning away from the young artist to hide the tears welling in the corner of my eyes, I jumped when a warmth ghosted over the back of my elbow.

"You okay?" Mingi's alto rang deep. He'd risen from his chair and it took me aback to see how tall he actually was. I barely reached his throat.

I nodded, fervently wiping the tears away, "I'm fine. Just-- it's hard to watch."

"Yeah," his features softened, "it was hard to draw."

If I was an emotional wreck, I couldn't imagine how hard he must have struggled throughout the whole thing. My body reacted before my brain did, arms flinging themselves around Mingi's neck as I heard him stutter out with embarrassment.

Burying my face into his chest, my body melted into his scent of soft men shampoo followed by a citrus aftertaste. His figure stiffened for a few seconds, before his arms slowly laced around my middle with a hesitance that made my heart flutter to my throat.

"Thank you," came my muffled mumble, "thank you, for doing this."

A small noise of approval rumbled through his chest, palms smoothing over my back in a manner so soothing it makes my limbs turn to mush.

We headed out to buy some tteokbeokki straight from the street vendor later that night along with some pizza to honour our success -- or more precisely, Mingi's success since he was the one doing the majority of hard work -- and as we settled ourselves on a bench in a nearby park of the neighbourhood, I looked up at the night sky with a soft sigh, knowing that after this night, my chances of seeing Mingi would be slim to none.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. It was more because he probably had a life of his own, a life he wanted back. He had friends that cared for him, had a stable job he needed to dive back into. He didn't have as much free time as I did.

Something like a jagged rock cut through my chest at the thought. I wasn't going to life; it hurt to know that Mingi's face wouldn't be a regular in my daily schedule.

But he'd done his part. The rest -- figuring out how to pitch that project to our sponsors -- was up to me.

"Have you made a list of who you're going to pitch it to?" Mingi's voice drew me back to reality and I blinked up at him, catching sight of the beer he held out in his hand.

I took it gratefully, cracking it open and taking a huge sip. The liquid felt good sliding down my throat, the familiar sensation of alcohol warming up my stomach.

"I have a few names in mind," the night breeze was cool as it washed against my features that seemed permanently doused in embarrassment, "I might try and pitch it directly to the National Ocean Board*. Though apparently, you need like a contact to get to the organization itself so I'll have to figure that out."

He hummed in agreement, "the hardest part's yet to come."

"No," my eyes swiped up to his, hating how easily he pushed aside his efforts, "you did everything, Mingi. I--I'm really grateful. I don't know how to thank you."

"You came up with the idea. You're the one who wrote the entire storyboard," he shrugged as he took a sip of his own beer. I tried not to stare too long at the bobbing of his adam's apple -- he looked so fine. There was no doubt about that. Even in his casual hoodie and training slacks decked in shades of black and grey, there was no denying that he had the charm and the aura of a model itself.

"I'm just the one who knows how to draw," he continued in an easy tone, which made me snap, "that's not true and you know it," my eyes narrowed, hands clenching a little harder on my can, "you can draw, sure. Anyone can draw, or learn how to anyway. But you can tell stories and trust me when I tell you this-- not everyone can," I shook my head, "not in the way that you do, anyway. It's magical, it makes you dream, it makes you think that maybe--" the words caught in the back of my throat as I swallowed thickly, "maybe there's still a little bit of hope left."

A soft pause ensued. The crickets chirped in the distance paired with the distant hum of cicadas. I kept my eyes glued to his, insistently trying to prove my point as we kept our gazes locked for a few seconds too long. And then, his features softened and his face broke into a soft smile.

A small that took my breath away.

He reached up so suddenly that I didn't have time to register the fact that his hand came to a rest upon my head. He ruffled my hair, in a manner so gentle that I stopped breathing for a full minute.

"Thank you," his murmur washed against my face, breaths tingling my cheeks and causing a splatter of warm peony to rise through the back of my neck.

I wished to believe it was the alcohol.

"No need to thank me," was the only thing I could mumble back, if only to hide how scrambled up my brain had become.

"You'll let me know, right?" Mingi allowed his hand to linger for a few drawn out seconds, before he dropped his arm and took another sip of his beer, "if ever we get a breakthrough."

"Of course I will. What sort of question is that?"

"I don't know. In case you decide to run away without any credits to the artist," he flashed me a teasing smile and I shoved his shoulder in response, "thanks for having absolutely no faith in me."

He laughed, "I'm joking."

"Oh, you're not. You're actually really serious about me stealing your work aren't you?"

"What? Of course not Y/N! Who do you take me for?"

"Who do you take me for?!" I huffled out playfully, " asking me these stupid questions--hey!"

I didn't have time to defend myself when he suddenly pounced onto me, fingers finding my weak points right underneath my armpits. I squealed, bursts of laughter and cries of protests falling from my lips as his hands scrabbled against my sides in an attempt to make me pay for my earlier comments.

"Mingi! Stop it--" I choked on my own laughter, hands failing to find purchase to push him away as he continued his attack without mercy, "that's for using me!" he gloated.

My beer caner spilled over the ground halfway through our playful fight and it wasn't until I managed to grip his wrists that I realized our provocative position; Mingi's body was hovering over mine that had toppled onto the bench, back pressed against the cool metal as I gazed up, transfixed, into those gorgeous feline orbs glinting in the dark light of the park.

The playful air stilled in light of the realization dawning upon me; that he was so close I could kiss him if I wanted to. His lips were mere inches. Would he straight-out reject me if I attempted to bring him closer? Those sinfully rose-tinted lips that looked plush and inviting-- my heart fluttered to my throat just thinking about it.

No.

Don't do it. Don't ruin what you have, a small voice echoed in the back of my mind.

Mingi, maybe upon noticing the change in my demeanor, slowly pulled back and pulled me along with him so that I straightened up. His head tipped down to the spilled beer cans at our feet, and chuckled.

"Well, that's a waste," he commented lightly, as if we hadn't just engaged in something a little more intimate than interesting conversation, and that made my heart sink a little.

"Sure is," I avoided his eyes at all costs, kept my gaze lowered in case he caught a glimpse of what he shouldn't be seeing in the first place.

The words were lingering on the edge of my lips the whole night, deliberately playing back and forth between what was best for us right now, at this particular moment. And if Mingi noticed, he didn't comment on it, though from the way his eyes would find mine in concern every time a silence lasted for too long, I suppose he suspected that there was something a little more that was bothering the depths of my heart even though I forced plastic smiles over my face and pushed my eyes into crinkles to mimic my usual happiness.

My lips held onto a bitter aftertaste when he said our goodbyes that night, as I held onto his sweater a little longer than usual, numb from the cold and the things that clogged up the back of my throat.

It tasted sour.

I love you.

>>>

Y/N: They said they would sponsor it.

My fingers shook with every key tapped onto my phone, brown orbs glued to the screen as I awaited for Mingi's reply. He was online, I had seen his status a few minutes ago before I mustered up the courage to tell him the great news that would've once made me ecstatic, would have me jumping around in joy and barely restrained excitement at the thought that my voice, our voices, were finally being heard after months of toiling and searching and begging and being thrown out of doors.

After that particular night where we'd celebrated our win, I'd been trying my best to avoid the said man when possible. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. On the contrary, I had to physically dig my nails into my palm so as not to dial his number every evening when the silence, the overbearing numb emptiness, became too much to bear. But I didn't want to overwhelm him, not if he didn't want anything to do with me.

He never took the step forward to contact me first. I guessed that this was my answer.

Instead of pondering over what could have been, I decided to delve deep into my search for sponsors. Easier said than done though, considering that there were numerous marine protection companies that were using greenwashing for their customer market and blatantly refused to take part in such a 'horrendous, misleading act' as they called it. To fund myself for the time-being, I was grateful enough to get a job as a cashier in a Pet Shop from across the street from my apartment. It wasn't much, but it paid the bills and I was able to spend as much time with animals instead of human beings. Life seemed to crawl by at a slow snail's pace for some time, going through the ministrations of life and falling in a routine of going to work, calling companies and sponsors during my lunch break, gong back to work, then getting home and trying once more to search up other kinds of sponsors in hopes that they'd give me the time of the day.

It wasn't until a few months later that a small company in the outskirts of Seoul reached out to me. They introduced themselves as a branch of a bigger Western umbrella and after running a background check, I counted them as credible and accepted an interview.

Which led to the current situation.

My phone buzzed. Screen flashing: Mingi is calling.

My brain backtracked. Huh?

Fingers shaking, I almost missed the green icon before pressing the device to my ear.

"Hey."

"They accepted it?!"

A smile instinctively hitched my lips upwards, "yes," I murmured, breathless. Then, said it a little louder, "yes!"

Mingi laughed, "oh my god! They accepted it!"

I couldn't help but laugh along with him. His effect on me was incredible, lit me up on the inside and for a second I wished I could get a glimpse of his face.

I suggested that we meet up at a nearby café to discuss the details, which was weird, considering that it had been a few weeks since I last saw his face. I couldn't blame him, for he'd been having a tougher time at work and I was burnt out. Coupling that with our lack of communication and you got a friendship that was slowly fraying at the ends.

I forced my heart to mentally put out a front so as not to jump on him the moment I caught sight of his face. But that didn't prove necessary, for the moment I stepped into the quaint coffee shop filled with the mixed scent of books and fresh espresso Mingi was already wrapping me up in a huge bear hug, so tight I could barely breathe, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of his shampoo.

"It's been awhile," he grinned, pulling back to gaze down at me and I swore I felt my chest tighten at the softness swirling through his dark pupils. Everything, every emotion came rushing back like a tidal wave.

"It has," I managed to cough up despite the fact that my heartstrings seemed to be dancing around in-between my lungs. Just tell him already! "You look good, Mingi. Better than the last time we met."

"That's because we managed to finish our project before the deadline," he grinned as he tugged me over to his table. I took note of the worn-out black edge of his sketchbook peeking out of his backpack and had to smile. Typical of him, to be carrying out of his sketchbook even now that he barely had no time for his personal art.

We caught up on each other's lives and about the specifics of the sponsor. They were willing to advertise it on their social medias, their websites, as well as present it to the National Ocean Cleanup Day that was soon approaching, which was an opportunity for all aspiring artists and storytellers to present their art in hopes that it would be seen by an influential eye. Every commission would be ours and they'd only take 5% commission for their advertisement, a pretty good deal considering their reputation.

"I still can't believe they want to advertise it," he raked a hand through his dark locks. They seemed to have grown a little since then, "It feels surreal."

"It'll be a good opportunity for you too," I smiled back, "to get yourself known as an artist."

"Oh actually, there's something I haven't told you yet."

Leaning forward in my seat, my eyebrow rose in curiosity, "spill."

"Well, I'm actually quitting my job next month."

I blinked, "wha--wait, really? Did you get another job?"

He shook his head at that before his smile broadened, "nah. I'm not about that life anymore. I want to do what I really want," pausing slightly as hesitation flashed through his features, I offered him a reassuring smile, "I'm going to be a full-time artist."

My mouth dropped open in surprise, eyes widening, "Oh my god--No! You're kidding?!" and when he shook his head once more with that knowing smile I knew too well, my hands shot up instantly to grab at his with barely restrained excitement, "I'm so proud of you, Mingi! What--How did you--What have you planned?!"

"I haven't really planned anything yet," though his tone was unsure, there was no denying the full-out grin on his face, "but I've been gathering a bunch of my sketches. They all follow the same theme so I might just go with that."

"That's amazing!" I couldn't believe it. Tears were filling my eyes, "what concept are you going for?!"

And that was when his gaze locked onto mine.

"The sea."

I probably looked like an idiot. Staring at him like he'd grown another pair of eyes and not really comprehending his words for the first few seconds they settled into my brain.

That was when it hit me.

I gasped.

"W--Why?" was the only thing I managed to stutter out.

Though there seemed to be a layer of pink dusted across his cheeks, Mingi answered confidently, "because of you."

I gulped.

"I got inspired, kind of," his head dipped down, dark pupils lowering to the table as if he was too embarrassed to meet my gaze, "I couldn't understand how someone could be as passionate. I--I live in my head most of the time, never really notice all of these outside problems. And it's bad. I know it is.” His eyes fluttered up to mine and I lost breath at the intensity present in them. They swirled with a gentleness that was seldom present, a vulnerable sheen of maroon reflecting in the depths of his dark irises and yet, so intense at the same time that I flushed right down to my feet.

“But you don’t. You live to make the world better and I—I wish I was more like that. I want to be more like that. Because these things matter just as much as what I want to show inside my head,” he paused, hesitating for a few beats of silence before continuing, “when you first told me about the animation, I was—I’m not going to lie to you—I was scared, that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill your expectations. That I didn’t have that in me,” his hands, which had unknowingly turned to grasp mine, slowly interlocked his fingers with my own, “but I’ve never seen someone look at me the way you do.”

“How…” my words trailed off as I struggled to form a cohesive sentence, “how did I look at you?”

“Like you believed in me.”

Tears suddenly pricked at the corner of my eyes. Because he was right. I had had so much faith in Mingi that I lost my own. I had no purpose, while he did. He was so overwhelmingly talented at what he did that I wished I was more like him.

And all along, he was admiring me for doing whatever the hell I wanted.

“I—“ I tried turning my head, hid it in my sleeve so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Hm, I guess you can say ‘thanks Mingi, for seeing me as your role model’ or ‘hey that’s cool. I actually inspired someone’. Something along these lines,” he grinned as one of his hands released mine to cup my chin. Turning my face towards his once more before brushing the tears away, he murmured, “why are you crying?”

I sniffled, “because that’s the most wonderful thing someone’s ever said to me and I can’t help but love you even more—“

The words had bubbled out without warning and instantly my mouth clamped itself shut. I stared at Mingi’s shocked expression, looked back down at the cracks on the veneered table before me, and tried withdrawing my hands from his grasp.

Except, he didn’t allow me to.

“What…did you say?” his voice had dropped even lower. My heart jumped to my throat, nerves suddenly jittery, “you…love me?”

I tried chuckling, though I sounded more like a dying animal, “of a sort. You know, like a friend loves another fri—“

His pointed look shut me up and I brought my eyes back to the table. How embarrassing. How stupid. What an idiot. You’re such an idiot! My mind kept on screaming over and over and over again.

“Y/N.”

I didn’t dare look up, for fear of seeing someone I shouldn’t. For fear that one glance might break my heart into little pieces without warning.

He squeezed my fingers as a sign. His hand tilted my chin up to his. My gaze insistently glued itself to the crack running along the table’s edge.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

No. My heart screamed out. No, this is all wrong. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Fine then. You give me no other choice,” he sighed in what sounded to be exasperation and before I knew what was happening, I felt the softest touch of blossoming warmth over my knuckles. Eyes shooting up with a silent gasp, they went straight to Mingi’s as I took in the way his lips were brushing against the back of my hand.

To say that I was combusting like wildfire would be an understatement.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispered.

“Uhm…no.”

His gaze darkened. My stomach churned.

“I love you.”

I swear I could’ve burst out crying then and there.

“You—“ my throat was dry. Hearing myself say them sounded pathetic, borderline ridiculous. Hearing it fall from his mouth though…that was exhilarating. Magical, “You…love me?”

When he nodded, fresh tears welled up in my eyes. Mingi couldn’t help but chuckle then, reaching over to wipe at my cheek, “why are you crying?” he sounded amused.

“I don’t know,” I blubbered back, “because I thought you’d say sorry and tell me we’d never be able to meet again and I don’t know how I was going to live if that was the case—“

“I don’t think I’d be that drastic, Y/N,” bringing my hands up once more, he allowed his lips to brush against my knuckles, the mere action comforting me, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Pretty obvious? Jesus Mingi. I can’t read you. You’re not obvious at all!”

“But what about that kiss on the cheek I gave you that time?!” He pouted, “that must’ve counted for something!”

“Well you didn’t do anything else after that so how was I supposed to know?”

“I thought that you were disgusted when you didn’t respond because you didn't like me that way,” his pout deepened and I laughed at how childish he looked. A grown young man who was on the brink of a breakthrough in his career, acting like he was merely a five year old child, “how was I supposed to know then?”

I bit my lip to stop the grin from spreading over my face. I failed, smiling so wide my face practically broke in two, “you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”

Huffing and muttering some in-comprehensive words under his breath, he tightened his grip on my hands and lifted them to press against his cheek, where his face mellowed out into that soft, crooked smile that turned his eyes into half-moons, “so does this mean we’re dating?”

