My Dad is bringing up a very important word,
"No"
Actually, I think that was his favorite word.
I had a great habit of using it when I was under his roof. What he said is usually what happens first. He was the head of the house and the leader of his own reality. When he was intoxicated or not, what he saw and thought in his mind came to life, even when it never took place in real time.
Why did I give him so much respect when he clearly was showing me toxicity in our relationship at home?
He pretended to be a person of high stature when we are in public. No one would have guessed his bad habits with substances at home and the way he acted behind closed doors. When I reached out for emotional support at school or church, I was mostly shunned by anyone that listened to my story. They taught me that my feelings were wrong and asking for help gets me in trouble. When I told my mom anything, she was busy at work and came home tired. She trusted everything my father would tell her and I got in trouble for speaking out for his behavior. I was kept at home and if anything that could get me out of the house was already planned to be declined if I asked to do anything.
It was hard to please anyone at this point.
I kept my room spotless and vacuumed everyday, just so my dad couldn't say no and tell me to clean my room if I had a friend standing next to me wanting to hang out.
I had one friend in my life that saw my father for who he really is and he scared her pretty bad. He chased me to her car when I was trying to leave my house, he was on oxy at the time. My friend hesitated and kept the car in the driveway and told me to go do what he said. I wanted her to drive as fast as she could away from him, because he took the battery out of my car and I couldn't leave to be with Suz.
Well, after that incident, I lost my friend. She told her parents what happened and she broke all contact with me and stopped talking to me at church. Rumors went around and her mom I sang with on stage started to be disrespectful towards me.
I learned a valuable lesson that day....
When you feel safe enough to speak out and let someone see your true self, you scare people away.
When I trusted someone, I was abandoned when they saw my life for what it is.
The truth was hard to swallow and I had to stay around my father regardless of trying to find help in some form of way I felt heard. I tried to be emancipated, I went to church and sought out resources, I researched about how to prevent suicidal tendencies, I was speaking to a child psychologist. I was working on being more respectful towards my parents, but when my dad got high and made up stories to be angry and attack me. I had no way to protect myself and prove that it was just my father being an addict going through a psychotic episode.
This is why the Lord forced me into psychology.
I didn't want anything to do with it! (Working in a psych ward.... It sucked.)
Suz was the first person to really allow me to learn how to understand it with her version of explaining reality. She is a psychic medium. A very good one! She was very outspoken, rude and funny.... I can take the hard criticism. Nothing amounted to the trauma my father already caused me to feel. I survived high school band.... My director was exactly like my father and I was verbally abused at school by certain individuals.
I kept it all to myself and I planned very strategically my way to "heaven". I kept a journal on purpose for someone to find later. I wrote about everything I was feeling and how I was being treated, my poems, other interesting facts about spirituality, death and dying.
Suz taught me how to have a "book of shadows"..... Well, she is a witch..... It shouldn't be scary when I say that, she was a very proud "light witch". She only worked for the good of humanity. Christianity shuns such practices, but it really is part of the culture before religion became a thing. She taught me so many things that my Dad made me swear I would never get involved in.....
My Dad went into psychology after he decided he wasn't going to be a pastor. His past marriage was a major roadblock for him that he lost faith in God and didn't feel it was right for him to lie on stage to other believers when he wasn't being honest about his own walk in faith anymore.
A divorce would literally kill my soul. I can't imagine what betrayal feels like until you promise your life in vows to someone and it doesn't work out....My Dad made sure to show me that marriage is a special connection and I had to be very cautious who I accept as my spouse. I never forgotten how important it was for him to see me with the right man, but he was so overprotective, he never allowed me to learn how to date or even go to a school dance.
I blame the drugs for interfering in our relationship as a family. My Father was a very smart man, until he took a pill, shot up, or drink... My dad worked in anesthesia, he knew how to mix his own concoction and by pass the system to get his fix. He was forced to retire don't worry, but his knowledge to get drugs was phenomenal all that he knew about medicine.
It really sucked that he knew psychology and ways to manipulate people to get what he wanted. He was a very skilled hypnotherapist on top of that. My family is the result of a head narcissist raising more products of himself.
If you see my family now, we are estranged for good reasons, but they still hurt me personally. I really tried to keep us together after my father passed away, but the rest of my family chose to ignore my advances to keep in contact. I'm not even invited to the family reunions.
It's okay, because we have a lot of family history of incest and "S.A." and I understand why we are not invited.... I know a lot of things about our family after my father passed away. I know why he turned to be a pastor and then went in psychology to help himself and others, but then he lost his way and turned to drugs to mask his pain. The enemy stepped in and my Dad gave into his weaknesses..... He tried and he fought hard. Even when he attacked me my whole life. I still sat there and listened to him and I was forced to listen and not leave the room, but then God showed me to talk back to my Dad.....
So, I started to read more about the Bible and relate to him.
That's why I went to church...
I went to church 4 times a week to get away from the house, but to also just understand why I want to end my life and know that I would go to heaven if I actually tried it.....I was worried about my Mom and how my actions would affect her, she was a big reason why I stalled my plans and then my Dad had this wise idea to get me to work at a mortuary. Told me to walk into one and ask for a job.
Crazy how I jump topics all of a sudden, but this is how my Dad and I got along with each other. Weird and comical. lol
If it wasn't about music, it was about spirituality. I was into a lot of death related shows because I was suicidal. If you remember any of these, they came out around the time I was in high school.
Six Feet Under
Dead Like Me
Dr. G Medical Examiner
1000 Ways to Die
Ghost hunters
Crime Scene Clean Up Crew shows.
I would walk in the dining room while he was chillin in his hospital bed. Watching Finding Big Foot.
"Hey DAD! check this out."
It was a nice distraction to his day. It brought up his own fears with common daily interactions because of my odd obsession with the topic of dying.
My father at this point in his cancer diagnosis, he was on something they call,
Palliative care.
My mom explained to me that it means he was going to die. Lovely how blunt my mother is, but that's how she said it without sugar coating it....
But it was in a way it would be under his terms. My father at this point died once while receiving radiation therapy. His heart stopped and was revived. When he woke up angry and violent towards at the medical team. He yelled at my mom that he was ready to "go". So, after that incident he got the right person to sign him up for his new journey to his death.