“Well that’s kind of bold of you, considering you didn’t ask me,” I tried keeping a nonchalant air, only to burst into a fit of giggles as the said man threw me a horrified look, “but I literally poured my heart out!”

“I’m joking you big baby,” I ruffled his hair for good measure and though he grunted, there was no denying that the grin on his face was a permanent one. It made a series of butterflies flutter in my stomach and biting my lip to keep myself from giggling like a silly schoolgirl, I felt the slightest tremors of happiness that sounded like my heart cartwheeling in my chest.

Mingi accompanied me home that night, not hesitating to slip a hand into mine and intertwining our fingers throughout the whole train ride. We probably looked like a pair of idiots, smiling so wide at nothing at all that it wasn’t surprising if we scared off a few passerby’s. As we walked up the street towards my flat, we chatted about nothing and anything at all and somehow, I felt a sense of peace that hadn’t been there ever since our project was completed. As though all the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place and now actually made sense.

It was calm inside my heart, inside my mind. The turmoil of waves that always seemed to brush a little too close to my sanity were now reduced to nothing, giving way to the calm sandy beach hidden below.

“That was a little too short for my liking,” Mingi’s statement caused me to blink back to reality and the fact that we’d already arrived at my doorstep made my excitement drop to disappointment in my stomach.

I turned to him nevertheless, graced with that soft smile that rendered me weak and made my throat clog up with unspoken emotion, “well, thanks for walking me back home,” my hands knotted themselves together, a habit of mine whenever I felt the nervousness take over.

“You don’t have to thank me, you know,” he flashed his pearly whites.

I turned away, feeling my cheeks warm up before Mingi gently grasped the back of my elbow. Tugging me close so that I stumbled into his chest, his hand was hesitant as it fluttered over my face, hovering a little distance away from my cheek before he mustered up the courage to cradle it in his hold. His other arm wound around my waist to pull me a little closer still and I would’ve lied to say that I was completely rational at this point in time.

My sanity had practically flown out of the window back then. Only leaving Mingi and his warmth in its wake.

His brown orbs held mine for the briefest of moments, as if asking me in silent permission whether he was allowed to take this step forward that would change our relationship forever.

So I did it for him. Pressed up on my tiptoes and claimed his lips.

Just like he’d claimed my heart.

The stifled yelp muffled at the back of his throat was one of surprise as I slanted my mouth against his and slowly, but hesitantly, moved my lips in a dance I’d hope he wouldn’t find to his dislike. But I was worrying for nothing, for a growl rumbled through his chest instead and he kissed me back with barely restrained vigour, hands pressing me close to his chest so that I gasped into his mouth. He took that to his advantage, tongue darting out to meet mine and drawing out a soft moan from my voicebox.

We parted for air after what seemed like forever, and that was when he pressed his forehead against mine with a tender, crooked smile that made me want to slap myself for wondering whether this was actually happening, that this was real.

“So,” his murmur washed over my face, nose bumping into mine, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Depends,” I shot back with a smile of my own, “Is it a date?”

“What do you mean?” he whined, “of course it’s a date.”

Laughing and pecking his cheek once, twice, three times until he turned his head to capture my lips with his, I pulled away with a breathless grin, pretty sure that I looked like a complete idiot with butterflies practically roaring through the entirety of my abdomen, “then sure, I’d love that.”

I didn’t know anything about what would happen to our small animation once it would be aired. There was a slight apprehension prickling at the back of my mind every time I thought about it, but somehow all this was overshadowed by the abundance of joy swelling through my chest every time I caught a glimpse of Mingi’s face, knowing that he was mine and that he believed in me, even if the rest of the world didn’t.

And that in the end, it would be okay.

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mysticmachmir · 4 years

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Jewish Altars: History and Present

Photo Source

As an introduction, I will state a few things about myself: I am not an orthodox Jew, and I am not a rabbi or halachic expert. In fact, most of the time I won’t be referencing halacha. This is from my personal experiences and research. I attend a renewal havurah and have spent a lot of time in the Conservative and Reform movements. If you have questions or concerns, either ask your rabbi or if in doubt, don't. That is between you, G!d, and your community. Now let’s talk altars and how one could utilize that in their own practice, Jewishly!

One thing that's important to point out, that I am going to be using specific definitions.

Altar: A raised structure or place used for worship, prayer, and other workings Shrine: A raised structure or dedicated space for a specific deity and/or ancestral worship

Obviously, you can see there is an overlap. That's because these terms are often confused and serve somewhat similar purposes. What is important in our context is that this is not about shrines. In Halacha, there is a prohibition about graven images, and to make an object to represent G!d, a statue, etc - is strictly idolatry. G!d cannot be confined to a certain image.

Historical Altars

The first type of "altar" we see is in Genesis, altars made of unhewn stone (a stone that hadn't been altered by human tools), and anointed with oil, and we assume they were pillar-like because the term "erected" is used.

There is a history of altars the Israelites used within the Tanakh. Ritual animal sacrifices were performed and used at these altars, as well as these sacrifices being consumed by the priests. No items of iron or bronze were allowed near altars because they were weapons of war - only bronze. Items used at the altar were considered to be sacred. There are also larger altars used within the Mishkan and the Beit HaMikdash.

We also see "modern-day" altars within our synagogues. The bimah is (traditionally) put at the center of a synagogue, and it is where the holy Torah is read, along with where a Rabbi will be to lead services, and the shofar will be blown on Rosh Hashanah. Of course, practices around the Bimah, how it is built, and who stands at it varies between minhagim, along with different Ashkenazi movements.

Altars as a Symbol

Chabad discusses the symbolism of the two different altars in the Mishkan - the inner and outer altars - and what that means for us in our service to G!d. Leiter, the author of the article, writes, "The altar is associated with the service of the heart from which our love of G!d is based. The Rebbe of Lubavitch explains how the two different altars and their different purposes reflect the different levels of love within [humans]." He then goes to explain how the external altar represents the physical needs and worldly concerns "should be dealt with only in the external level of the heart", while the inner heart "true enthusiasm and total investment" is saved for things such as the study of Torah, prayer, and service to G!d. This is a space between G!d and the one who made the spice offering, alone - without fanfare, publicity, or selfish motivations.

Obviously, this is not about a physical altar but can give us some perspectives on the Jewish ideas of altars. The Lubavitcher Rebbe also tells us that "Every Jewish home is intended to be a mikdash me’at, a “miniature sanctuary and Temple.” The consciousness in every Jewish home should be that of a microcosm of the Temple." So, in my opinion, this makes sense to have our own altar in which we can make space to meet G!d, a dedicated sacred space set apart from the rest of our home.

So what does that mean for us, now, to have small altars in our homes? I think not only is it "permissible", but there are ways to do so that don't violate laws of grave images and to use Jewish imagery and symbolism. A great resource is The Book of Jewish Symbols by Ellen Frankel.

Here is my shortlist of items to use/put on a Jewish Altar at home:

Pomegranate items (art, sculpture, etc)

Tree of life motif

Shiviti artwork

Blues, whites, pomegranate reds

Chumash and/or siddur

Art prints with Hebrew calligraphy - names, quotes, etc

Incantation bowls - Aramaic/Hebrew

Seven species - specific herbs/scents/etc

Small instruments for music - praise to G-d

Sefira diagram/symbolizing

Gems to symbolize the priestly breastplate

Symbols of the 12 tribes

Candlesticks (shabbos)

Hamsa and the blessing of the home

No graven images - non-human (bird heads Haggadah is a good example) Art/no statues

Incense

Mizrach

Tallis bag and tefillin bag

Magen David imagery

Anointing Oil

Obviously, the book I mentioned earlier can give you more suggestions, and also really think about what makes the most sense for you. For example, in Shemot, G!d is referred to as a mother eagle carrying the Israelites on Their back. Could you incorporate that imagery somehow?

Feel free to add other ideas on if you want, or other resources discussion Jewish altars. If you liked this content, considering donating here: https://ko-fi.com/ezrasaville!

Sources: Jewish Encyclopedia Chabad Jewish Traditions: A JPS Guide by the Jewish Publication Society https://www.inner.org/jewhome/jewhome1.htm https://templeinstitute.org/the-altar/

#jewish #judaism #altars #jewish witch #jewish witchcraft #jewitch #jewish magic #jewish folk magic #tanakh #symbolism #witchblr #witchcraft #witch altar #altar #history #my posts #mine

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myriadism · 3 years

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Every time I hear advice from some TED talking "successful" artist or college prof about how I "should draw for at least 10 minutes a day, EVERY DAY- Just Do it! Challenge yourself!!! put in the practice to get the chops!" I wince.

Like, sure the advice is true and that's absolutely how you get better at art but I despise it.

When I hear advice about art involving things like 'discipline' or 'industry' or 'making time for what is important to you' my stomach goes cold and I clam up and immediately I feel insecure and dispirited because the first thing I think of when I hear it are my worst days.

The sort of days where I cancel all my plans and don't leave the house and sometimes I don't even get dressed and spend most of the day in bed "doing nothing". And I get the message that to be an artist like I want I can't have those days.

If I'm supposed to "draw something everyday" and then some guy makes a show of 365 ink sketches or comics or w/e it sounds a lot to me like I'm never ever allowed to have any bad or off days at all- that these days are a loss and a failure- even though I've had these days semi-regularly depending on stress all my life. Even though I also have good and full and excellent days where I STILL don't draw or do art just because I was busy or traveling or having a good time doing something else... and even with the best mental health possible I don't think I'll ever be able to guarantee exactly what I'll get done in a day, everyday... so being told to draw every day always felt like nothing more than condemnation to me.

But. Actually that isn't really what the advice means or is trying to say... It's just about love, and space, and intention. Its about taking some time out of your schedule to give yourself a chance to be creative. For those with burning minds of ideas and scattered plans it's basically a form of self-care.

Draw Every Day isn't a command to put your head down and just fucking do it you trash bastard why are you like this...... when has that sort of tone ever gotten you out of bed? It almost never gets me out of bed. Ideas of "accountability" are just about as likely to encourage me to stay home for weeks at a time and speak to no one as they are to encourage productivity.

No, Draw Every Day is a reminder to do something for yourself that you love.

Remember how you used to draw when you were a child without even thinking about it? Some adult just put a marker in your hand and you went to town and it was fun. And maybe like me you used to doodle and draw all over everything even when you weren't supposed to and that only made it more fun... And the reason you don't do that anymore as an adult isn't because you've lost some innocent creative spark by daring to grow older-- its because everyday as an adult you're tasked with doing about a thousand and one things you don't especially enjoy so that now it's become easy and sometimes necessary to forego doing stuff just for fun. And that isn't your fault. And it's not your fault if you forget about how much you like doing art in the middle of a hectic life in this fked up world,, not even to mention the constant ongoing pressure put upon you as an artist that your artworks, the stuff you used to always do for your own gratification during playtime, must be *good* somehow.

Screw *good* and screw Everyday. Just try to remember what it is that you loved about making art, and find ways to incorporate that into your life. Give yourself a marker and a wall you're not supposed to draw on and go to town.

#text talks #long post #art #drawing #art advice #on drawing every day

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ralexsol · 3 years

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On the Subject of Underverse S2

You read that correctly: this is a post about one of the greatest shows ever created, the Undertale animated series Underverse, written/animated by @jakei95. I have a lot of theories that I’ve been pulling together ever since I watched both Underverse and Xtale (the Underverse prequel series). Maybe one or two have no basis in anything, but for some reason they popped into my head and I’ll stick by them until they’re proven incorrect. I will discuss the possibility of a Geno/Ink fight, Fresh!Ink, XI (you’ll definitely want to read their section!), and the fates of many different characters. This is quite the long post, so buckle up for a long ride.

Let’s begin!

GENO/INK FIGHT:

I’m putting this theory first because it is the least important. At some point in time, I somehow got it into my head that there is supposedly going to be a fight between Geno and Ink. I have no idea where I heard about this, and when I searched for any specific videos or posts about the subject, I found nothing. But I personally think a fight scene between Geno and Ink would be pretty cool, so I’m adding this in here.

FRESK!INK’S EXISTANCE:

This is a more relevant theory. Ever since Jakei announced that Fresh!Ink would be a part of Underverse, I have wondered how he would be incorporated. I don’t know if she means for him to be in the future “Beach Episode” or something more serious. (Of course, I know almost nothing about this supposed “Beach Episode”, which is apparently when Epic!Sans will be showing up, so I really wouldn’t know.) But there is an important thing to remember: Ink and Fresh made a deal in the first season.

Ever since I saw this Underverse - Xtra Scene 2, I have wondered what this “prize” could possibly be. What was Ink’s side of the deal? What did he promise Fresh? Hmm... maybe a new body to take over?

Ink’s body doesn’t have a SOUL- that’s basic “Undertale AU Knowledge 101″. What does this have to do in regards to Fresh? To my best knowledge, the actual parasitic creature True!Fresh feeds off the souls of other creatures to survive. In fact, his soul-feeding would kill his victims if he stayed long enough in one body, but he likes to play it safe and leave his victims alive in case he needs to use their body again. But he wouldn’t need to do this with Ink. Because of Ink’s SOULless nature, Fresh could theoretically feed off his body forever. Some might object that since Ink doesn’t have a SOUL, Fresh wouldn’t be able to feed off him. But then how does Fresh!Ink exist?

So, what was their deal? Fresh watches over the Xtale AU while Ink is gone, and after Cross and X!Chara are taken care of, Ink comes back and lets Fresh take over his body for a little while. There may be something else I’m missing, but the pieces seem to make sense.

XI’S PURPOSE:

For those of you who don’t know who XI is, I suggest you watch this video about Jakei’s Overwrite merch. This is when the character of XI was introduced to us, back on good ol’ April 1st, 2019. Haha, yes, the joke character of XI- funny April Fool’s Day video, a good laugh for everyone. Jakei has made a few comics about XI since then, but overall, XI hasn’t been involved in Xtale or Underverse so far. That has never sat right with me, and I’ve always thought there would be something more to him. I was proven absolutely correct when Xtale - The Movie came out. But before we discuss the little extra scene tagged onto the end of that video, I would like to point out some very interesting facts about XI.

On October 6th, 2019, Jakei posted a traditional speedart. Obviously, the art is gorgeous like always and every time I watch it I wonder if I will ever get to the level of skill she is at. But besides that, there is a very important aspect about this video. In the speedart, Jakei drew two pictures: one of X!Chara and X!Frisk fighting, and one of XI. In XI’s picture, they are depicted in full armor with a magical purple sword & shield.

Hmmm... I wonder who this could possible resemble?

Every time XI is shown, whether it be in comics or artwork, their bangs hang over their eyes. Their armor looks exactly like Kris’s from Deltarune. Heck, they both use a sword and a shield! What does this mean? XI is X!Kris. There is no way to deny this. This is why they are X!Chara’s and X!Frisk’s little sibling. I would also like to point out XI’s silver oval locket. I find it interesting how he has a different piece of jewelry from everyone else- all other important characters in Xtale have a matching golden heart locket. Does XI also have people he has given copies of this necklace to? Perhaps X!Susie and X!Ralsei, if they exist? But XI being X!Kris is only the beginning of this theory. Remember how I mentioned Xtale - The Movie earlier? Take a look at this picture.

This is a five-second frame pegged at the very end of the video, after an entry written in wingdings by Mister XGaster himself. The message is as follows:

Entry Number Eleven: As clear as a reflection in a mirror, I have found the most perfect projection of forbidden visions. Get ready. Your time is coming.

Okay, just whoa. Not only is the entry #11, but the person standing there is XI. Oh, and let’s take a closer look at what they’re holding in their hand.

I knew that silver locket was going to be important. There is no way that XI is not going to play a major part in either Underverse S2 or hmm... maybe a spin-off about the Xtale versions of Deltarune characters? To my knowledge, Jakei has not said anything about her plans after she finishes Underverse. She has her Metadora project, and I am aware that her husband @nyxtheshield is planning out his own Undertale series- someone will need to animate that, and I’m sure she would be able and willing to do the job. She has stated that there will be no seasons of Underverse after S2, and the finale will be 1.0. But that doesn’t mean she won’t make a new series. If she does, will it be about all the Deltarune characters? Will the other Xtale characters show up at certain points in it? Will XGaster play a large part in it? There is no way to know, as the idea of a new show is simply drawn from that there may not be enough time in S2 to fully expand what XI is.

In any case, XGaster states in the entry that “your time is coming”. This could either reference a new show or XI’s appearance in Underverse. I find it extremely interesting how XGaster words his message. “The most perfect projection of forbidden visions.” What does that mean exactly? XGaster has seen something in one of his many visions, obviously. The most perfect image of prohibited sights. XI is a person that stands for something that should not be allowed to exist. That makes sense- XGaster, a man, somehow got pregnant and birthed them, as shown in the Overwrite merch video. The “forbidden visions” might imply that he has seen something quite “cursed”, as us modern Internet-users would say. But then he tells this projection to get ready, because their time is coming. XGaster is telling XI to prepare themself. This just proves that XI and XGaster are tied together very closely, and that if XI does get their own series with X!Ralsei and X!Susie, XGaster will be involved.

Whew! That’s a lot of information to take in all at once. This was the big “theory” I wanted to discuss, so now we will move on to the different fates I believe may befall some of our beloved characters.

INK, FOR GOOD OR FOR WORSE?:

Ah, Ink. One of the true protagonists of Underverse. Remember: a protagonist is not necessarily a hero, just one of the leading characters. It has been seen that his story arc is the most important throughout the entire story. He is the one that inspired XGaster. He is the one that made XGaster’s plan succeed. And he very well might be the one to make it fail.

Wait, you’re asking me. I thought he was on XGaster’s side? What do you mean he will make it fail?

I didn’t want to address whether Ink was going to stick with XGaster or flip until a certain song was posted by Nyx two days ago on December 5th, “Soulless Heart”. If you haven’t listened to it yet, go ahead and click that link because the song is beautiful and absolutely necessary to continue on with this theory! The song is the Underverse 0.5 Ending Theme, and guess who it’s about? You guessed it, our good old buddy chum pal Ink. I’ve been listening to it on repeat since it came out, and it really is incredible. (Nyx, if you’re somehow reading this, I would like to personally congratulate you, because not only is the music amazing but mwah! Your voice is a joy, and I would not have any other singer do the vocals.) But the most important thing about the song is the lyrics. Here’s the first verse.

How long have I been longing

to be free and not broken

in this ocean of hollowness?

I don’t want to be forgotten.

Instantly, the lyrics hit you hard. This is about Ink, though, so you can’t expect anything less. Essentially, the song is about the emptiness that Ink feels without a SOUL. This goes along with one of his main aspects in Underverse. The only reason why he worked with XGaster to make sure XGaster’s game worked was so he could feel more emotions. As a chaotic neutral character, Ink literally only cares about himself and his personal goals. But what is interesting about this song is that he addresses the pain he has caused.

Sacrificial lambs

laid upon my path

now are broken worlds

killed by senseless wrath.

Ink knows that he has hurt people. I mean, in the present timeline when 0.5 is to be set, Ink’s actions just caused Error to literally “pull the plug” and destroy all the AUs. (Although, how many AUs were actually destroyed is impossible to determine, because there are still multiple Sanses that will be incorporated into S2 that were residing in their AUs at the time of their supposed destruction.) Ink knows that this is his fault. And now that XGaster has won, Ink will be receiving all those emotions he wanted! In the S2 teaser, which was released on the original Underverse 0.5 release date (the episode was unfortunately delayed due to issues with Nyx’s distributor, RouteNote), shows something very important.

Look at those vials in his hand. Those aren’t just colored vials. Well, they are, but their colors are especially important. Look at their specific colors: orange, yellow, and amber. Previously, Ink’s vials have been seen as very straightforward: roy g biv, that sort of thing.

You have one or maybe two variations, although in this picture there seems to be about four different aqua vials. But there certainly isn’t an amber vial. This goes to show that XGaster followed through on his promise, and Ink has a lot more variations in his color-coded emotion vials. The obvious conclusion from this is that he can feel a lot more things than he thought was possible- including guilt. With his newfound feelings, he could realize that what he did wasn’t just wrong, it was horrible. He might start to blame himself for getting all the AUs destroyed, which in turn might result in a betrayal of XGaster. With his emotions, he would become a real good person. But ultimately, without XGaster’s Overwrite abilities, Ink’s new emotions will fade and he will return to be the same old Ink as before. He will no longer understand why he sacrificed his emotions, and the cycle will start anew. Ink will never be truly happy, because being happy will always mean the suffering of others.

Or, Ink will stick with XGaster. It would be the same fate, after all; if the heroes defeat XGaster, Ink will still lose those emotions. This, though, might leave him feeling bitter and even more willing to do anything to get what he wants, which could potentially lead to him becoming a real villain. Perhaps XGaster isn’t the final boss of Underverse. Maybe the one to start everything will be the one to finish everything.

XGASTER AND UT!GASTER:

This wouldn’t be a real theory post without discussing our favorite fanfiction writer, would it? And yes, XGaster is literally a fanfiction writer. He has symptoms of OCD concerning the world-building of his universe and he just loves to add as much angst as humanly (or monsterly) possible. It just so happens that he lives in his own created universe, so his creations have the pleasurable chance at getting revenge.

Now, there are obviously two ways that Underverse can go: XGaster succeeds, or XGaster fails. This doesn’t necessarily mean that this will be the ending of S2. As I mentioned above, perhaps XGaster will be defeated at the end of 0.9 and 1.0 will be about everyone trying to stop Ink from taking the Overwrite SOUL for his own, I don’t know. In any case, I don’t really have anything to discuss about XGaster specifically, but I am pretty sure I know what his last scene will be if he happens to lose.

It is shown in the Underverse S2 Prologue - Owners that XGaster and UT!Gaster spent a lot of time together in the Void between the events of Xtale and Underverse. Not only do they hold an entire conversation together in Owners, but in Underverse 0.1 when Sans is hit in the head with a ball, he has a vision of the two of them standing together.

In XGaster’s and UT!Gaster’s conversation in Owners, UT!Gaster tells XGaster that he will fail in his quest for perfection. XGaster brushes him off because he’s an egotistical prick, yadda yadda. But this conversation is important because I believe it will parallel the ending of XGaster’s quest. In the end, UT!Gaster will approach his old Void-buddy and tell him to just give up on his pointless venture. XGaster will turn to dust after saying something like, “I will never give up”, and then we have Ink going on a rampage. That’s pretty much all I have to say on them, but I thought it would be worth adding.

DREAM AND NIGHTMARE:

Lastly, we have the brothers. As with XGaster and UT!Gaster, I don’t have much to add with them. But I do believe they will both play a major role in S2. They will be the overseers of the battle to come. Out of all the characters in the Undertale fandom, they are the most omnipotent. They are the protectors of the Tree of Feelings, which is one of three trees to give the Multiverse life. In Underverse 0.4, when X!Chara accused Nightmare of “watching us all this time as if we were part of a show”, Nightmare responded by saying:

Of course, Nightmare mostly means himself, Error, and Ink. Dream is much more active in helping people be happy, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t on the same god-tier level as his brother. Dream could sit back and watch the world tick, but he chooses not to because that goes against his morals.

In other words, Dream and Nightmare will probably affect the outcome of Underverse more than any other characters. They’re both pissed about what Error did: all those people that Dream cared about were murdered, and Nightmare can no longer generate negative feelings from innocents. They both have invested interest in this Multiverse war now, and their powers will certainly come to the forefront.

I believe that at the end of the story, the Multiverse will essentially go back to the exact way it was before Xtale was invented. XGaster will be dead, the Xtale characters will be put back in their AU, the other AUs will be restored, and at the end of it all, Dream and Nightmare will be once again pitted against one another. We may even see an alliance between them during Underverse S2 to stop XGaster, but afterwards, they will reestablish their rivalry. Unless the Omega Timeline comes into play, which it very well might, I don’t see the two brothers reconciling.

CONCLUSION:

Thank you everyone who took the agonizingly long time to read this! I hope this shed some light on certain characters (especially XI) and encourages to make some of your own theories. Stay safe and good night!

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years

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I Need to Talk About “Problematic Faves” within TWDG [3/?]

Character design, being drawn towards characters we find visually attractive, and how big of a role in plays in our feelings towards them.

“He's a murderer but like.... a cute murderer, y’know?”

This goes hand in hand with the whole first impressions thing we’re talking about, but rather than talking about the character’s traits, dialogue, history, and overall character, we’re talking about physical appearance.

This is something I want to touch on even though I already know the answer to it. It’s just a food for thought sort of idea that I wanted to explore given how much we talk about our favorite characters appearances while discussing them with one another.

Let’s face it: We’re all a little shallow at some point in our lives.

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover” is bullshit. I pick up that book in the first place because it’s pretty and has sprayed edges. The only reason I put it back it is because I can’t find an actual summary of the book because publishers think we want to read a bunch of “Best book of da year!” by Who The Fuck Cares written all over the place rather than an actual summary...

....What was my point?

Oh, right, character design.

When we’re first introduced to a character, we immediately make a judgement of them based off their looks.That’s not to say that our opinions remain the same based on our first impressions after only looking at them, but it’s something we do initially.

Game developers, artists, writers, and directors will usually strive to make their characters as visually appealing to us as possible because that’s what makes us go “ohhh they pretty *picks thing up.*”

There are issues that develop from this, such as unrealistic expectations of what true beauty is and how it actually affects the audience. After taking in so much of this content, I started to wonder if it had any affect on why we have “Problematic Faves” and if there IS something linked within the way we view them as physically attractive.

While I believe that appearance is an important factor in character development and is what draws us to them, it’s also a bit more complicated than that.

One of the many things I adore about the final season is it’s character design for all the students at Ericson. All of the Ericson kiddos have their own unique looks and manners of which they hold themselves.

Sure we’ve got Louis and Violet, who we all gush about all the time on how beautiful they are. How many times have we talked about Louis’ freckles or Violet’s eyes or just how gosh darn pretty we think they are while incorporating it into writing our fanfics or headcanons or creating out artworks of them?

But what’s great is that they aren’t all “conveniently attractive” or someone a shallow Hollywood director would look at one time and say “there’s our star!”

Willy is a fan favorite among many in our community. What I love about his design is his teeth. He’s a kid growing up in the apocalypse without proper dental care. His teeth are crooked, there are gaps between them, and he’s even missing some. If that same Hollywood director were to look at him, they’d either slap some extreme braces on him or cast him as a tree troll.

But not everyone has those perfectly straight pearly whites. Some of us have crooked teeth, or we’ve had painful braces to try and straighten them, or we’ve lost or broken a tooth at some point. You know how refreshing it is to see a character as likable as Willy show up with that smile of his while still being considered a fan favorite?

Speaking of refreshing, what about Ruby? Everyone loves Ruby. She’s not tall and thin, she’s short and thicker.

I remember seeing nasty posts questioning why someone like Aasim would have any interest in her because of the way she’s built, and that that pisses me off.

It’s so damn great to see someone like Ruby portrayed the way she is in this game. As someone who IS more on the shorter and heavier side, it’s hard to find a character like this who doesn’t suddenly become slim therefore “prettier” over the course of the story or who isn’t a terrible or whose weight and build is all their character is. The last movie I watched that featured a plus size main character was that god awful Sierra Burgess movie on Netflix and that character made me want to punch things.

All I can say is thank god for Ruby.

Speaking of which, how about Omar? He’s short and stocky, too, but y’know what? We made this dude a GOD. What does that tell you?

These are examples using more minor characters that fall into that non-”Problematic Fave” tier, but what about our characters that do?

I used to have a strong theory that some characters got more love and attention JUST because they’re more attractive to the audience, even if their character is boring, holds little to no plot relevance, or is an “evil” being beyond forgiveness.

It’s a theory that I believe still holds some truth, though I think that truth lies more with the younger fans, or those who aren’t quite as mature.

As someone who has worked around elementary school children, as well as 13-14 year olds, I think I can safely make the assumption that they tend to take things at face value a good chunk of the time.

Pretty person = Good!

Not pretty person = Bad!

That sort of deal.

So, the question I pose is:

Does a character’s level of attractiveness have an effect on our willingness to forgive some of their more problematic behaviors?

I’m sure most of you read that and said “Uh, is this a trick question? No?”

When you think about the kinds of stories that we’re always told about the beautiful princesses who are pure and good and the ugly stepmothers who are evil and bad, it’s not hard to see why the younger ones would see things as more black and white rather than a shade of gray.

If the pretty princess poisons her “evil” stepmother during their morning tea, how easily do we forgive her just because we’re told that she’s a pure, pretty princess? We know poisoning someone is bad, but... if the stepmother was ugly and evil, then the princess must have had a reason for doing this, right? So... it’s okay... right?

Is the princess justified in her actions, even if the stepmother wasn’t doing anything more than drinking her morning tea?

I look at that and say, “No,” whereas a much younger person might say, “Yeah. The stepmother was evil.”

Young children are fascinating to talk to, by the way. They’re sponges who absorb knowledge like you wouldn’t believe but somehow they still take everything at that face value and believe whatever the “good” person says in a story until you help them see the bigger picture. That’s why they tend to be more susceptible to falling for twists.

But once you explain to them the more complicated elements of the princess and the stepmother, they’re intelligent enough to grasp that the princess is wrong.

I believe once we grow older and open ourselves up to more complex stories full of gray characters, learning about them through experience, we start to see that beauty isn’t just in the eye in the beholder, but also that it doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day.

You can have the most beautiful person in the world be your main character, but if that beautiful person drowns a bag full of kittens, suddenly they aren’t so attractive, now are they?

One of a kid’s favorite example of a good-looking antagonist is Hans from Frozen.

While I think the whole “he was actually evil the whole time haha we fooled you” thing in that movie is garbage, I give it credit for being the first exposure of this concept to young kids, sending them down a path of looking at different characters they see in a new light.

We like characters who are attractive because, well, they’re attractive. But we’re also mature enough to know that their attractiveness isn’t solely based on their appearance. It’s merely the seed that only grows with development, personality, and an arc. It only makes up a small portion of why we like a character in the first place. We know that just because someone is good-looking, it doesn’t justify their actions.

But for those who are still growing out of those black and while fairy tales and just starting to expand their views of different characters while learning that looks can be deceiving, are they more likely to forgive a character or not fully understand that they’re in the wrong just because they’re visually pleasing?

Another example outside of TWDG that I can give you is Nathan Prescott from the game Life is Strange. I’ve mentioned this game several times before, and even wrote a whole segment on it in my Louis and Violet essay from a while back.

When I was a young lass, I picked up this game and really liked it. I wasn’t as into it as I am TWDG, but I liked it enough to play every episode as it came out and then check the tag to see what everyone thought.

While browsing this tag, I noticed that a lot of the fan base seemed young. Makes sense, it IS a game starring teens set in an academy setting and I was young, too.

But with that, one thing that always bothered me was how a number of young people talked about Nathan.

Nathan who, if you haven’t played the game, is one of the antagonists. They would gush about this kid, seeming to make up excuses for the appalling things he did and it felt very tied to his looks.

I’m sorry to any Life is Strange fans who might’ve been one of these young fans... but that really is the impression I got at the time.

Maybe I just didn’t get the hype about this dude who drugged girls so he could pose and take pictures of them because of his weirdly under-explained relationship with the surprise villain of the story, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get all “Poor, precious, beautiful baby boi didn’t deserve this !” about.

Then again, if writing this has taught me anything, I might have missed something by not being involved with that fandom, but what I gathered was that he didn’t become the redeemable character they all thought he would be and they didn’t like that, so it becomes harder to try and justify the things he did because he didn’t end up being good in the end even though they all thought he would be. I guess.

But, gathering that a lot of them were so young and going off the content I predominately saw... I don’t know. It didn’t ever feel right. I had suspicions that lead to this theory. That’s what I’m saying.

This can apply to other fandoms, too, where a group of people will take a character/person they find attractive and gush about how pretty they are rather than anything else that makes them interesting. Not everyone, of course, but I get the feeling you all know what I mean and have come across something like it before. I’m just trying to explain it.

Or maybe it is just me and you have no idea what I’m talking about.

Either way.

Returning back to our “Problematic Faves,” lets ask this question about them in particular.

How much of David’s attractiveness plays into my love of him?

I mean, he’s not a bad looking dude. In fact, I dare say that the Garcia brothers are both very attractive guys. I give ‘em both a 10/10.

But does that actually aid in my actual feelings towards him at all?

What about the others we’ve talked about so far?