That was a weird way of telling you what palliative care is, but that's how I found out and understood that he had a "DNR" to his name after that incident. Sometimes he was in a hospice home for a few months to give us a break at home dealing with his drama.
My Dad was surrounded by death, so it made me really research death and dying very deeply. I was afraid for anyone to see the books I read because they were about taboo topics you shouldn't see a teenager obsessing over. Death and dying, crossing over, letting go of loved ones, suicide survivors, decomposition of human remains, the death process, how a body is embalmed, what medical examiners while cutting open a corpse.
Then I got into the spiritual side of things that involve the devil and crossing over. How to avoid walking back towards hell when you are deceived by dark forces. How to fight your inner hell and not be trapped in that mindset when you are passing away.
I would have the craziest dreams after learning about these topics. But in a weird way, all I wanted to do was sleep to escape my reality. I would talk to my Dad about the stuff I found about those topics and it helped him be closer to me as a father. Something my little brother doesn't understand and ridiculed about me when he criticized my relationship with him. He had his own way to being with Dad, but my way, was with deeper meaning and serious topics. Stuff only Dad and I knew what that meant. It wasn't supposed to make sense to my mom or brother the special talks we had when he was in pain laying in bed.
I showed my Dad the other side to life....
I helped my Dad not be afraid to die, and do it with dignity and strength.
I helped my Dad understand that his addictions didn't ruin our connection as father and daughter and that I wanted to forgive him for his past before he died. He really appreciated my understanding that the drugs turned him into a different person, but inside of him, God was always there. My father told me, because of me, I allowed him to find love for God again and he was closer to his Mom because I showed him to not be afraid of my friend Suz.
That my friend wasn't evil and she taught me so much about angels and spirits, he was learning about them because I had the best mentor in the world. She helped me find my relationship with my Dad, that brought me to be closer to God and because I learned about God in a metaphysical way, I helped myself grow in my own understanding to where I wasn't going to end my life.
I found a reason to live even through the pain of watching the enemy run through my family and take away everyone and everything that means something to me.....
(I would like to post this, but I know it's not ready. I have so much to say and I know my story will help someone else not be afraid.)
I am still writing my story.
This is the book I was supposed to write about....
The one about death and dying.
Not about my background in psychology.
*That is a message for someone else. hint hint... That is your topic to write about. I hope you receive that message with understanding and go forth wisely. You asked me to remind you, so I am, quietly...
I am working with others in a way the Lord leads me.
It takes up my energy from writing and I have to prioritize what is more important. When it comes to someone's transition. I feel led to help someone cross over. I've done this since I was a child. No one taught me to understand how I do this. I also dream about meeting certain individuals and speak to them about life and death, God allows me to remember my dreams and I share them with the people it is about.
Most times, God will send people to talk to me and then I learn about them dying or having a terminal illness that is difficult to get through. That is where I am reminded of my life with my father and my jobs in the medical field and bring up all that I learned about death, dying, spirituality, religion, crossing over, eastern medicine, etc....
Then I become friends, or we have nice conversations that are very engaging and healing in general. I am later told that I have helped them in some way and they are happy to have met me. Then my dad shows up in my presence and shows me how I am doing what I am supposed to and to trust my gut feelings from now on. He promised me when he was alive, he was always going to be by my side and teach me about life.
Now I finally understand what he meant by that and I now that I know how to
"Listen with my HEART"
That is how he spoke to his mom before he crossed over. I taught him how and he was able to go deeper with it since his soul was ascending and leaving the physical body. The dream state plays a big part of crossing over and communicating with loved ones. That is where my gifts come into play. I am sensitive enough to feel him and learn his lessons that he encourages me to write it all down.
I'm not the writer I wish to become yet, but as long as it's getting out there for someone to find, that's all that matters.
Don't forget to realize that we are all dying. Don't allow your diagnosis or reality to have you feel stuck in misery until you die. Don't allow the pain and confusion to stop you from gaining understanding to the karma you're experiencing.Being a medium for me has been traumatizing, because I had to earn my way to understanding. I had to experience hell in order to seek solitude and want to create peace with my sanity and not let the forces around me cause me to go insane. I went "within" so I can heal my trauma and know what triggers me to thinking about the negative side to things.
That is all the enemy fighting with you spiritually.
When we die, we lose our vessel, not our spirit.
We are the spirit having the human experience.
This isn't forever.
Thank God for that!
Pain does end, but learn what the pain wants to teach you about life around you. You will help someone else with your story when you're meant to cross paths.
Everyone in your life is there to teach you something.
Are you ready for the lesson?
Are you ready to understand your lesson?
So, it's crazy how I end up writing these posts, but they are all for a reason that I don't understand right now, but I'm doing as I'm told.
I'm not afraid of death, I'm not afraid of anyone stalking me because I speak of life in a way no one else has, because this is my story.
I don't know why I wrote it this way before I got here.
My destiny, I mean.....
I know my purpose now and of all the things I pushed away in my life, God forced me to go back into it and learn more about myself. The things I didn't want to face and be reminded about my Dad.... I just want to live my life in peace. I didn't want to think about my past love, but I meet people that remind me of my life back home and that person in particular.....
So, it's all hitting at once. It's a slow process, my father has been gone for 11 years now. I'm getting the hang of it now...... Writing this isn't a race for me, the lessons are exciting to finally understand why I went through them, but again.... Time helps me explain things better when I see it in a different perspective. I couldn't have accomplished that goal until I went through the pain and worked on my character to change my outcomes to my problems. I had to change myself first.
I hope those that are part of this journey with me understand that I am only putting out there tools to help them succeed.
I'm not going out of my way to create another trauma bond or narcissistic injury towards anyone. I love them very much and I want them to work on themselves and gain abundance correctly, not with the use of black magic and occult practices.
That's another story for another day. Suz wants them to know that she was in my life to warn me about my lessons in my future, but I can't run from them. I am here to learn lessons and teach others how to learn theirs.
That's all this is about.
Life is a stage, how do you want to play it?
I choose to grow and allow myself to see the positive to where I feel the emotion of bliss, love, joy and acceptance of all things coexisting together.
I be back soon,
I hope you have a nice weekend.
<3,
Tina,