I don’t see many people talking about how pretty they think Kenny is... though his mustache IS majestic and that’s something we all agree on.

And Lilly’s okay. I guess.

Nate could be a good-looking dude if he’d just put his crazy eyes away.

I believe our best bet it in getting a more clear answer to this question would to be take a quick look back at Minerva.

Remember how I said Minerva was so hyped up based on a two second appearance in the ep3 trailer? Granted, we did have more than JUST her appearance to form this hype around.... but admit it, a huge part of the hype was how good she looked.

She looked awesome.

Hell, just seeing her had me excited to see what she would do in ep3, even though I had the feeling she wouldn’t be an ally.

I used to have a hard time wrapping my head around why so many people love her as much as they do, and I previously thought it was based a lot on her appearance.

Is it ignorant and shallow of me to think y’all loved her based solely on her looks?

Probably. Yes. Yes, it was.

Now that I’ve looked into this further, I see that there’s more to the love and interest surrounding her, but..... it’s kind of what my first thought was? In the beginning?

Either way, it’s still an interesting idea to consider when thinking about a character you love.

With that said, what if we apply this question to a character who is less of a “Problematic Fave” and more of my “God Tier Fave.”

You all know that Louis is my favorite character across ALL the games. My love for him is vibrant, but one of the many things I love about him IS his character design. He’s a visually appealing guy, and his personality, different traits, dialogue, flaws, and character arc only build onto the attractiveness of his character.

If Louis didn’t look like this, would I still love him?

Assuming that everything else about him is the same, then yeah.

What if the developers went with the concept art of him that looked like a odd Harry Styles knockoff? Would I still love him?

Again, I want to say that I would, assuming that everything else about him be the same. But going with that certain concept art does take away an important aspect of his character and his relationship to Clementine.

Many of you have told me how much you appreciate the fact that Clementine and Louis represent a sweet, healthy black couple. That’s important to all of us. If we went with the first concept art, then that’s something we’d lose. Would we still ship clouis? Probably, but again, that important element and representation is lost and that would affect our overall opinion of it, even if just a bit.

But, what if Louis looked exactly as he does now, but were to do something awful? Would I still love him?

Well, my first instinct is to say, “Yes.”

In ep3, Louis tells us that he purposely broke up his parents marriage because his father wouldn’t let him take singing lessons. He broke into his father’s credit cards and made it look like he had a mistress, then made sure his mother knew about it. He did this over the course of a year. Then, when the divorce was finalized, he threw his father’s words back in his face: “You get to be happy or you get to be rich. You can’t be both.”

Knowing this, I still love Louis.

What he did was awful, but the reason I don’t hate him or even like him any less is because of how he acted while telling us. You can feel the guilt and remorse in his voice, the shame that he was once a person who thought that was okay to do.

He did that a long time ago, he learned from this terrible mistake he made, went as far as to punish himself by taking on a irresponsible, piano-playing jokester persona who anyone rarely ever took seriously. Louis changed for the better and he’s still a likable, relatable, lovably character despite this.

But in order to dig a little deeper into this idea of attractiveness and just how far we’ll go to try and justify a character based solely on their looks, I then thought:

“Okay, then consider this: What if Louis and Minerva switched places with him doing all those things she did that made me dislike her? Would I still love him?”

And things got a little complicated.

Because my immediate first thought was “Yes.”

That shocked the hell out of me.

Why the fuck would I be okay with LOUIS acting the way Minerva did, but not MINERVA herself? That makes no sense.

Louis betraying us on the boat by knocking Clementine out and locking her in the cell isn’t suddenly okay because it’s LOUIS.

Louis showing up on the bridge to try and murder Tenn isn’t suddenly okay because it’s him and not MINERVA.

The reality is this: If Louis and Minerva traded places, I wouldn’t love Louis. I don’t care how attractive his character design is, I would feel the same way about him that I feel about Minerva. I love Louis for who he is within the context of the canon game, but if Louis traded places with Minerva, he wouldn’t be that Louis that I love.

The problem with asking myself this is I know Louis’ character and I want to think the best of him. I’m attached to him. I don’t want to imagine him doing anything that horrible because I know that would be an breaking of his character. His appearance has nothing to do with it.

But my first instinct was to side with him.

That’s when it all came together.

A character’s appearance is important in the first impression, but our perception of that character’s attractiveness is only elevated or lowered based on the important things: personality, backstory, relationships, flaws, fears, regrets, change, and complete character arc.

So how does this apply to my love for David?

Well, it eliminates any possibility that I only like David just because he’s pretty.

Perhaps I’m not so shallow after all.

Yeah, that’s the conclusion of this segment: something I already knew. But, I felt it was a concept that could spark some thought about what attractiveness really means while debunking any idiots who may grasp at straws with the insult of, “You only like [blank] and excuse their toxicity because you think they’re hot!”

... except the Life is Strange community might come after me for implying a nicer version of that towards one of the antagonists... but hopefully you understand the point I was attempting to make in bringing that up as an example.

I like David’s design, but him being an attractive dude isn’t why I like him. If anything, his looks being appealing to my eye is at the end of my long, complicated list of why I like him.

Conclusion:

Looks matter initially, and our perception of a character’s attractiveness is either elevated or lowered based on the more important qualities of their character, problematic or otherwise.

[continued in 4/?]

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qm-vox · 4 years

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So You Want To Play Hades

I spent six hours coming up with that title because I have problems in my mind which I refuse to either examine or resolve.

So, Hades! The latest work from Supergiant Games, who brought you the interactive soundtracks to Bastion, Transistor, and Pyre, all superb games in their own rights known for their intuitive gameplay, build-your-own-hard-mode difficulty style, incredible atmosphere and characterization, thought-provoking stories, and that sexy, sexy fuckin’ music.

Like, listen to this sometime it’s amazing (all of their soundtracks are available from them on Youtube, by the by, though if you like ‘em you can support the creators by buying the music from them directly too):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uH3Aoj1nw58

You’re likely asking, quite reasonably, why in the infinite and undying fuck I’m writing this post right now, and the long and short of it is I want more people to talk Hades with so now y’all are gonna get hit with the sales pitch and what I hope will be a helpful beginner’s guide if you decide to get into the game. Let’s get into that first part, shall we?

Thou Shalt Subject Your Gods To Market Forces

(Image sourced from Supergiant’s website)

Hades is an action-roguelike/lite that places you in the role of Prince Zagreus, secret son of Hades. Zag is trying to move out of his father’s house and live somewhere else for awhile and, well, Dad’s just being an entire dick about the whole thing. Hades challenges you to face down the endless ranks of the dead one chamber at a time, gathering the resources you need to breach upward through the Greek underworld and open the mighty gates into the living world. You can acquire it on Steam or on the Epic Store.

How do you know if Hades is or isn’t for you? If you like action games with tight controls and widely varied playstyles, we’ve got you covered here (if you’re thinking in terms of previous Supergiant offerings, Bastion has the most bones in). Hades also offers a great character-focused narrative, centering around the relationships Zagreus has and develops with the people around him - from legendary shades like Achilles and Sisyphus, to the gods of Olympus, to the cthonic gods of the underworld like Charon, Nyx, and the Furies - which fully incorporates the conceits of the genre. Unlike many roguelikes which sorta quietly elide failed runs or deaths, Zag’s defeats are part of his journey. After all, he’s already in the underworld. Where the fuck else is he going to go when he dies? Connecticut?

Though I can gush about the characters and narrative all day (and I’ll do it a bit more later), don’t get me wrong: Hades expects you to perform some pretty tight mechanics. Since dying is just the end of this run and not the game, the game feels pretty free to take brutal measures; the environments you move in are full of deadly traps, the seething ranks of the dead outnumber you to vast degrees, and you’ll fight a dizzying mix of opponents who do not hesitate to catch you in cross-fires, push you into lava, or drop bombs when you kill them because fuck you for succeeding you weird godling bastard. If you get easily frustrated or flustered, Hades may be quite stressful for you; before it’s anything else, it’s an action game with a heavy focus on combat, and if you decide to ride this train that’s the price of the ticket. If you relish the challenge and especially if you like the satisfaction of watching your play improve, though, it’s one hell of a ride.

In terms of accessibility features, Hades is a mixed bag. It has subtitles and aim assistance available, as well as a variety of supported languages and control adjustments which can alter how you do things like dash or attack, but it’s missing, for instance, a colorblind mode (and that’s gonna be important here in a minute), and many enemy behaviors & traps have audio cues which are not part of the current subtitle support. A rumble feature for controllers that have it is supported; Hades strongly suggests the use of a controller, but I know several players who choose to use a mouse & keyboard and seem to prefer it. Semi-recently, a God Mode option was added which empowers you when it’s turned on and does so further every time you die; it’s the closest Hades comes to an ‘easy’ mode, and while reception of it from my fellow players has been highly positive I’ve not tried it for myself.

If you’ve liked action games in the past, I’d highly endorse giving Hades a try as long as it’s accessible for you. The current build of the game (just before formal release) is selling at $24.99 USD on Steam right now, and like...I am not a highly skilled Gaming Individual(tm). I lose at games a lot. I play most of my games on Easy or maybe Normal if I’m really feeling like my dick is big - and with that in mind, I loved this one enough to buy it twice. I love the tight feeling of the combat, the way the mechanics feel, its gorgeous environments and its captivating characters. Hell, that’s why I’m out here writing a whole-ass article.

Stealth, Guile, Subtlety, And Other Things You Will Not Need - Getting Started In Hades

(Artwork sourced from the Hades wiki)

So you’ve decided to acquire Hades, you already own it, or the first part of this article was intriguing enough for you to look at the advice portion and see what sort of game you could be dealing with. Hades can be intimidating at first; it throws a lot of stuff at you, very quickly, and while it gives you some strong guidance on what to do with many of the resources you’ll acquire not all of those uses are immediately intuitive. The following is a guide to help your first few runs go a bit more smoothly and work on the fundamentals that will help you through your entire experience.

Let’s start with some General Tips that will help you out with every run and every weapon:

- Relax. No, seriously: relax. You haven’t ‘failed’ a run if you don’t beat the final boss. Hell, you probably haven’t even ‘failed’ a run if you die in Tartarus. If you learned something or got any permanent resource - gemstones, darkness, nectar, keys, blood, diamonds, ambrosia - then that run was a success. Even if the game wasn’t currently early access and thus without a proper ‘end’ at the moment, it’s supposed to be fun. Don’t castigate yourself for dying, just dive screaming back in and rip your vengeance from the spectral chest of your slayer.

- Always Be Moving. You only have so many hit points (you start a save file with a max of 50 and the most you can start a given run with is 200) and healing is limited over the course of a run. If you’re standing still, you’re getting hit. Zag’s quick on his feet - keep him moving and use your dash liberally. Once you’ve dealt some damage, leave and let your enemies swing at empty air, then dash back in and bully them back into their graves. When you start a dash you’re invulnerable until the dash finishes, which can make for some real cheeky dodges once you’ve had time to learn enemy timing.

- Watch And Learn. Early on in the game you’ll be learning about new enemies every chamber, especially when you start transferring to new zones and all of the enemies you’ve been facing just stop being a thing. Take the chance to know your foe! You’re not on a clock: don’t leap into the fight immediately. Dash around and watch how your enemies move and attack. What’s the limitations of their tactics? The reach on their attacks? How fast do they swing and move? If you’d like to watch some of that stuff ahead of time, I’d like to suggest amber_cxc’s Twitch channel: she’s been doing a lot of runs and speedruns of Hades of late, among the other games she plays.

- Manipulate Your Rewards. Certain things in Hades can only be offered a limited number of times per run, and once you’ve hit your quota they stop appearing. You can take advantage of this to get more Boons, Centaur Hearts, and Poms of Power. Specifically, you can only have up to two Daedelus Hammers and up to three Hermes Boons. If you can knock these out early I highly endorse doing so; they’re never bad to have, and even if somehow you want none of what they have to offer getting them off the RNG will help you later. Additionally, you can use Keepsakes (more on these in a minute) to manipulate who you get Boons from, when, by changing in and out of them at each biome. In this way you can control the shape of your build for the run.

- Accept That Your Dick Energy Is Fucking Huge. A lot of games try to keep you humble. Dark Souls is infamous for it, of course, and others in this genre such as Crypt of the Necrodancer and Enter the Gungeon do not reward haste at all. That is not this game. Walk into Hades like you’re the lord god of the Big Dick Dimension even if you know you’re not; take risks and learn from experience how you can mitigate, manipulate, or cancel out those risks. That unearned confidence won’t just help you with tip one (Relax), it’ll help you practice in those high-pressure situations which will occur more and more as your Heat rises.

- A Brief Note On Projectiles. This game has a few kinds of projectiles that you’ll need to learn to identify. Balls and Arrows can be broken - hit them with an Attack and they pop and won’t hurt you. Waves cannot be broken; they travel fast along the ground and have to be dodged or deflected. Lasers can neither be broken nor deflected. Traps can’t be broken, and deflecting them doesn’t always make them safe for you; these include the lava balls in Asphodel, Inferno Bombs, and the shit spit out by Bothers and Pests. Know your foe and always be moving.

In terms of the resources you’re offered, there are broadly two kinds: in-run resources, and out-of-run resources. Let’s talk briefly about in-run ones.

- Boons: Boons are the powerful gifts of your Olympian relatives. They change how you play during your run by augmenting your abilities (like your Attack, Special, or Dash) or by offering passive benefits. In general, look at Aphrodite, Athena, or Dionysus if you want powerful defenses, Ares, Artemis, or Zeus for powerful attacks, and Poseidon and Demeter for a combination of damage and utility. Different gods will be good with different weapons, and we’ll get into that later. Boons have a Rarity and a Level; Rarity determines their starting power and how well they scale if they do scale, and Level is that scaling.

- Centaur Hearts: +25 max and current HP for this run. Do you like not dying?

- Poms of Power: Poms increase the Level of a Boon by 1, which generally makes it better at doing whatever it does. Not all Boons will level up, but the ones that you can attach to your Attack, Special, Cast, Dash, or Call always do. You do eventually hit diminishing returns with these, so you’ll generally want to spread the love around if you keep picking up Poms.

- Obols: DOLLAH DOLLAH BILLS Y’ALL. Obols are the coins preferred by Charon, the Ferryman, who will take them from you for goods and services. Obols can be turned into all other resources - even out-of-run resources. They’re almost always a great choice of investment.

These in-run resources are presented as potential rewards when you’re selecting chambers. I tend to run heavy on Boons and Obols myself, but your own play style is likely to differ! Experiment with the feel of acquiring various rewards and see what you like to invest in. After all, they’re only for the run you’re on; you literally can’t take it with you.

Out-of-run resources are used to permanently advance Zagreus’s power, his relationships, or both. They are as follows:

- Cthonic Keys: Used to unlock new weapons and new parts of the Mirror of Night. Once your weapons and Mirror are wholly unlocked these keys stop being useful more or less instantly, and can be safely traded at the Wretched Broker between runs to acquire Nectar (but see Gemstones, below).

- Gemstones: Early in the game, Gemstones can be traded in at the House Contractor between runs in order to enhance the underworld; in particular, they can be used to install fountain rooms, to open up access to Chaos and Erebus, to give you access to Infernal Troves (and upgrade said troves), and to add in-run resources to Keys, Nectar, and Gemstones. These services are in the first tab of the House Contractor and you should buy them out as soon as possible so that your runs can springboard off of these powerful additions. Once that’s taken care of, Gemstones can be used to renovate the House of Hades, including Zag’s bedroom and the lounge, again at the House Contractor.

- Nectar: The nectar of the gods is in short supply in the underworld, and is a treasured gift that Zagreus can offer to his friends. In most cases, the first time you give a character Nectar they will trade you a powerful Keepsake in return; these are run-altering tools you select at the start of each run and change how you play. Early on, spread the love, but once you’re full up on Keepsakes you can feel free to develop relationships through gift-giving however you see fit.

- Darkness: The power of Night is used to give permanent, powerful passive benefits to Zagreus via the Mirror of Night in his bedroom. I would suggest using Darkness to get your extra Dash and extra hit points before anything else, but once you’ve got those tools kinda fuck around and find out. Eventually a dialogue option with Nyx will unlock the flip side of the Mirror’s talents, which must be developed separately and cost even more Darkness; you’ll want lots of this and you’ll want it for a very long time. Oh, and try to save aside 8,888 Darkness for a rainy day. You’ll need it.

- Titan Blood: Offered by the first and last bosses at each level of Heat (more on Heat later). Titan Blood is used to upgrade your weapons, making them better at doing all of the things they do, as well as to unlock Aspects of those weapons. We’re still shy one Aspect as of the latest patch, so ah, don’t stop collecting this. You’ll always have a use for it.

- Diamonds: Offered by the second boss at each level of Heat. Diamonds are used to buy plot-relevant renovations to the House of Hades, to advance certain relationships, and to acquire the fishing minigame and in-game access to the soundtrack within the House. Like Blood, you’ll have a use for these for a long, long time.

- Ambrosia: Offered by the third boss at each level of Heat. When you reach the point at which you can no longer offer people Nectar, genuine Ambrosia from Olympus becomes the princely gesture by which you can show your gratitude. You may be tempted to trade this for Blood early on. Don’t.

When you’re starting out, Darkness and Gemstones will be the gods of your new world, followed closely by Cthonic Keys You’ll run out of immediate need for Gemstones faster than you will for Darkness, but by that time you’ll either be comfortable with Hades or you’ll have determined it’s not for you. Focus on unlocking access to your new weapons, upgrading the underworld itself, and paying off your talents; at this stage, escaping the underworld isn’t really a priority so much as setting up for your eventual triumph is.

And When You Can No Longer Lay Waste - Infernal Arms And Heat

(Artwork sourced from the Hades Wiki)

The assault rifle with under-slung mortar launcher is definitely my favorite ancient Greek weapon.

So I’ve mentioned unlocking weapons, and I’ve mentioned that Hades offers varied play styles, so I suppose I ought to talk about them. Zagreus’s weapons - his Infernal Arms - form the first layer of your play style choices, which will be augmented by your in-run choices, and the second layer comes in the form of the Pact of Punishment and its Heat. Each weapon has differing values for its attacks and behaves very differently. I’m not gonna give you the specific numbers here - we have a wiki for that - and will instead make some general statements on how they play and what might pair well with them.

- Stygius, the Blade of the Underworld: You start each save file with this bad boy. Stygius is a generalist weapon that leans somewhat towards speed; its Attack is a three-hit combo that ends in a Thrust with knockback, while its Dash Attack (note: these are not the same with ANY weapon) is solely the Thrust, still with knockback. Its Special, slower than the Attack, is a high-damage shockwave that breaks enemy projectiles and knocks them back. You might be asking yourself, Vox, why would I Special when it makes people leave sword range, at which point I will direct you back to Always Be Moving; your Special makes your enemies Go Away, which saves you hit points. Stygius can build into almost anything, though its Attack benefits the least from Zeus and Poseidon, and is notable for having the most wild fucking Hammer options. Some of them do little things like make your Special bigger, but then you get stuff like Hoarding Slash (deal extra damage equal to 5% of your Obols), World Splitter (you do one big swing with a base damage of 80) and motherfucking CURSED SLASH, which is where Stygius rips a line of cocaine off of a mirror, cuts your health by 60%, and then heals you for 2 every time you hit something. My advice for this is whatever you start down, commit. Stygius might build into anything, but it can’t build into everything: once you choose a boon path, pick things to compliment that and go fucking ham.

- Varatha, the Eternal Spear: The forgotten child of Hades’ weapons, Varatha is a versatile weapon that, like Stygius, does a bit of everything - and unlike Stygius, does it all at the same time. Varatha’s base attack is a series of three long-range thrusts with low damage, and its Special throws the spear in a straight line, at which point it hovers in the air until you Special again; it follows a straight line from its position to your current one, damaging anything in that line. Last, but not least, you can perform a powerful Spin Attack by holding down the Attack button and charging up. Spin is one of the strongest single hits in the game, but you do have to stop moving to charge it up. However, you can dash out of the charge - even better, dashing releases the Spin at the end of your dash. This means that once you learn the timings of your charges, you can use Spin to attack and dodge at the same time, in a wide circle around yourself. Unlike Stygius, Varatha benefits to an extent from splitting your build up; its Attack wants big hitters like Aphrodite, Artemis, or Poseidon, whose high multipliers pair amazingly with the spin, while its Special can mount debuffs or stranger forms of damage like those offered by Dionysus and Ares. If you start building into one thing, but then Hammer into an alternate focus, the end result is still going to be pretty cohesive. Like Generic Goodstuff, or want a weapon to use while building up many divine relationships? Varatha does it all.

- Aegis, the Shield of Chaos: Just because this thing has the only block function in the game doesn’t mean it’s a defensive weapon. Aegis is a fast-moving melee weapon whose hits cause native knockback, slamming foes into walls, up against cliffs, and through traps & magma. Since Aegis throws people around it’s great for a highly aggressive style; dash in, hit them, and watch them slide away before they can do damage back to you. Its Special throws the shield Captain America style, where it ricochets off of opponents and obstacles before eventually returning. Use this with care; you can’t attack or block while your Special is out. Holding down the Attack button begins to charge a Bull Rush; while you’re charging, you’re immune to damage in the direction the shield is facing, and then when you release you dash to the end of the indicated line, damaging anything you hit. Despite how sexy that sounds, Bull Rush is honestly kinda slow and can be hard to build for specifically; instead, Bull Rush is best used to get out of bad situations, or to outlast big long boss combos, especially those used by the first and second bosses who are known to spit out absolute STREAMS of projectiles. Aegis hits fast and gets lots of bonus damage against normal enemies by bullying them against walls for that sweet, sweet Wall Slam damage, but it craves big damage multipliers less than some other weapons; consider using Zeus, Dionysus, or Demeter for your Attack, saving big damage choices for if you can get a Dash Attack build going. Special is great for mounting utility like Aphrodite or Poseidon that let you control the engagement further, just remember to think before you hit the yeet button.

- Coronacht, the Heart-Seeking Bow: Meet your first ranged weapon! Coronacht deals damage in a straight line by charging up a shot; when your line flashes, release the shot for a Power Shot that deals extra damage. Its Special is...bad, I’m gonna be real; it’s a wide-sweeping volley of arrows that deal individually low damage and will rarely, if ever, hit the same target. Still, it has its uses. Coronacht benefits from either high damage or battlefield control on its Attack; look into Artemis, Aphrodite, Demeter, and Poseidon. Its Special is harder to build for, but Ares and Zeus both do well on it since they can cause damage out of proportion with the range and/or area of your volley. Play keep-away and use distance to get off those charge shots, and remember that you can break projectiles and hit multiple enemies with each attack. Avoid mounting odd damage (Ares or Dionysus) or utility (Athena) on your Attack; it’s not going to come out fast enough to take meaningful advantage of those tools.

- Malphon, the Twin Fists: Easily the angriest weapon in all of Hades, Malphon is a pair of massive fuck-off gauntlets that are used for fast-moving combos at extremely short range. It is unique in that its Attack has a Dash Attack, and its Special - a massive uppercut - has a dash upper, letting you sweep in and deal big damage in a tight area immediately. Though each of Malphon’s hits are individually small, it throws out so fucking many of them that you can put almost anything on your Attack and it’ll work out. Athena Attack? Why not, you’ll be swinging when the enemy is. Dionysus Attack? Poison stacking has never been easier! Artemis Attack? Sure, you don’t do a lot of base damage, but you swing so often that you’ll crit constantly and take advantage of passives like Support Fire. Your Special has much higher base damage and can easily become the focus of your build, and because it moves slower it wants bigger damage multipliers like Artemis or Aphrodite if it’s your focus. If it’s not your focus, consider Poseidon in its slot (to get enemies to Go Away) or a god that will combo with your Attack (for instance, if you’re doing Demeter Attack, consider Zeus Special so you can potentially pick up the Cold Fusion boon and get 10 seconds of free damage every time you tap the Special button). You pay a price for this ease of use: Malphon’s range is directly inside the enemy’s ass, which means you need to have razor-thin timing to dash out of the way of attacks and keep your combos going, especially if you get swarmed. Since Malphon can mount and build literally fucking anything, it’s the ideal weapon to use if you want to power-level Keepsakes; slap something on at the start of a run and then just never take it off. Sure, you’re letting the Three Fates decide your build, but fuck it, it all just works!

- The Adamant Rail: What if you invaded the underworld with a fucking machine gun. The Adamant Rail has an ammo counter; each Attack takes 1 bullet (and Dash Attack takes and fires 2), and you reload by pressing the right-hand stick in. Its Special is a slow-moving mortar that hits in a wide area. The Rail is a powerful and versatile weapon capable of engaging at great range, which tends to build either Attack or Special. If you’re building Special, look for big hits like Aphrodite, Artemis, or even Poseidon, and any Special upgrade at all from the Hammers. Attack usually wants utility or stacks - stuff like Poseidon, Demeter, Dionysus, or Zeus - but certain Hammer upgrades like Spread Shot might make it more worthwhile to invest in big hits for it if you get them early. However! Just because you’ve decided on a focus doesn’t mean you should neglect the other half of your weapon. For instance, an Attack-focused build might still entertain the Targeting System upgrade so that you can more easily land your hits and avoid the enemy, while a Special-focused one benefits from mounting debuffs like Weak or Chill on its Attack.

For any weapon, once you settle into a play style you enjoy, find ways to be rewarded for what you’re already going to do. If you enjoy, say, the Chiron Aspect for the bow which makes it into a Special-focused weapon, mount benefits like Doom or Weak on its Attack since you still have to use that to make your shit go-go. This applies more broadly too; if you’re saving up Gemstones for something, for instance, use the extra money you get during your run to visit the shops earlier and more often. Let Hades reward you for doing the things you already want to do.

To close this guide out I’m going to briefly touch on Heat, which is how Supergiant Games has manifested their signature build-your-own-hard-mode approach. After you clear the game with any weapon for the first time, you acquire access to the Pact of Punishment. This Pact lets you turn on hostile modifiers to your run, which each have a Heat value; once you clear the game with a weapon at any given level of Heat (0, 1, 2, etc) you can only get Titan’s Blood, Diamonds, and Ambrosia with that weapon by advancing to the next level of Heat. In this way the game gradually gets harder on a weapon-by-weapon basis.

So, what modifiers to turn on? Depends on what you’re good at and bad at, but I would highly, highly suggest that you get used to Extreme Measures, Middle Management, and Benefits Package as soon as possible. Not only are they sources of big Heat by themselves that don’t change too much of the run by themselves, but their primary difficulty is knowledge-based; once you know them, they’re practically free real estate. Since Heat is tracked per-weapon and not in total, you can also always go back to weapons you’re not as good with and use practice with them as an excuse to get more permanent resources that you can pour into the ones you prefer.

Obviously this guide is not comprehensive! I’ve left out a lot of things you might want to know, like boss patterns, enemy types, and a whole lot of stuff about characters. Some of these things I’ve not talked about because I don’t want to give spoilers; others I haven’t talked about because I’m, again, actually pretty bad at games and the Hades community has talented folks whose guides on Steam, on the Reddit, and on the wiki can provide you with thorough breakdowns of the math that makes the game work. Still, it’s my hope that this can ease your entry into the world of Hades and help guide you in those early runs when it can feel like you’re spinning your wheels. I look forward to hearing from you; reblogs and commentary are welcome!

See you all in Hell.

#hades #hades supergiant #supergiant games #roguelike #action #guide #Greek Mythology #video games

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technicolorfamiliar · 5 years

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The Artist vs Social Media

I have been sharing my feelings about art and its ever-growing relationship to social media with a number of people recently. I wrote a bit about it here some months ago, but that was primarily focused on reactions to different types of art I was posting on different platforms. Without a doubt, it’s been something that’s given me pause for a while, and I have a suspicion I can’t be the only person that feels this way.

To be clear: this is not meant to be an attack on the people who enjoy and excel at being a creative on social media. It is purely an expression of my own frustration, a cry out to others who have struggled with the same issues, because I know I’m not alone.

First of all, my personal style just doesn’t compliment a successful social media presence, I’m such a fan of the long-format, in general. I don’t want anything in my life to be bite-sized, cropped, or condensed. I struggle to convey the concepts teeming in my heart in a limited number of characters and pixels. As I am evolving as an artist, I enjoy incorporating many layers of meaning, drawing on a multitude of sources for inspiration. Social media, for the most part, wants to condense, compartmentalize, limit. It’s short-format, lacks fluidity, and promotes shorter attention spans. It feels counterintuitive to the kind of art I love and the art I want to be making.

For as streamlined and easy as social media has made sharing artwork with the great big world out there, it’s also birthed a lot of additional anxiety and despair. At least that’s been my experience. Some people have taken to social media like ducks to water, they are thriving in an endless stream of posts and pictures and stories. But this particular artmaker finds the rise of social media more like an impossible mountain, and climbing it is a requirement.

I envy the artists and makers who have figured out how to hack social media in order to promote their work and their brand. These people make it look easy, like social media integration with one’s art practice is as simple as breathing. I understand how it is crucial now as any kind of artist to have a big social media presence. But despite that understanding, I still have a lot of issues with it.

I was in art school in the still relatively early days of Instagram. Facebook and Twitter were big, but I didn’t really ever get too deeply involved in either platform. For me, Facebook was mostly for staying in touch with friends and family back home. I didn’t even have a smart phone until some time after I graduated. The school I attended encouraged us to build a website, get a business card, but there was no way to prepare us for the expansion of these apps among others that would emerge later on. This is not a sorry attempt at an excuse for my complicated relationship with social media, because there are a lot of artists in their early 30s right now who are very clearly doing well in that arena.

Circa 2009 – 2011, using social media for networking was beginning to be a real thing to consider. Having a Facebook page and separate Instagram and Twitter accounts devoted to your craft in addition to your website and blog in order to reach all possible professional connections was increasingly important. And now, they are all absolutely essential. People think you must be kidding yourself if you’re making art and don’t have a social media presence. I’ve caught myself being judgmental of young artists who aren’t on social media. But then I’m reminded of my own issues with Facebook and Instagram and all the others and I think maybe I should shut my mouth.

—

That’s the background. The real thing I’m trying to say is this:

Social media is exhausting.

I hate it.

For all the good content being generated and shared on FB, IG, etc there are a thousand mentally and emotionally draining posts being shared by people who, by and large, aren’t on social media to promote their craft. And that’s fine, people should have a place to vent their frustrations, laugh at funny or un-funny memes, share recipes and cute animal videos, get 100+ validating reactions to their photos, post thoughts/criticisms/ideas too long for Twitter but too short for a blog…

But to expect an artist generating original content to compete with everything else being blasted on every social media platform is complete and utter unrealistic nonsense.

—

My big, huge, major beef with social media is the totally insane decision to stop having posts featured in chronological order on pretty much every major platform. This really hurts creative people who are trying to get exposure, share their work to the world (or at least their friends and followers), and requires them to generate even more content, or share the same post over and over again in the hopes that their painting or photo or video somehow makes it over all the other posts from everybody else that are only just so much noise. Trying to get noticed or share your work with likeminded creatives you don’t already know is like shouting in a canyon full of other people shouting, drowned out by all the other voices and the echoes of the voices.

But that’s not the only thing about social media that keeps me up at night.

There are people on social media who have become experts in making their lives look like perfect, magical journeys of self discovery and growth and good fortune. Seeing their perfectly composed, perfectly lit photos of what is supposedly their daily lives, their brunches, their cocktails, their pets, their clothes, their travels, their significant others, and whatever else makes me want to not even try. Why should I even bother to try to compete with that? Looking at those kinds of posts immediately makes me feel inferior because 1) I’m not living that theoretically beautiful, charmed life, and 2) I’m not generating masses of content like that of my own experience. I look at my weird little life and there’s hardly anything photo- or post-worthy, at least not on a daily basis, not enough to get above everyone else’s noise. When did having a social media presence become an art form in and of itself? One of my very close friends described social media as performance art, which is probably the best description of this phenomenon I’ve ever heard. I’m not saying it’s not hard work — in order to project this perfect life, you have to be a photographer, or at least know and/or have the money to pay for one, be a master of self-marketing, and you have to set aside the time in your day to make the posts (more on that in a bit). But as someone with at least half a brain, I know that the content being gobbled up by glowing, supportive friends and followers is only a version of reality.

I know I’m not the only one who feels utterly alienated by the “perfect lives” being presented on social media, and I know that it’s not most people’s intention to alienate their friends by posting gorgeous photographs and positive affirmations of their own journeys.