A 70s stinker, big monster, off the path and more this week.
The TL;DR The Visitor: A remarkable cast is wasted in this bizarre Italian semi-sci-fi riff on The Omen, The Fury, and others. The Ruins: Absolutely riveting tourism gone wrong horror. Deathgasm: Top tier horror comedy that hits similar notes to Dead Alive. My Heart Can’t Beat Unless You Tell It To: Part family drama, part thought experiment. A look at a trio of people who are dead inside, each in their own way. The Lake: Special effects are the star of this “Thaiju” feature, but there isn’t much else to it. Moloch: Needed some edits but fans of folk horror should enjoy this Dutch offering. Lovely, Dark, and Deep: In the forests of the night, it gets credibly creepy. Low budget, but a great lead and fine visuals.
The Visitor (1979): “I can’t kill children – only the evil part.” After a psychedelic encounter on a planet with a lava lamp atmosphere, an old man lets blond space Jesus — who has been telling hairless kids about how “Commander Yahweh” slew the demonic Sateen — know that a spiritual descendant of Sateen has been reborn on Earth. Cue 70s style soundtrack, and here we go! Or would go, if anything ever happened. The film is a total mess, with bizarrely long takes of John Huston (!) and others pacing or staring or driving in one scene and rapidfire edits in another. Lance Henrikson’s (!) Ray is more robotic than Bishop, and Shelley Winters (!) and Sam Peckinpah (!!) don’t make much of a difference. Allegedly, the cast only participated to gain a free trip to Italy, which I hope they enjoyed. Huston’s distinctive voice is the film’s only redeeming quality, but you’re better off hearing it elsewhere. Gore: 1/10. Nudity: None. Tubi.
The Ruins (2008): “Aren’t you glad you came?” Iceman and Jena Malone (who had a memorable makeout session in Neon Demon) venture with their friends to some off the path Mayan ruins, where the locals welcoming in a “We wish you’d never, ever leave” way. As it turns out, I’d already seen this one long ago; hearing the “cell phone” ring immediately tipped me off. But it was very much worth a second watch, and if you haven’t seen it absolutely do so. It’s well worth the $3 and change. Then consider the aftermath. Gore: 6/10. Nudity: None. Prime rental
Deathgasm (2015): “Hail Satin” Horror comedies face the same challenge as regular comedies: keeping the laughs going after the first 15 minutes, when the dramatic plot kicks in. Tucker and Dale did this very well; Zombeavers not so much. Deathgasm, fortunately, is a lot closer to T&D, finding ways great and small to inject humor in and around the more serious scenes. And damn, what lines — I had to pause more than a few times to laugh my arse off. As a metalhead in my youth, I appreciated a lot of jokes more than I might have otherwise, but anyone with a stomach for gore and naughtiness will enjoy this one. Gore: 8/10, but it’s a funny 8/10. Nudity: Brief. Tubi
My Heart Can’t Beat Unless You Tell it To (2021): “We shouldn’t be doing the things that we’re doing.” Two siblings care for the third, who is sickly and has special nutritional requirements one might term the “Lugosi Diet.” Not heroin — the red stuff. This is only peripherally a vampire movie. It’s much more a psychological drama about caregiver fatigue, the struggle of the able to aid the disabled and how even a family full of love can collapse under the weight of their burdens. There’s no backstory given, no mythos to justify the situation, just a family struggling to do what they have to do to keep their youngest member alive. It’s good, with the leads providing a bleak window into their day-to-day existences, though a little humor would have been nice. It’s an existential, thought-provoking vignette that may linger with you. Gore: 3/10, bloodletting. Nudity: Just a man and his underwear. Screambox, which I apparently still have.
The Lake (2022): “Compose yourself. Don’t get out of the car.” I wanted a big monster flick, and this Thai production says it has one. I just hope I don’t have to wait forever for it to sho—ah, 3 minutes in and there it is. No build up at all. Huh. A fan of Bong Joon-Ho’s The Host (2006) apparently got hold of a decent budget and put together a “Thaiju” film of their own, and it’s…okay. While the editing is all over the place, it does keep the story moving, and the creatures are interesting to look at and well rendered. There are speed bump human dramas, but they don’t account for much; characters are uni-dimensional, and the film unfortunately lacks much in the way of a binding narrative. If you’re in the mood for a big beast exercise in special effects, you could do worse. Just don’t expect much else. Gore: 4/10. Nudity: None. Prime.
Moloch (2022): “You science boys, you’re uninformed.” This Dutch folk horror tells — at a modest pace — the story of Bietrik and her family, who have suffered substantial losses over the generations. Events lead her to believe that her family may be cursed, haunted by some local entity. All in all, it’s a decent movie, wrapped around its own eerie mythology and leading to a striking conclusion. There’s a scene in a field that should have been left on the cutting room floor, and the second half lacks the sense of urgency and discovery that can really carry a movie, but I’d still recommend it for the atmosphere and some fine, creepy moments. Not bad for a writedirector’s first full length feature.
Gore: 3/10. Nudity: None. Trivia: While Moloch has often been thought of as a deity to whom children were sacrificed, more recent research suggests it was instead a type of sacrifice, one that involved children and was performed for various gods in the Levant, including the god of the Hebrews. Shudder
Lovely, Dark, and Deep (2023): “You’ve taken from us.” Georgina Campbell (Barbarian) is a forest ranger taking her first 90-day assignment in the deepest part of the woods in her fictional park. We see her settle in, go on multi-day walkabouts, and wrestle with a loss in her past. It’s a slow, scenic build to the weirdness, but it snowballs quickly. There’s a “walking simulator” aspect that follows which may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but Campbell kept me invested with her performance. While the film follows some tropes (things there one moment and gone the next, for example), it turns others on its head. While “in the forest” stories can go very different ways (as The Ritual, Gaia,and In the Earth demonstrate), I finished LD&D thinking of it as a folk horror. I’m curious if you agree. Gore: 5/10 for some red moments. Nudity: None. Trivia: The title comes from a Robert Frost poem you may have encountered in school. Tubi
What fine or forgettable flicks have been on your list this week?