And yet, even just thinking about it is exhausting. It’s a destructive and deadly combination of self-loathing and self-doubt inspired by the vast majority of what I see on Facebook and Instagram with knowing full well that those feelings are totally unfounded since the posts are not a true reflection of reality. It doesn’t motivate me, it doesn’t inspire me to follow their lead, it doesn’t get my blood pumping. It just makes me tired.

—

By my nature, I am a relatively private person. I have no real desire to share my private life with strangers, and it’s a struggle for me to open up to acquaintances. I have a hard time talking about myself, my dreams and aspirations, my needs and wants with other people. I keep to myself, I have a small circle of close friends and family with whom I share things openly.

There’s nothing like the gut-wrenching feeling you get when you’re talking passionately about your art or your interests or your hopes for the future with someone and seeing the very moment their eyes glaze over with disinterest. It’s a special kind of soul-crushing dismissal that has lead me to live an introvert’s life. Because why, after all, would I share anything with people when that’s the reaction I often got in my youth when sharing with my peers?

The whole grand purpose of social media is to share. Share everything and share often. Artists who hold regular jobs and don’t have an abundance of free time or energy to devote to generating social media content on top of the art they’re already making need to find that magical balance. The Buzzfeed article about burnout that was circulating a few months ago touches on this a bit. Work + Art + Self Promotion. That’s always been the case for artists looking to make a profit off their work, but now it’s on a whole other level and puts creatives in direct competition with social media influencers and everyone else on FB, IG, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, etc. When I say time and energy, I mean the lack of energy I personally have after a working a job that already requires me to use my creativity, strategy, and organizational skills. When I get home or when I finish a job, I want to recharge so I can have the energy and motivation to actually sit in my studio and make new art. I struggle with budgeting out my time and energy for taking photos, writing cute little descriptions, thinking up clever hashtags, and setting timers to remind me when to post in order to get the most views.

I’m over-focused right now on making the art, in finding my voice as an illustrator, in re-vamping my portfolio and considering the future of my practice. I would need a personal assistant to run my social media accounts in an effective and professional way, and I don’t understand how other artists don’t have assistants. Or maybe they do. At the very least it would require me to have my phone in my hand far more than I already do, so another reason to keep it on me, especially in my studio while I’m in the zone, working, makes me feel gross.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But Emma… you took all this time to write and edit this long blog post. Surely you could have used that time to work on content for your IG or FB accounts.” And you would be right. However, I’m in a place mentally and emotionally where I see the social media game, I understand it, but I just don’t want to play it. Not the way we’re all expected to if we want to get noticed. I’m not a performance artist, I’m not extroverted enough, my process doesn’t lend itself to this new gold standard of being an artist in the 21st century. Am I making big strides to change my process? Not really, because the very nature of social media feels inauthentic to me and the work I want to be making.

—

In the end… I don’t really know how to make social media work for me and my own journey as an artist. It would be great if there was some compromise, some middle path for people like me who are rubbed the wrong way by hashtags and stories and filters. Is there even a possibility for existing any other way as an artist today? Because everyone I know who creates any kind of art seems to have accepted and figured out the key to doing well on social media. It’s almost not even worth airing my grievances since I’m not willing to completely change and conform to something that does not feel right to me.

I’ll just keep plugging along as I have been until I figure it out. Or some kind souls who have been through a similar conundrum swoop in and offer their wisdom and insight.

#my writing #art vs social media #long post

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prepare4trouble · 6 years

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Star Wars Rebels fanfic - Swirly

this is part of the “In One Piece” AU, which is the one that came from @swrrequests, where Ezra and Kanan were both blinded at Malachor. You can find the rest of the stories here on my AO3.

The series doesn’t run in any particular order though, so there’s no real need to read that stuff first if you don’t want to.

“So, is it finished?”

Once, Sabine never would have allowed Ezra, or anybody else, to be in the room with her while she was painting, especially not while she was painting something like this. It was different now, though, because Ezra couldn’t see the bare bones of the work, he couldn’t look at the first few brushstrokes or sprays from the can and come up with his own idea of what she was about to create. He didn’t get to see the mistakes she made and covered over, or the ones that somehow worked, and became incorporated into the work, changing it for the better.

She cast a critical eye over the thing she had painted, and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably not. I think it’s going to be one of those things I keep working at for a while.” Or one that she realized wasn’t going to work and painted over when she needed some more space. “Done for today though, I think. Why?”

She was still looking at the wall, but she could hear the shrug in his voice, like he was trying too hard to sound casual, disinterested. Like it didn’t really matter. It did, of course. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t ask. “So, what’s it look like?”

She had known the question was coming, of course; it always did. If it hadn’t been today, it would have been the next time the subject came up. She couldn’t help but wonder whether he genuinely wanted to know, or whether he asked just to try and keep a connection to something from before. He had always enjoyed looking at her artwork, pretending like he knew what he was talking about when they discussed it. She missed that, and she supposed he did too.

Along with everything else he had lost.

Kanan didn’t ask about her art, not really. Not often. And when he did, he tended to just accept whatever answer she gave. Not Ezra; he kept pushing, wanting more, like he was trying to generate a copy of the painting in his mind. In a way it was nice, but she hated it, because she knew that no matter how descriptive she tried to be, it would never be enough to make up for seeing it for himself.

Sometimes, she wondered how Ezra could stand it. If it was her — not that she would ever hold that thought in her head for long — if it was her, she didn’t think she would want to know; to think about it. It would hurt too much.

She pursed her lips and looked critically at the thing she had created. One hand was still clutching a spray can, the other rested on her hip as her gaze wandered over the painting, trying to pick out the important details. It was going to be impossible to describe.

It wasn’t the thing she had set out to paint, that was for sure.

For just a moment, she considered describing the thing she had been planning on painting instead. It wasn’t like Ezra was going to know the difference. She dismissed the idea instantly, it would have been unfair and dishonest.

“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” Ezra told her.

“It’s not that,” she assured him. Only it was, in a way. She sighed, a sharp intake of air expelled hard through pursed lips. “It’s nothing special,” she said.

Behind her, she heard Ezra’s feet shuffle impatiently before he sat himself down at the desk she had constructed in the space that had once been a lower bunk. “They’re all special, Sabine,” he told her. “I remember that much.”

She frowned. That wasn’t true. Sometimes, a painting was just splashes of color, meaningless, a spur of the moment thing thrown onto a canvas or the wall. Other times she put her heart and soul into a piece. This was both, actually. It was also impossible to describe.

She was running out of space on her walls. There wasn’t a lot of room for anything new there anymore. From time to time, she would paint over something she didn’t like anymore or thought she could improve upon; cover the wall in the same gray as it had been originally to create a blank canvas or, when she could get hold of some, clean off the paint with solvent. She hadn’t done that today though; she hadn’t had the time to select a piece to be removed, or to paint over it with the many layers of paint it took to block out the bright colors of her previous works.

That was probably for the best; it had turned out she wasn’t in the mood for bright. If she had started, she might have found herself unable to stop until the images were all gone and there was nothing on her walls but a dull gray.

At least she wouldn't have had any trouble describing that to Ezra. He was intimately associated with how that would look.

“It’s just colors,” she told him.

“Which ones?” he asked.

She stared at the wall. “Blue, mostly; purple, a bit of red, but mostly blue. Different shades. And it’s kinda…”

It was mostly dark, almost black toward the middle with a deep, rich shade of blue on the outer edges. It looked like the sky at night, not long after the sun set; the blue remaining, but growing darker as the last hints of light sank further into the horizon and night descended.

As she had painted, allowing the work to expand to fill the space, it had begun to crowd out other paintings on the wall, even obliterating one completely; not one she cared much about, but by that stage she probably wouldn’t have noticed if it had been. It was as though the paint had taken over, the art compelling her to keep going, layering ever darker shades on top of the lighter until the middle was almost black with the lighter shades around the edges, like they were clinging on, trying not to fall.

Like the sun setting not into the horizon, but into a black hole.

“It’s kinda…?” Ezra prompted

She folded her arms, the paint can still clutched in her hand. “Swirly,” she said.

Sabine had never had a talent for words. It had never bothered her; it wasn’t like she was bad with words after all, she could use them just the right amount, and in more languages than most people. She had just never seen any kind of a need for poetry before. There was nothing wrong with poetry; her people had a long and proud tradition of it. She just chose to express her art visually.

“Swirly…” Ezra screwed up his face theatrically, like he was putting genuine effort into bringing an image to mind, then shook his head. Sabine looked back at the painting, trying to think of a better way to describe it. One that would make sense. “Wow, yeah,” Ezra continued. She wasn’t looking at him, but she could hear the ridiculous grin in his voice. “You’ve got such a talent for description, Sabine. Blue and swirly. Beautiful.”

Sabine made a frustrated sound. She stared deeply at the painting, her eye drawn to the centre, the hole into which the color was falling. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine never having seen it, tried to pick out the important parts, the things that meant something, and that would mean something to Ezra. She couldn't do it; it was too abstract. Any attempt to describe it would fail. It wasn’t a person that Ezra knew and could imagine like some of her paintings, or a landscape that he might have some kind of similar visual reference for. It wasn’t a thing.

“It’s blue around the edge, then gets darker in the middle,” she tried. “It is swirly. The colors swirl into the middle.”

“Like a spiral?”

“No, like… like water down a drain.”

Ezra frowned, his brow wrinkling in consternation as he tried to picture it. “So, is it water?”

“No, it’s…”

It wasn’t a thing. It was a feeling.

It was Ezra, and it was Kanan. It was light being stolen from the world, the day being replaced by the night. It was the helplessness she felt every time she looked at Ezra and he didn't — couldn’t — look back. It was the feeling of laughter and joy dying the way they had that day over a year ago. It was the idea that she might never seen Kanan smile again.

It was the blue that was still so clear and vibrant in Ezra’s eyes.

“It isn’t anything really.”

Ezra laughed, not exactly mockingly, but it was close enough. “So, it’s blue and swirly, and it isn’t anything. Wow, yeah. I can almost see it.”

She spun around to glare at him and found a wide grin spread across what she could see of his face with his far too long hair covering most of it. Honestly, he was her family, and she loved him, but there were times that she just wanted to smack him in the face.

Of course, there were times when she had done that. She didn’t make allowances for the fact that he couldn't see her coming, not anymore. He had proven himself more than capable of ducking out of the way.

She loosened her grip on the can of spray paint in her hand, and tossed it in his direction. There was no malice behind the action, she simply wanted to show him that she didn’t appreciate being laughed at.

Ezra caught it easily with a sweep of his hand through the air; he didn’t even turn his head like he was trying to see it, the way he used to do. The result looked impressive. It wasn’t though, not really. Or, it was, but for Ezra it was just normal now.

What was really impressive were those times when Ezra did seem to look; when he genuinely appeared as though he could see. It had taken a lot of practice, but he had almost perfected the fine art of deception. He used it occasionally undercover, but only when he had no choice, because he didn’t trust himself not to slip up and give himself away. More often, he just used it to mess with people.

Most recently, on a trip back to Krownest, he had managed to fool some distant cousin of hers for a full five days before he finally decided to tell him the truth.

“Thanks,” Ezra said, his grin widening as his finger touched the top of the spray can. “I guess that means it’s my turn to paint something?” He brought the nozzle toward the wall.

The blue paint can moved dangerously close to the wall, and to paintings that she didn’t want to lose. Sabine resisted the urge to go over there and snatch it away from him. “Don’t you dare,” she told him. She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. He wouldn’t do it; she knew that. She trusted him. But on the other hand, he was still Ezra. His sense of humor was sometimes tinged with the kind of malice that showed exactly how much time he spent around Chopper.

He shook his head and put the can down on the table in front of him. “Joking,” he assured her. “Don’t worry, I know you’ve finished that wall. But find me a nice blank space and I bet I could fill it with something ‘blue and swirly’.”

Sabine grimaced at the reminder of her terrible descriptive skills. “Shut up,” she told him. “It’s a picture of nothing, of course I can’t describe it. It’s not even very good.”

It wasn’t bad, actually, and it definitely wasn’t really of nothing. It didn’t matter anyway; she didn’t think it would be there for long. It was making her think of things she would rather not.

“I’m sure it’s great, Sabine. I’ve never seen you paint anything bad.”

“Yeah, well. You haven’t seen this…” She stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her chest and heat rising to her face. She hadn’t meant to say that. Of course he hadn’t seen it; that was the whole point. He hadn’t seen anything she had painted for over a year.

She forced up her gaze up, to look at him, dreading what she was going to see. Slowly, he picked up the paint can again and rolled it between his palms, then allowed the tips of his fingers to trace the top, a solemn expression on his face. “True,” he agreed. “I still know it’s great though. In fact, if I could get to see one more thing, I’d choose this painting.”

She winced. She hated talk like that, and he knew it.

“Sorry,” Ezra told her. “I would though. Even if it was just to prove I’m right.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she told him. For a start, the ability to see one more thing would be a gift that he wouldn’t waste on a design sprayed onto a wall. If he ever got that chance — and he wouldn’t, so there was no point thinking about it really — she still had the holo of his parents carefully stored in a safe place.

Ezra grinned, and she wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination, or whether the expression didn’t quite look real this time. “I don’t know, I might. I’m kinda curious why you’re being so secretive about it.”

She looked at the painting again. It was going. First thing in the morning she was either going to find a way to change it into something else, or she was going to paint over it. She didn’t have any paint right now that matched the walls, but she didn’t care, she would cover it in orange if she had to. It was too personal. Anyone that saw it probably wouldn’t understand what it represented, but it still gave too much away. She didn’t like having something like that on her wall.

“Actually,” Ezra continued, a little wistfully now, “maybe I’d see your new hair color. This is the second change I’ve missed.”

She folded her arms. It was the third change, technically. He hadn’t seen the black she had dyed it for her undercover mission either, but that didn’t really count. “It’s purple,” she told him.

“And swirly?”

“Shut up. No. It’s a little lighter at the tips, but basically it’s just purple.”

It hadn’t been this dark in years. In certain lights it almost looked like her natural black. She half-wondered whether she had made an unconscious decision to remove some of the colors from her life; if Kanan couldn’t have them, and Ezra, they felt meaningless sometimes.

“I mean, it looks good,” she added, “but if you could see one thing? There’s a lot better things you could choose.”

She didn’t really want to be talking about this. It was irrelevant, theoretical, and she didn’t know how Ezra could stand to even imagine being faced with a choice like that. It shouldn't bother her. If it didn’t bother him to talk about it, she should be able to listen. Maybe it even helped him, so it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to stop.

“Fine,” he said. “I’d choose the painting you did of Zeb and Kallus in the cargo bay, the one that Zeb keeps threatening to paint over. I’d want to see it before it’s gone.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “You know, that one I actually believe you might choose,” she said. “It’d still be a huge waste though.”

He shrugged. “Hey, at least I’d get a laugh out of it. Your description of that one was actually pretty good.”

“That one was an actual thing,” she told him. “This is more like…”

“A feeling?”

She looked at him, surprised. How had he known that?

“You can describe those too, you know,” he told her. “Like… you remember on Atollon? I only saw it once before we left for Malachor, but the sunset, it was beautiful. The sky was almost purple higher up, but the horizon was on fire. It was my first night there, and I knew I was leaving soon, and I didn’t know when or even if I was going to come back, but it already felt like home, you know? I felt safe, and I got that warm feeling you get when you know you’re right where you’re supposed to be. It was the same feeling I got when I met you guys, when I first came aboard the Ghost. Until then, I hadn’t felt it since I was too young to recognize it.”

“It wasn’t that you were too young,” Sabine told him. “It’s because you’d never been without it, it had just always been there so you never noticed it until you lost it and got it back.”

Ezra shrugged, “Maybe you’re right. But it was that, and it was this feeling that we were starting a new chapter, like things were going to get better from now on, things were finally going the way they were supposed to. I was nervous, obviously, but I felt at peace, like whatever happened on Malachor, at least I’d come this far. It was like the sun was setting on the past and getting ready to rise on something new.”

She folded her arms tightly. The sunset hadn’t meant that to her. It hadn’t meant anything. He was right; it had been beautiful, but she had seen it so many times that it had become commonplace. Now, she was seeing it through new eyes.

Why could Ezra do that, when she couldn’t?

“I hate you,” she told him with a smile.

He grinned back at her. “I know.”