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I know this is wholesome sub but sunno mohalle walo meri aap biti 😂
I have been a good academically and a decent person. I met so many good women in my life, too, whom I dated casually and had a few serious relationships. Except for two times, I exited those serious relationships very early because I didn’t feel anything, so we parted ways on good terms. But do baar mujhe pyaar hua. I will tell you about them only.

1. This is my first love and someone I have known since my childhood. She was the daughter of a relative (I mean my bua’s relative, actually). She used to study at my school too. In high school, she chased me for a year, and finally, I gave in. We started dating; it was my first love, and I was happy. Kasme, waade, sapne bohot dekhe. I was a sort of grounded person; I live in the present and enjoy it thoroughly, but she was futuristic with lots of promises and future dreams. "I will have your kids, we will travel the world," blah blah. I did everything to keep her happy. I used to cook for her, I used to write poems for her, we used to go on dates often, and we traveled. But one fine day, I got an invitation to a wedding. Guess what? It was her wedding. I had so many questions: why, how, when? But I got no closure. I never asked for it. I went to the wedding because it was a family thing, and yeah, I never looked back (this was my longest relationship).
   
2. After few years and meeting so many people, I fell in love again. To be honest, this time we fell for each other during the initial conversations. Again, there were dreams, sapne, waade. She moved to North America for me, and we moved together into a single house. By this time, I had become a pro at cooking, so I used to go to study, then the office, then back home to cook something delicious for us. I can cook any cuisine irrespective of the continent or country. Till now, I have learned many other skills like piano and guitar, so I used to sing for her, play for her, and we used to dance together. Everything was good; we had mutual friends, and we knew a guy mutually. That guy didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. I did have a problem with things because my ex told me he does not like me. But I don’t own her; I don’t own anyone. Actually, anyone can do anything in their life.
   

So, one fine day, I got a video message. It was them doing the deeds. I was shocked and broken and didn’t understand a thing. I tried to gather courage and be rational. She came back and was trying to talk to me. Then I told her I wanted to break up. She asked me why, and I said I was out of love. She started crying and begging, saying that she loves me. Then she started accusing me and some of my other female friends, implying something was going on. She said, "You used to love me and now want to throw me out. Where would I go? I came here from India for you," and all that stuff. I tried to control myself, but then I gave in and showed her the video. Then she was like, "I am sorry, I love you a lot. You are my life; I want to marry you. He made me drunk and took advantage of me. Please forgive me." At that point, I firmly decided this was it. I told her she could stay till she found accommodation, then I went to my friend's home and stayed there for a few days. But she kept pursuing me. I canceled the lease and changed my house; still, she did the same thing. During this whole ordeal, I had to change my house twice and delete my Instagram, and finally, now I am free.
I don’t know why all this happened. I don’t know what else I could have done so that they didn’t do that to me. Maybe I was not a good partner. There could be any other reasons. But I don’t hold any grudges against them. I wish wherever they are, they are happy.
These experiences were very important for me; they made me who I am today. I don't hold anything against anyone. These are just two instances. In my life, I have met so many amazing women and am friends with them too.
What’s next? I am kinda hopeful that I will find love. But Thik hai, nahi mila to mami Jo karegi Accha hi karegi. But whoever I have in my life, I will look for two qualities in them, no matter how they look or other things: loyalty and the ability to stand for what they believe in. If they leave, they should leave being brave and open about it. I don’t care about other things like distance, looks, status, or whatever else.
TL;DR: I've had a few serious relationships, but two major ones stood out. The first was with my childhood love who suddenly got married to someone else without any closure for me. The second was with someone who moved to North America for me, but she cheated on me with a mutual friend. After discovering this, I ended the relationship and had to move houses and delete social media to get away from her.

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I know this sub is for Tinder or dating apps, and my life stories may not have a place here, but I have been following this sub for a long time. So, I wanted to share with you guys. I don’t think I was wrong, but let’s see your perspective too.
I have been a good academically and a decent person. I met so many good women in my life, too, whom I dated casually and had a few serious relationships. Except for two times, I exited those serious relationships very early because I didn’t feel anything, so we parted ways on good terms. But do baar mujhe pyaar hua. I will tell you about them only.
1.This is my first love and someone I have known since my childhood. She was the daughter of a relative (I mean my bua’s relative, actually). She used to study at my school too. In high school, she chased me for a year, and finally, I gave in. We started dating; it was my first love, and I was happy. Kasme, waade, sapne bohot dekhe. I was a sort of grounded person; I live in the present and enjoy it thoroughly, but she was futuristic with lots of promises and future dreams. "I will have your kids, we will travel the world," blah blah. I did everything to keep her happy. I used to cook for her, I used to write poems for her, we used to go on dates often, and we traveled. But one fine day, I got an invitation to a wedding. Guess what? It was her wedding. I had so many questions: why, how, when? But I got no closure. I never asked for it. I went to the wedding because it was a family thing, and yeah, I never looked back (this was my longest relationship).
2.After a few years and meeting so many people, I fell in love again. To be honest, this time we fell for each other during the initial conversations. Again, there were dreams, sapne, waade. She moved to North America for me, and we moved together into a single house. By this time, I had become a pro at cooking, so I used to go to study, then the office, then back home to cook something delicious for us. I can cook any cuisine irrespective of the continent or country. Till now, I have learned many other skills like piano and guitar, so I used to sing for her, play for her, and we used to dance together. Everything was good; we had mutual friends, and we knew a guy mutually. That guy didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. I did have a problem with things because my ex told me he does not like me. But I don’t own her; I don’t own anyone. Actually, anyone can do anything in their life.
So, one fine day, I got a video message. It was them doing the deeds. I was shocked and broken and didn’t understand a thing. I tried to gather courage and be rational. She came back and was trying to talk to me. Then I told her I wanted to break up. She asked me why, and I said I was out of love. She started crying and begging, saying that she loves me. Then she started accusing me and some of my other female friends, implying something was going on. She said, "You used to love me and now want to throw me out. Where would I go? I came here from India for you," and all that stuff. I tried to control myself, but then I gave in and showed her the video. Then she was like, "I am sorry, I love you a lot. You are my life; I want to marry you. He made me drunk and took advantage of me. Please forgive me." At that point, I firmly decided this was it. I told her she could stay till she found accommodation, then I went to my friend's home and stayed there for a few days. But she kept pursuing me. I canceled the lease and changed my house; still, she did the same thing. During this whole ordeal, I had to change my house twice and delete my Instagram, and finally, now I am free.
I don’t know why all this happened. I don’t know what else I could have done so that they didn’t do that to me. Maybe I was not a good partner. There could be any other reasons. But I don’t hold any grudges against them. I wish wherever they are, they are happy.
These experiences were very important for me; they made me who I am today. I don't hold anything against anyone. These are just two instances. In my life, I have met so many amazing women and am friends with them too.
What’s next? I am kinda hopeful that I will find love. But Thik hai, nahi mila to mami Jo karegi Accha hi karegi. But whoever I have in my life, I will look for two qualities in them, no matter how they look or other things: loyalty and the ability to stand for what they believe in. If they leave, they should leave being brave and open about it. I don’t care about other things like distance, looks, status, or whatever else.
TL;DR: I've had a few serious relationships, but two major ones stood out. The first was with my childhood love who suddenly got married to someone else without any closure for me. The second was with someone who moved to North America for me, but she cheated on me with a mutual friend. After discovering this, I ended the relationship and had to move houses and delete social media to get away from her. These experiences were tough but important, shaping who I am today.