She looked at him critically. He had changed so much in the few years she had known him. Not just the obvious; the extra inches on his height that had made him taller than her, but also the confidence that he had picked up along the way. He had lost it for a time, after Malachor, but it had come back to him in recent months, and it suited him.

Picking up on her change of mood, he turned his head in her direction, eyes not quite meeting hers. “What?” he asked.

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to get into that, not now. “Your hair’s getting long,” she said instead. “When did you last cut it?”

He put down the paint can and frowned thoughtfully. “Before,” he said.

She didn’t need to ask before what. Their lives were divided now, into what happened before and after that fateful mission. “Yeah,” she told him. “That’s what I figured. It’s almost touching your shoulders now.”

In fact, it was a little longer than that, at the back. In that awkward phase of growing where it was neither one thing nor the other. It looked a mess.

His hand moved to his hair, brushing it back. It wasn’t quite long enough to stay in place, and when he moved his head it came back to where it had been a moment earlier. “Yeah, I know,” he told her. “I don’t need to see it to know that.”

Of course he didn’t, she hadn’t meant to imply that he didn’t know. She frowned at him. “So what’s the plan?” she asked. “You trying to compete with Kanan or something? Planning on growing a beard next?”

Ezra grinned teasingly, and touched his fingertips to his face. “Hey, great idea. I think it’d look pretty good.”

“Yeah, well. You think wrong.”

He laughed, and touched his hair a little self-consciously. “I guess you’re right, it is getting a little long. I should probably either cut it or tie it back. I’m just not sure I trust myself to cut it without looking.”

Right. Which was why it had gotten that long in the first place. And probably why Kanan had grown his beard too. Ezra’s hair was probably too short still to tie back without the front parts falling out around his face, but it definitely needed something.

She could have some fun with it.

“How much do you trust me?” she asked.

#star wars rebels #swr fanfic #in one piece au #au #ezra bridger #sabine wren #blind ezra #sabine's art #not as angsty as some of these have been #comments are loved

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mi5016ivanbabev · 3 years

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Character Design as a career

Reflective essay

Character Design has always been a dream job for me. The whole idea of infusing characters with personality using visual expressions and distinctive body language is why I want to have a career in it. Another aspect of character design is storytelling. The characters you create are vessels for storytelling. When I am creating a character, I consider that my character has to tell that story in the best way possible. Another critical aspect for me is to use personification in my work. For myself, the most important thing is finding inspiration. I find inspiration all around me from real people to animated movies or series and books. The only thing I struggled with was to expand my ideas and to do research. My first real-time working on a professional character design project is in university. I enjoyed the process behind the work I did; it helped me to expand my knowledge on the subject and developed good research skills. Also, I did struggle in the beginning with the technical part. However, I got over it, and I am enjoying it even more. Going from a hand-drawn character on a sheet of paper to animating it on a 3D program is a long process, and it takes time. However, it is all part of the process. At the beginning of my Character Design module, I was unsure if I wanted to show my sketches and ideas because of the fear of getting criticized. Moreover, I also knew that there are really good artist in the course, and I was afraid that my work was not good enough to show. I now realize that not showing your work and consulting with people is not suitable for my development in this area. Furthermore, I started getting confused about what worked and what did not in my designs. And I lost confidence and motivation. I knew that If I wanted to have a career in character design and not only there, I have to be more confident in showing my work and not avoiding criticism because I needed it for professional development. I started talking more and communicating with people from university and people into art in general. And I now realize how important it is to get an opinion on your work even if it is not positive every time. It did have a serious impact on me in terms of what worked and what did not. Also, I am more confident now I still have a long way to go. Since the only way I have presented my designs has always been in 2D either in sketchbooks or computer drawing programs like Clip Studio Pro and Photoshop .3D was a challenge to learn. The program I decided to work on is Blender. I chose Blender because the options were a lot more precise in comparison to other programs like Maya. It was tough to remember the controls at first; however, as I practised and watched tutorials, I managed to get a grip of it. Moreover, now I enjoy working in 3D. Sculpting is the part I enjoy the most since I used to sculpt with real clay and create all types of models in the past. I find this way of 3D modelling way more artistic and expressive than regular poly modelling. I feel I need to practice more on 3D to develop my Character designing skills fully. Most of the inspiration I got from designing character mostly comes from old Animation movies, for example, ''Fire and Ice'' (Bakshi,1983) and ''Heavy Metal"(Potterton,1981) and old 1930's animation for example Merrie Melodies (Warner Bros.,1931) and Silly Symphony (Walt Disney,1929). What I like about the design of the characters in the 1930s is that they made something that is not human appear more human and lovable with only using simple shapes. Furthermore, I also like the retro aesthetics of the animations back then. The character design artists I admire and follow are Moebius, Jeron Braxton, Cornelia Geppert, Gary Baseman. In my opinion, to become a character artist, it is essential to value your work from a business standpoint when it comes to being a professional. There are several ways to make a living as a character artist. The first way is to work for a company as an employe, and the other one is as a freelance character design artist. As much as I want to work as a freelance artist and work for myself, I would instead prefer to work in a company to gain experience from other people while working in a team on a more significant project in a more extended period of time. Furthermore, for the beginning stage of my career, I would prefer to report to an art director to get directions in my work. However, working as a freelance artist you have control over your work and clients cannot provide me with work if they do not have a need for it due to the fact that I am not their employe. Moreover, my clients cannot dictate how much hours I work and how I do my work. However, I do prefer to work in a company in the beginning. University helps a lot with teaching you to work with people in a team. Some people prefer to work on their own I personally do however I think it is better if you are in a team where you can express your ideas so they can give a feedback if it works or not. Another thing which is important to develop as a skill is good communication with people. Since I will work in a team, it is important to show people that I am a person they can work with and express ideas with me. As a character designer, I do have responsibilities such as revise artwork according to feedback and teamwork. Working with storyboard and concept artist on how to incorporate the concept of art in different scenes. Read and understand the character's role in the script. To become a character designer, you have to be really artistic. For that, I have to imagine how I bring my character to life with my art. I also think outside the box so my character can develop its own unique personality and be different somehow. The Character design module in university described the steps to creating a character. It begins with creating a backstory of the character I have to have an idea of whom my character is by nailing down individual points such as gender, ethnicity, age, occupation, and attitude. A very crucial part is research. I usually have a problem with this part gathering references is not easy for so I spend more time searching for inspiration since it is the beginning part. After that, I prepare some concept art, and then I start modelling it in 3D. Before modelling the character, the process is long while I find a reference and create a sketch which I use to model from. After developing a workflow, I started to search for character design jobs in the UK, and I found many workplaces with excellent conditions. I am confident about the job because I think I have the qualities of being a great character designer. However, I still have much work to do and learn more techniques until people recognize me. When I searched for a job, character designers' demand comes from video game firms and movies. Studios hire animators usually outside of the US because of the lower pay requirements. In conclusion, making money and a respectable living from art, in general, is a valid and real opportunity. Maybe it is not that easy; however, you should always respect and value your work from a business standpoint when it comes to being a professional if you want to make it in the industry. Overall I learned a ton a lot about character design thanks to the university and the research I made during the semester, and I realized that the only way to make it in the industry I have to be more confident in my work and not to be afraid to put my work out there. Not to take criticism as a negative thing but listen to it to better my work. I am practising the technical part of the job because I struggle with it at times, and the best way to learn is practice. Research is essential when I try to find inspiration for the work I make. Another thing is not to be afraid to ask people for help and advice when I am having a hard time. Since I am introverted, I struggle with spontaneous communication with people. However, I have been working on it for a couple of months, and I started to get better at it. The last thing is always to stay "hungry'' and never satisfied with anything in life. That is a way I stay motivated and driven to accomplish what I want in life. Moreover, to love what you do.

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greenpapayaartprojects · 4 years

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NOT COUNTER BUT PARALLEL (Excerpts from Light Leaks 1 2018)

2018 was an extremely busy year for Green Papaya. Somehow, between preparation work with VIVA ExCon Capiz 2018, Papaya still managed a collaboration with Los Otros, “Light Leaks 1: Tracing histories of Philippine experiments with the moving image” which was hosted by Yael Buencamino at the Ateneo Areté on September 12, 2018. Light Leaks developed from the research that started with another Papaya-Los Otros collaboration, the Kalampag Tracking Agency, a screening program and accidental archive of Philippine artists’ moving image that started in 2014.

Among the discussants and panelists for Light Leaks 1 were curator Clarissa Chikiamco, artist Pandy Aviado, and then NCCA Commissioner Teddy Co. Screenings included the cult short film Tronong Puti (1983) by Ted Arago and Roxlee, Philippine indie cinema documentary Beyond the Mainstream (1986), and a surprise preview of Rod Paras Perez's Conversation in Space (1962) courtesy of Odel Perez.

Coinciding with the current edition of Light Leaks at MCAD Platforms this month we are posting below the opening remarks made by artist and filmmaker Shireen Seno of Los Otros and an excerpt from the Q&A.

*****

Introduction:

Shireen Seno (SS): Philippine moving image practice has a history of pioneering experimentation, but because of this very experimental and uneasily classifiable nature, not much is known or published outside of its more popular iteration: cinema.

Light Leaks is an attempt to piece together these disparate and mostly oral histories by convening a series of forums that consist of research presentations and focused discussions with key artists, curators, researchers, and cultural workers across generations. Along with key historical texts and newly commissioned essays, the proceedings from this symposia will lead towards publication that will hopefully inspire new generations of scholars and practitioners.

This first edition of Light Leaks focuses on a general overview of practices from the ‘60s to the ‘80s in Manila from the personal accounts of Pandy Aviado and Teddy Co and the ongoing research of curator Clarissa Chikiamco.

In her essay “Otherwise Video: Development of Video Art in the Philippines in the 1970s,” Chikiamco states, “When we talk about the development of video art, I believe it is important not simply to consider artworks which use video, but artworks which anticipated video art works. By that, I mean art works which foreshadowed art works that actually used the medium of video. These artworks, forerunners to video, may not have used video but we can name certain qualities which have overlapping identities with the video medium. In particular, these qualities are movement and time.” These experiments paralleled movements in the US and the UK with expanded cinema, installation, and performance. Starting in the ‘60s, expanded cinema practices featured artists moving away from the screen and finding creative ways to project and intervene with moving images. The emergence of video, and later digital moving images, opened new possibilities concerning what artists could do and what moving images could be.

I quote from Kim Knowles’ book Experimental Film and Artists’ Moving Image: “Existing outside the boundaries of mainstream cinema, the parallel fields of experimental film and video art present a radical challenge, not only to the conventions of that cinema, but also to the social and cultural norms that it presents. In offering alternative ways of seeing and experiencing the world, they bring to the fore different visions and dissenting voices. In recent years, scholarship in this area has moved from a marginal to a more central position as it comes to bear upon critical topics such as medium specificity, ontology, the future of cinema, changes in cinematic exhibition, and the complex interrelationships between moving image technology, aesthetics, discourses, and institutions. This series takes on exciting new directions in the study of moving image practice, from the black box to the white cube, film to digital, crossing continents and disciplines, and developing fresh theoretical insights and various histories. Concerning the terms “experimental film” and “video art,” we see these as interconnected practices and seek to interrogate the crossovers and spaces between the different kinds of moving image-making. Finally, we acknowledge the emergence of a new term—artists' moving image—in which to situate the most recent generation of filmmakers and artists alike who work with the moving image.”

Q&A excerpts:

Merv Espina (ME): I’m gonna read a question, this is being live streamed so some people are watching us online. I think this question is for all of us: “Since the program is framed under the development of video art in the Philippines and while most works within the oral history presented focus on experimental, avant garde, performative, and materialist films all rooted under the notion of expanded cinema, how do the curators see them as a kind of anticipation to our present concept of ‘video art’ and what could be the basis for categorizing them as leading to video art or into this more expanded category of artists' moving image from the rest of other experimental films done during that time?”

Teddy Co (TC): That’s an interesting question.

ME: From Cocoy Lumbao.

TC: Okay, Cocoy. All art is evolving, nothing is static. Because if anything remains static, it will die and no one will want to practice. The language of art, of the moving image, is developing. There have been high points and low points but it moves forward and to categorize all these video images under video art, maybe that’s a bit too narrow because it’s really expanded. Some people have said that the better word to use is not “experimental” or “video art” but maybe something more like “expanded cinema” because we’re getting into all kinds of forms, content, and platforms. On the internet, on the big screen, in virtual reality.

We’re living in very exciting times because it’s so diverse now and technology has leapt forward. Before, it was all flat. Now we have 3D, there are a lot of participatory and interactive elements with the works now, and also, the disciplines are getting together. For example, there’s a lot of dance programs now incorporating video creatively. Tad [Ermitaño] has collaborated with Denisa Reyes to produce some works. The dancer-choreographer Rhosam Prudenciado has collaborated with Annie Pacaña who had all these videos of telephone poles and then she had two dancers do a ballet across the poles. You’d think they’re on the telephone lines but that’s a video. I hope that answers the question.

ME: Also, since Johnny Manahan was mentioned earlier, there were also some collaborations between him and the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) dancers and Ballet Philippines, even using overhead and slide projectors around that time.

TC: I saw one performance but it’s by a foreign dance troupe in the CCP back in the ‘70s or ‘80s in which they did something—what we would now call “video mapping”—using slide projectors. They projected slides on the dancers’ bodies who were wearing skin-colored suits.

Clarissa Chikiamco (CC): Hi, Cocoy. I find the question very interesting. Even when I was writing my paper, I have to admit that I was also struggling because, if I were to expand simply on video art, you would be looking at all these other impulses. I was thinking, “where do you stop?” It just becomes this really large body of work. I’m sure when we continue to do research, even more will be uncovered. Even just the idea of categorizations, at that time, maybe artists were not really concerned with it. They were just doing these things. Artists alongside filmmakers maybe didn’t classify themselves and their works in a particular category. They were just making work. And somehow, decades later, we are trying to make sense of these things. We’re trying to fit these things into certain boxes or even break them apart. Where do you stop from here? This is also an ongoing question that I have.

ME: I’ll read the follow-up question. “In situating these diverse forms under the more encompassing category of artists' moving image, I just want to open the question on whether there might be a kind of “counterproductiveness” to research if these diverse forms are not explored under their own stream of either being under essentially cinema or film practice, or video being under the technology or tradition it was originally made like broadcast, VCR, video recorders, etc?” Do you want to react? Is it counterproductive?

TC: Well, I don’t think it’s counterproductive. I think we should discuss, talk, and exchange ideas. That’s why you have a forum like this, you have a panel. It’s very healthy to talk and discuss. It’s unhealthy to not talk and to shut up because that’s a different kind of atmosphere. Like I said, the whole thing, the whole movement or whatever, would have been much bigger if there had been a proper community of people who exchange ideas, people who read and would say, “Why don’t you read this book?” or, “Go to that screening” because a lot of these things were done in isolation unlike today.

Today, since you have social media, ideas spread so fast. Will we reach a saturation point? I don’t know. Things evolve, like I said. Not to put things into boxes like, “this one’s visual art, this one’s cinema” because things mix. They intermarry and there’s a lot of fusion going on, even and especially in food. If we just stick to our native food, we will be stuck with lechon. But there’s a lot of creativity in the food scene now, right? Because there’s a lot of fusion and intermarrying. Culture and art are like that.

I think that has been going on especially now because we’re a wild world. As [Marshall] McLuhan said, we’re in a global village. Of course in some territories, some people would say, “We have too many film festivals now, we have too many films.” But would you like to go back to 2004? We had nothing but the Metro Manila Film Festival. It used to be like that. Just that, every December. Your choices were limited to Vice Ganda or Vic Sotto.

Don’t take the market of ideas and the freedom that we have for granted. Last year, at the Yamagata International Documentary Film Festival, I met this Chinese filmmaker who made a film about the last independent film festival in China that was closed down by the government. They don’t have a Cinemalaya or Cinema One. They have nothing like that. We have to learn to appreciate all of this, all of the institutions that are helping us put up all these programs even with a President like that. There’s a lot of open and free space.

ME: In response to Cocoy, I think—at least for this series of forums and discussions that we want to convene, focusing on Philippine experiments in moving image practice—we’re essentially looking at works that were hard to categorize. We should re-examine these materialist considerations of works in film or video and also look at works that have fallen in between the cracks—and there are many cracks. Some of the works mentioned today fall outside major art and film histories so what we’re trying to propose is that we need space for more narratives, histories, and maybe not look at particular materialist media, film, and cinema-specific narratives. This is not counter but parallel.