Hi, clowns! Found lots of connections to an essay Sylvia Plath wrote and TTPD. Lots of info below, but was interesting!
TL; DR Plath’s college thesis paper is all about troubled poets and their “DOUBLES.”
Initial Tortured Poets and Sylvia Plath Connections
Of course, the theme of TTPD is tortured poets, so many avid literary Swifties have enjoyed seeking connections between Swift’s new songs and iconic poetry. No connections are overt, but some seem to be more likely than others. Namely, there’s been much discussion of Virginia Woolf thanks to the song “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”(perhaps a riff on the Edward Albee play title). Other Swifties have found possible lyrical links to Mary Shelley and Charlotte Bronte. Swift herself references Patti Smith and Dylan Thomas in the album’s title track.
I remembered a third poet in relation to Smith and Thomas: Sylvia Plath, obviously an all timer of a tortured poet. I remember hearing an anecdote that she had been obsessed with Thomas and stalked him outside the Chelsea Hotel (also named in the TTPD title track). I did a quick skim of Plath’s Wikipedia to confirm and then started noticing many possible connections to TTPD and Plath’s life.
In the “Fortnight” music video, Swift acts out being institutionalized for insanity and getting electric shock treatment—two significant experiences in Plath’s life. Plath was also coupled with a deeply problematic man, Ted Hughes. Plath fell in love with Hughes for his artistic talent before he revealed himself to be an unsupportive parter, ultimately cheating on Plath with a younger woman. The narrative is not too dissimilar to the narrative about Swift’s alleged ex Matty Healy, as seemingly told in TTPD. (Of course, we don’t know the true subjects of Swift’s songs—if they’re even actually confessional—but some key hints point to Healy. Whether those hints provide actual context to Swift’s life or to the story Swift is telling of her life, one cannot know.) Finally, several of TTPD songs reference a latent desire for suicide (“I might as well die / it would make no difference” etc.). Okay, post-“finally,” these are stretches, but, I’ll note anyway: one of Plath’s most famous collections of poems is titled Ariel, but an alternate title was Daddy. There are connections to both words in TTPD via the song “But Daddy I Love Him.” The title is a line from the Disney movie The Little Mermaid (which features the main character Ariel, a mermaid, caught between two worlds). Extra clowning: some people (hi, I'm people) believe Swift’s 1989 costume for her first Paris concert was an allusion to Ariel: a pink crop top and a seafoam skirt.
As I dug into Plath's life, I couldn’t help but also see similarities to Swift's life. Both women were prolific writers from a very young age. Also, although possibly obscured through artistic license, both women were/are known to write about their own lives. (Plath was apparently encouraged by her professors Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton to write from her experience. I cannot help but tie in Swift’s “The Manuscript” lyric “the Professor said to write what you know.”) Both Plath and Swift expressed/express their depression via their writing, but if you only knew them from their public personas, you’d never guess the depths of their struggles. It seems both Plath and Swift lived/live double lives. Plath was actually fascinated by the concept of doubles. In fact, the concept of doubling was the topic of Plath’s college thesis paper “The Magic Mirror.”
The Magic Mirror and TTPD
Plath’s college paper is sadly not available to the general public. (It had a limited print run in, you guessed it, 1989.) But! I was able to read a few texts about the thesis, and the amount of possible TTPD references is astounding.
Since we can’t analyze Swift’s work via Plath’s directly, I’d like to share several key quotes from the most telling article I could find about the “The Magic Mirror”: “Sylvia Plath’s Magic Mirror” by Kelly Coyne (May 2018, The Los Angeles Review of Books). (To be noted, Coyne has also written about Swift, in her article “Growing Up In Taylor Swift’s America” in December 2023 on Literary Hub—a fabulous read!)
Early in her article, Coyne sets the scene for Plath's thesis:
“Her undergraduate thesis, which she wrote as a senior at Smith College...is titled “The Magic Mirror: A Study of the Double in Two of Dostoevsky’s Novels.” “The Magic Mirror” explores literary doubles made up of a character’s repressed traits, and, as the double grows in power, it heralds the protagonist’s death. Citing Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as well as Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Plath argued that the choice to create a double works to “reveal hitherto concealed character traits in a radical manner” and simultaneously exposes the driving conflicts of the novel housing that character. Her thesis claims that both Ivan, of The Brothers Karamazov, and Golyadkin, of The Double, have attempted to repress troubling aspects of their personalities, resulting in the double.”
Immediately, I imagine the two versions of Swift from the “Anti-Hero” music video. One Swift is real, true, sensible. The other is a pot-stirring, self-esteem destroying, alcoholic. During Eras, the huge Swift (monster on a hill) screams and stomps around in the background while the real, true Swift smiles and dances in a sparkle dress onstage. The fandom seems to be referring to these two Swifts as Taylor Swift and TAYLOR SWIFT (TM). Folks have theorized Post-Malone in the Fortnight music video is not necessarily a lover, but a twin, or double, of Swift. This theory is enhances by the Eras visuals during that song, specifically two dancers walking away to the back of the stage, but then becoming one.
More Coyne: “Plath, quoting Dostoyevsky in her thesis, noted that Ivan’s double, Smerdyakov, is “wrinkled” and “yellow.” The distinct differences in appearance between originator and double, she continued, are meant to reflect the protagonist’s mental state and cultural status.”
First of all, yellow. In the Gaylor community, folks have often theorized yellow symbolizes being closeted—a reading based on the symbolic coloring in the 1999 film …But I’m a Cheerleader. However, one need not be a Gaylor to consider the importance of yellow to Swift’s storytelling. Most recently, Swift performed “my tears ricochet” at Eras in a bright yellow dress, as her dancers were dressed for a funeral. Following Coyne’s analysis of Plath's analysis of Dostoyevsky, one could guess Swift is teasing a death of some version of herself.
Coyne discusses how Plath clearly used a “double” of herself to write The Bell Jar. Plath herself spent a summer in New York interning for Mademoiselle. The protagonist in TBJ, Esther, spends a summer in New York interning at a magazine too. To go even further down the rabbit hole, Esther also doubles herself, frequently expressing normalcy on the outside and despair on the inside. On the book's first page, Esther tells her audience, “I was supposed to be having the time of my life.” (Again, I cannot help but hear a Swift echo of, “I can read your mind / she’s having the time of her life” from “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” about smiling through her depression.) Coyne makes many more references to mirrors and concealing in The Bell Jar, Ether’s split (and sadness) gets worse and worse the more she hides who she is from others. Notably, at a low point, Esther hides under her mother’s bed. (And Swift sings of a post-heartbreak depression, “Afterwards she only ate kids' cereal / And couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed.”)
Coyne writes about the “imprisoned” aspect of doubles: “The wound from which Esther tries, and fails, to hide chimes with the inescapable, colonizing double, and Plath’s language again illustrates its penal nature: it is inside Esther, but it traps her like a jail cell.” (Again, I cannot help but see references to “Fresh Out the Slammer”, “The Smaller Man Who Ever Lived,” and the TTPD Eras visuals of cages and cell lighting.)
Coyne, on Plath’s doubles’ names, something Swift has not ever used (or so we think): “From her conception of The Bell Jar all the way to its final revisions, Plath suffered an exhausting amount of anxiety over its heroine’s name.” Plath wrote to a friend, “‘I’ll have to publish it under a pseudonym, if I ever get it accepted, because it’s so chock full of real people I’d be sued to death’...Indeed, this wasn’t mere paranoia; she did have to change her protagonist’s name at the instruction of her editor for legal reasons.”
Coyne continues, “Most novelists likely have concerns about being associated with the characters to whom they give life, especially the ugly ones, and especially when the character resembles its author. Yet what is unique about Plath’s case is her knowledge of the theoretical underpinnings and implications of her choice to push Esther away, and the hold this knowledge assumed on Plath’s work and life. Another look at The Bell Jar with a consideration of Esther as Plath’s double tangles the issue even further, and Plath drops clues for this kind of reading throughout the novel. Esther, for example, sits down to write her own novel and recounts, “My heroine would be myself, only in disguise. She would be called Elaine. Elaine. I counted the letters on my fingers. There were six letters in Esther, too. It seemed a lucky thing.” Not coincidentally, Plath’s first name has six letters as well.” Again, Plath was in a bizarre double infinity loop (like the loop on the Eras stage in “Down Bad”?). Plath was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel, who was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel.
Coyne wraps up her findings: “In her thesis, written nearly a decade earlier, as she turned 22 — the year after her first documented suicide attempt — Plath claimed, quoting Otto Rank:
In such situations, where the Double symbolizes the evil or repressed elements in man’s nature, the apparition of the Double “becomes a persecution by it, the repressed material returns in the form of that which represses.” Man’s instinct to avoid or ignore the unpleasant aspects of his character turns into an active terror when he is faced by his Double, which resurrects those very parts of his personality which he sought to escape. The confrontation of the Double in these instances usually results in a duel which ends in insanity or death for the original hero.”
Coyne seems to argue Plath believed an artist's double has the power to become bigger than the artist herself, ultimately killing her. Is TTPD Swift's predetermination of, hopefully, her her double's death instead of her own?
In Conclusion: Plath to her Mentor, Dessner on Swift
Who knows what TTPD is really truly about, and who knows if we ever will.
The biggest Easter egg, hiding in plain sight, is that the album is titled THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT. There’s no apostrophe after “poet.” Nor is there an apostrophe after the “s” in “poets.” The department does not belong to a poet or to a collection of poets. It is a department OF tortured poets, perhaps two, to be exact. …or perhaps the album indicates the departure of the tortured poet...and her double.
I’ll sign off with two final quotes from my research:
According to Coyne, three months before Plath died by suicide, she had written a mentor about her second (obviously unfinished) book. Plath wrote, “It is to be called “Doubletake”, meaning that the second look you take at something reveals a deeper, double meaning […] it is semi-autobiographical about a wife whose husband turns out to be a deserter and philanderer although she had thought he was wonderful & perfect.”
According to Aaron Dessner’s TTPD release Instagram post: ”Keep searching and you'll find some new detail, layer or sliver of meaning with each listen.”
SUBREDDIT PS! Shout out to Expensive_Succotash5 for noting the TTPD intro poem's reference to being out of the oven, could be an allusion to Plath's death. Also shout-out to Good-Amphibian-7993 for this connection to a photo of Plath with a rose, not unlike Swift's album rose art.

1. Jadis. I’d like to slap her a** back to whatever dystopian Dr. Seuss land she came from.
   
2. Morgan. “Nobody has to die.” 🙄 Yes they do, Morgan. Just stop.
   
3. Carol. Killing people in their sleep and snuffing children one minute, but offing some kidnappers who are trying to murder you and your tribe is what pushes you over the edge. 🙄🙄
   
4. Rosita & Sasha. Get your emotions together and stop doing dumb ish. Why would y’all keep trying to take Negan on your own, getting other people killed over and over? 🙄🙄🙄
   
5. Abe. You did Rosita dirty and turned her from one of my faves to an insufferable b, all because your apocalypse fboy a** don’t know how to execute a breakup properly.
   
6. Negan. You do the absolute most with all that swaying and leaning when you talk, but your obnoxiousness did grow on me by the end of the season.
   
7. Darryl. Keep your a** at the kingdom until it’s go time, dawg. I already lost Glenn and Abe! I can’t afford to lose you too!
   
8. Morgan. Oh, so now you want to kill people again, and you decide to start with one of the kingdom’s most valuable fighters? I can’t.
   
9. Dwight. His initial anger toward Darryl at the train tracks made no sense. If anything, he owed him a solid. He should be higher up on this list.
   
10. Jadis. No you didn’t!!! This is my first watch of the series and I cannot wait to see you and the rest of your trash posse get yours.
    

I tried to write down every single movie available on my flights in March 2024. I handwrote some of my notes to pass the 13 hours which is why there are ??? when I couldn't read my own writing/abbreviations. Note that not all titles were available on all flights, and my list is missing a chunk of them (especially titles beginning with "S" for some reason). Hope someone finds it useful! Maybe someone will get to creating a Letterboxd list of them all before me! [Posted this in movies and thought delta users might find it useful too]