*****

These excerpts have been edited for length and clarity. Some parts were translated from Filipino.

Watch the archive of the 2018 livestream: https://facebook.com/events/s/light-leaks-1-tracing-historie/317775908984451/

*****

The current edition of Light Leaks is now live.

Watch early works by Lena Cobangbang: https://bit.ly/MCADPlatformsCobangbang

Sep 9-15 Screening: Lena Cobangbang, works 1997-2002 Sep 12 Discussion: Lena Cobangbang with Eileen Legaspi Ramirez

Sep 16-22 Screening: Katya Guerrero, works 1990-1992 Sep 19 Discussion: Katya Guerrero with Cocoy Lumbao

Sep 23-30 Screening: Jean Marie Syjuco, works 1986-1992 Sep 26 Discussion: Jean Marie Syjuco with Clarissa Chikiamco

*****

1. The Salenga Experience (2002), Alice & Lucinda (Yasmin Sison and Lena Cobangbang), video still 2. Untitled (1990-1992) Katya Guerrero, video still from 16mm transfer 3. Signed, Sealed, Delivered (1989), Jean Marie Syjuco, video documentation, Performance Space (Sydney, Australia), photo courtesy of ART LAB: Atelier Cesare and Jean Marie Syjuco

Images from Light Leaks 2018 at Ateneo Areté by Yuji de Torres: 4. Lisa Chikiamco 5. Pandy Aviado 6. Teddy Co

If you can: https://greenpapaya.art/donation

#tbt #papayapost

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itsninethirtyam · 4 years

Photo

Matapang! Textile paint mixed with acrylic on a cotton t-shirt. 23 inches by 14 inches. PNG dimensions: 1280 pixels by 1920 pixels. GIF dimensions: 1109 pixels by 1200 pixels. 2019.

Art has always been an important outlet for me to cope with many kinds of problems throughout my life because it allows me to express who I am. Thus, it is very therapeutic as a form of release. The usual medium I use is watercolor, but I wanted to try something outside of my comfort zone by using acrylic and textile paint – I wanted to be brave by experimenting and it paid off because I had lots of fun mixing vibrant colors and I learned more about working with thicker types of paint. As for the reason why I painted on a shirt instead of on canvas is because I enjoy dressing up as another means of expressing myself. I have certain items in my closet that I like wearing on special days like “happy dresses”, “happy shorts”, “happy skirts”, “happy shoes” and such for when I want to celebrate or simply when I feel good. It makes me very excited that I have a new “happy shirt” in my collection, especially because I made it myself so it’s one-of-a-kind. As I was making this particular work of art, I drew inspiration from the struggles that I was currently facing in college – I was having a hard time adjusting and finding new friends. Some days were much, much harder than others, but I kept my head above water by looking back on all the tribulations that I had gotten through in the past which, in the end, made me tougher as a person. I realized that I needed to remind myself of the strength I possess and of the optimistic, sunny outlook that I’ve always carried. I was able to remember who I am through the process of creating this artwork – a person who never gives up no matter how rough the going gets by always looking on the bright side and remaining strong-willed. Hence the title, Matapang! – the Filipino word meaning tenacious or brave. As a very determined person with an indefatigable spirit, I highly identify with dragons as a symbol of strength and courage because I was born in 2000, the year of the Golden Dragon under the Chinese Zodiac. I love using these mythical creatures to represent my personality. Thus, I emblazoned my shirt with a dragon as a sign of tenacity and resilience, traits that have allowed me to overcome many emotional struggles. I associate sunflowers with optimism not only because of their bright hue but also because I learned years ago that they are heliotropic, meaning that they try to absorb the most amount of sunlight possible by turning towards the direction of the sun as it rises and sets from East to West. The phenomenon of heliotropism in sunflowers is made possible by the presence of a flexible segment in the stem just underneath the flower that allows the plant to face the sun even as it moves across the sky (SFGate, 2018). This unique quality is why I love using sunflowers to depict positivity; they literally look on the bright side. I didn’t want to paint sunflowers but I wanted to incorporate them somehow into this artwork. Thus, I used sunflowers as an accessory during the photo shoot and as decorations in the editing process. The editing process was very enlightening because photo editing is a whole new world to me and I discovered a lot about it through this project. I wanted to make sure that I incorporated a lot of bright and fun elements through editing so that I could really showcase the significance of dragons (and the year 2000) as well as sunflowers as my personal insignia for emotional strength and optimism. I also created a GIF of the shirt design flashing in different colors to add an extra dash of whimsy in the presentation of the work. The photo shoot phase of the project is also worth noting because the weather on the day the pictures were taken was ironically very cold and gloomy in contrast to the message of the work. It even started to rain. I was concerned about the amount of light in the photos, but in the end, I realized that the weather was actually still conducive in terms of highlighting the theme of the work because the photo shoot pushed on with an air of perseverance despite the dark skies. I would like to acknowledge and thank Sir Alfred Marasigan for his input, as well as Ria Nolido for taking my photos, and my mom, Gilleth Sandico for cheering me on throughout the whole process and helping me acquire my materials. Without their help, I wouldn’t have been able to create this output. Maxine Sophiya Sandico Bibliography: SFGate. Hearst Newspapers LLC. (2018). The Heliotropism of a Sunflower. Retrieved November 29, 2019, from https://homeguides.sfgate.com/heliotropism-sunflower-75325.html.

#yay

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jfastereft · 5 years

Photo

"PLEASE DON'T READ THIS!!"* a poem, a.k.a.: "Life is A Lecture!" for Sunday, August 4, 2019

There's a BARDO!** and - a Brando!***

A panda - and - a Landau!****

With my "X" (wife) asking "[wh]Y,

[did] Bob up-and-die?" I just sigh!

When St. Paul said: "Death's a GAIN,"*****

I interrupt: "Yeah!! But-life," I explain,

"Is-both profound AND profane!"

And, when with you've I've lain,

I-think: "NO ONE REALLY KNOWS,

MUCH 'BOUT-NOTHING," as we doze,

And suppose (pause) that death "sends,"

"Dead ones" to-special-"ends!"

WE'RE SO DEFINITE AND CERTAIN.

About-there-being-a- "final curtain!"

I'm not too sure, That-we'll-ever-con-cur,

And BEST LAID PLANS, "Humanity" - fans!

We FAN the embers of sweet folk-lore,

Because NO ONE - wants-to open "a door,"

LEADING TO NOTHING, for-it pains "them" so,

To say: "WE'RE NOTHING!" and "We DON'T know,

NOTHING!" So, we keep "yapping" with conjecture,

in this DREAM'S CONTINUING LECTURE!

fin <3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrMkAc2LW5k

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dd3To_TgHq8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V7Gzr86E1Q

* - UNLESS you WANT to!!!

** - where "good" AND "bad" Buddhists go?

*** - Marlon, a movie actor

**** - Martin, another "dead?" movie actor

***** - Phillipians 1:21

100 Ways I Figured That You Can Kill Yourself

{dedicated to my hero, Alan Watts}

Hi, I am J Samuel Davis. Why my father Samuel gave me that name, I guess I will never know; he said that he was inspired to do it because he knew some lawyers that just had an initial as their first name. Of course, the lawyers he knew probably had a "regular" name like John or Richard or Simon, and, thus, they ended up with corresponding names like: J. Lawrence Tyler, R. Clarence McKenna and S. Porter Stanley, respectively. My given name, on the other hand, has no real name that the "J" represents! Why? I have no idea, and, as has been suggested to me, the question "Why" is ridiculous because, in this realm of existence, no one really knows the answer of why anything happens of why it exists. All we APPEAR able to do is to speculate . . . endlessly, from the beginning of our apparent existence until, apparently, that existence is terminate. There is just what happens, apparently, and it is all apparently beyond or control. Of course, we appear to be able to believe our speculations about aspects of our existence, even to the point that those speculations provide us with a "peace of mind" that seems to be able to justify our existences and what we do to prolong them. I live in far West Texas . . . a place called Alpine, Texas, in an unusual, barbarous, cocky country called the United State of America. This country, and the people inhabiting it, is known for the persecution of a culture called the American Indian, until guilt overcame the populous and the Indians were allowed to reassert their cultural values, imported people from Africa to work as slaves, until guilt overcame the slave holders, or their neighbors, and those slaves were "freed" and provided with the means to "take over" the country, via political control, physical superiority and other means, "scientific" and medical "innovations," designed to "improve" the condition of the humans and their environment, ultimately leading to probable destruction of everything, and a host of other anomalies, including something called "fast food," which is a man-made substance, incorporating chemical substances that render these materials largely toxic and ultimately destructive and mutative of everything they encounter and has, ultimately, tainted all that used to be "natural" food.

Imagine being all alone, for over 3 years, with suicidal ideations hundreds of times each day. No medication. Just sitting with it! Well, that is what this delightful story is about. If you ever need ideas on how to "off" yourself, this book is for you! I should have, perhaps, named the book "LOL." Plus, I still get to fall into that state on fairly numerous occasions at this time. Maybe not as much, but, still, possibly more than you, Gentle Reader, will ever know! Or, I could have entitled this book, "Shalom." Perhaps you will understand, if you ever decide to read the "blessed/accursed" thing!

Please realize that this writing is simply a therapeutic attempt to "bring the inside to the outside," as some have said. I hesitate to allow any of you that are "faint of heart" to indulge in these fantastic horrors. However, all I can do is suggest that you use your own, best judgment; And I wish you the best . . . all of you, really. I hope no one ever has to be in "the place" that promotes this sort of mental imagery UNLESS you have the mechanisms to deal with it without apparently self-destructing. I view myself, by the way, as, possessing "faintness of heart," and not just a little . . . but one Helluva lot. No one knows what the future holds! (. . . or do they?) Shalom, which means "peace!"

THE PREFACE

I can only write this down and describe what IS happening RIGHT NOW. I am at the low point. I do not believe I am at a low or "the" low point; I know. It is the lowest point I BELIEVE I have ever been at . . . yet, I feel certain that I will be invited to even lower points, as I have been in the past . . . lower and lower points, and I somehow imagine that, at some point, doesn't a really destitute person have to reach the breaking point . . . and then that is where they kill themselves. Isn't that the "way of the psychotic world?" It is not sadness; that would seem to be acceptable because, perhaps then, I could cry. But there are no tears. There IS only hopelessness, helplessness and fear greater than anything I could have ever imagined when I was young. I know there is no future, no stability and I am completely manipulated and controlled by something that feels completely beyond me. I do not believe any of this; I know it. What I believe is that, within 24 hours, I will achieve a state of consciousness where I KNOW that everything will be all right. It will then be no believing, but a knowing of that; however, what I have just described, is what I believe RIGHT NOW. In this state, not even, really, believing in God, I still cry out to some God for help. I imagine I am experiencing exactly the description of how Jesus felt on the cross, declaring, "My father, my father, why have you forsaken me?" It is absolute; I am lost and alone and I have no hope. Period. I will continue to try to eat, think and complete the day, hoping for the most rapid ending, BELIEVING that tomorrow will bring a reversal. I believe, as has been the case, that, within 24 hours, I will be so certain that everything will be fine, that I will KNOW that, without doubt, and I will even act confident and cocky, believing that I really can be stable and hopeful and that life truly has meaning. Yet I will also reflect, in that moment, that the hopelessness that I feel now has returned over and over, with certainty and power, as it impacts me right now. Somehow, in that confident state, I will just know that it can not happen again.

My life NOW has no meaning, I wish to be dead only and I am sorry that I was ever born, ever brought into this existence. I will try to eat something and come back to this writing, approximately 24 hours from now; now is 3:55 P.M., with ABSOLUTE HOPELESSNESS, ABSOLUTE ABANDONMENT, Saturday, June 6, 2015.

It is 7:56 A.M., Sunday, June 7, 2015, and I am compelled to write this. It makes no difference. I can not answer the "Why" of why I am writing this. Two things occur to me: a song lyric from the rock group Queen: "Nothing really matters . . . at all," and the quote from the Christian Bible: "All is vanity."

Let's see. I was able to sleep, at least to close my eyes and descend into what was seemingly unconsciousness. I now feel enough energy to get up and move around in somewhat of an easy fashion. I really do not want to write this exactly, yet I do. I really do not know what to do with the time that is given me. I really do not WANT to eat or get on Facebook or do artwork or write or be in existence. I would prefer to be dead because I have no hope for any the value of any future. I do not know why the world is the way it is. I do not know why people are "out there," doing what they are doing, thinking what they are thinking, except they are all conditioned to be doing what they are doing, as I am. They perceive relative value in their lives, based on their conditioning and they derive satisfaction from continuing on and they are not prepared or willing to "die, either because they fear what that state represents or they fear the pain of it or they are conditioned to avoid it . . . I do not know. I am not sure I care, or that I even want to ask these questions of "Why," because I feel certain there are no real answers . . . just speculations, as I have written.

In this state, I guess, I feel the need to just keep doing something, to continue to go along with what I consider "the whims" of the people around me because, I guess, they are so certain of the certainty and value of their existences that they would impose them on me. I THINK my preference, which I feel certain I do not have, is that I might ask them to offer me what they call here "euthanasia," but that option does not appear available right now. Perhaps I would not opt for it in this state I am in right now; perhaps that is because of my conditioning, being taught about the "sanctity" of life or the value of life, which I have so often vainly clung to. However, in the state I was in yesterday afternoon, given the severity of the mental anguish, death then, as I recall, was a compelling desire, to end the suffering, which I am told is my own doing, and, therefore, I should be able to overcome that condition. This, of course, I think, and I am REALLY not sure, is the speculation of those who are conditioned to BELIEVE what they do about suffering and, I think, have found what they BELIEVE is real value and enough "peace of mind," or contentment, in their lives, which justifies continuation, not just for them, but for everyone and everything in their lives that they believe holds the fabric of their existence together. Well, the fabric of my existence, to me, seems to be irreparably torn (perhaps it always was torn, but I was conditioned to look away by burying the obvious vileness of my existence in some unconscious pockets in my "psyche," wherever or whatever that is).

I anticipate that the day will progress, and I will continue to live "under protest." I BELIEVE that I will begin to "feel better," yet I BELIEVE that is just feeling different, a different mood, more accepting of what is happening around me, etc. At some point, I imagine I will begin to BELIEVE that I have a future in art or writing or beginning legal work again, but I think I can say here that I KNOW that whatever thoughts or speculations occur to me, however my mood might change to support those speculations, that it will all come crashing down like the proverbial "house of cards," because I think I KNOW or REALLY BELIEVE that is all this existence represents. It is all, as Buddhists are said to say, impermanent . . . illusory . . . it is, as in the Pinocchio story, a carnival, where all "innocents" are ushered into a ride infested environment, replete with candied apples and cotton candy, and the apparently once untainted organisms are converted into what the carnival barker is . . . jackasses, ready then to be introduced into the world as "functional" automatons, prepared to do the bidding of whatever cultural their significant others are already immersed in. And, if the immersion does not take place with sufficient completeness to assure relative "peace of mind," the hapless victim(s) must then be further conditioned, either by, in this Brave New World, mind-altering drugs, more powerful methods of indoctrination, called cults or psychological counseling or any kind of intense, indoctrinating counseling or imprisonment, especially in the United State of America, because any deviation from very narrow parameters must be swiftly dealt with. These consequences, I BELIEVE, are what I have been trying to hide from these last several years, because I seem to KNOW that I have no place in this existence, in this arrangement, especially given the mood swings I encounter, which, to others, certainly appears to just be a mental aberration or a game that I am playing. And, perhaps, I have no idea . . . really . . . perhaps it is just a game I am playing. Perhaps it is such a good game, that the game is now playing me. I certainly look back on my life and believe that, as in my youth, where I thought "things were OK," it was just because I had been so conditioned or had so conditioned myself or both that things were OK, that I absolutely believed it and was perfectly willing to just go along with everything and everybody BELIEVING that things were kind of sort of all right in the world and there was a benevolent God in "the heavens," and the government was on the up-and-up, or, at least, the party of my choice or, at the very least, the justice system, that would prevent "bad" elements from invading the sanctity of my existence and that of my family, who all loved me very much and wanted only "the best" for me . . . which, of course, amounted to something called "family values," the things that gave me such comfort when I was growing up, having Sunday dinners with my grandparents and playing in the backyard with family and friends.

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