10 Things I Hate About You
101 Dalmatians
12 Angry Men
13 Going on 30
17 Again
2001: A Space Odyssey
27 Dresses
500 Days of Summer
80 for Brady
A Beautiful Mind
A Bug's Life
A Cinderella Story
A Compassionate Spy
A Fantastic Woman
A Few Good Men
A Good Year
A Haunting in Venice
A League of Their Own
A Room with a View
A Separation
A Simple Plan
A Simple Wish
A.I. Artificial Intelligence
Abominable
Adam's Rib
Airheads
Akeelah and the Bee
Aladdin
Alice Through the Looking Glass
Alvin and the Chipmunks
Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked
American Graffiti
American Street Kid
Amores Perros
An Inconvenient Truth
Anatomy of a Fall
Angels in the Outfield
Aquaman
Assassin Club
Asteroid City
Avatar: Way of Water
Avengers: Infinity War
Back to the Future
Bad Company
Barb and Star: Vista del Mar
Barbie
Batman
Batman Begins
Batman Returns
Batman vs. Superman Dawn
Battle of the Sexes
Beauty and the Beast
Beetlejuice
Being Mary Tyler Moore
Bend it Like Beckham
Better Luck Tomorrow
Big
Big George Foreman
Billy Elliott
Birds of Prey: Harley Quinn
Birthright Outlaw
Blackberry
Blade
Blade II
Blade Runner 2049
Blade Trinity
Blended
Blinded by the Light
Blue Beetle
Bolt
Bottoms
Brave
Brazil
Bridesmaids
Bridget Jones' Diary
Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason
Bring It On
Brown Sugar
Buoyancy
But I'm a Cheerleader
Call Me by Your Name
Carmen Jones
Central Intelligence
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Cheaper by the Dozen
Chevalier
Chicken Run
Child's Play
Children of a Lesser God
Chinatown
Cinderella
Clifford the Big Red Dog
Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
Clueless
Colossal
Condor's Nest
Cool Hand Luke
Coraline
Couples Retreat
Crazy Rich Asians
Crazy Stupid Love
Creed
Creed II
Crooklyn
Cruella
Chr. G
Dark Waters
Darkest Hour
Dawnland
Dazed and Confused
DC: League of Super Pets
Dear White People
Dee. Boys
Delivery Man
Desperately Seeking Susan
Despicable Me
Despicable Me 2
Despicable Me 3
Diary of a Wimpy Kid
Dret ard
Dr. Doolittle
Down with Love
Dr. Seuss Horton Hears a Who
Dr. Seuss The Grinch
Dr. Grinch The Lorax
Dreamgirls
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Drumline
Due Date
Dumb and Dumber
Dumb Money
Dune
Dunkirk
E.T.
Edge of Tomorrow
Eggs Over Easy
Elemental
Enter the Dragon
E????
Erin Brockovich
Eternals
Evan Almighty
Everest
Everything Everywhere All at Once
Evil Dead Rises
Expendables 4
F9: Fast Saga
Fallen
Fantastic Beasts
Fantastic Beasts: Crimes of Grindewald
Fantastic Beasts: Secrets of Dumbledore
Fargo
F&F: Hobbes and Shaw
Fast X
Father of the Bride
Feramana???
Ferner????
Field of Dreams
Finding Dory
Finding Nemo
First Man
Focus
Following
Fools Rush In
Forrest Gump
Freaky
Freaky Friday
Freelance
Frida
Friday
Frozen 2
Frozen River
Game Night
Gangster Squad
Garfield
Garfield: Tail of 2 Kitties
Get Smart
Ghostbusters
Glass
Glory
Godzilla vs Kong
Going in Style
Good Morning Vietnam
Gosford Park
Grand Torino
Gran Turismo
Gravity
Grease
Grease 2
Gremlins
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3
Guy Richie's The Covenant
Hacksaw Ridge
Half Nelson
Hanna
Happy Death Day
Happy Feet 2
Harlan County USA
Harold and Kumar: White Castle
Harry Potter 1-8
Haunted Mansion
He's Just Not That Into You
Her
Hereafter
Hocus Pocus
Honor Society
Horrible Bosses
Hotel Transylvania
House Party
How to Be Single
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
How to Train your Dragon
Hypnotic
I Am Legend
I Didn't See You There
I, Tonya
Ice Age: Collision Course
Ice Age: Continental Drift
Ice Age: Dawn of Dinosaurs
Ice Age: Meltdown
Ice on Fire
If Beale Street Could Talk
In the Heart of the Sea
In the Heights
In the Name of the Father
Inception
Incredibles 2
Indiana Jones: Dial of Destiny
Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom
Insidious: The Red Door
Insomnia
Instructions not INcluded
It
Jerry & Marge Go Large
Jersey Boys
John Wick
John Wick 2
John Wick 3
Joker
Jonah: A VeggieTales Movie
Journey to the Center of the Earth
Judas and the Black Messiah
Jules
Jumanji
Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle
Jurassic Park
Jurassic World
Just Married
Just my Luck
Kazaam
Kit Kittredge
Kramer vs Kramer
Kubo and the Two Strings
Kung Fu Panda
Kung Fu Panda 2
Kung Fu??????
La La Land
Labyrinth
Lady in the Water
Lakota Nation vs United States
Legally Blonde
Liar Liar
Life of the Party
Lightyear
Lilo and Stitch
Lion
Little Women
Living
Lo------
Lone Survivor
Love and Basketball
Love Again
Love Jones
Ma-d_____ ?
Madagascar
Madagascar Escape
Made of Honor
Mafia Mamma
Magic Mike's Last Dance
Malt------
Momma's Boy
Mamma Mia
Mamma Mia Here We Go Again
March of the Penguins
Mat------
Mean Girls
Meet the Parents?
Memento
Michael Clayton
Milk
Minions
Minions: Rise of Gru
Misery
Miss Congeniality
Missing Link
Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning
Mississippi Masala
Moana
Monster In Law
Monsters Inc
Monsters University
Moonlight
Mortal Enemies
Mr. Malcolm's List
Mulan
Mummies
Murder by Numbers
Murder on the Orient Express
Muriel's Wedding
My Animal
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
My Family
My Girl
National Lampoon's Vacation
Neighbors 2
Neruda
New Year's Eve
News of the World
Nights in Rodanthe
Nine Queens
No
No Country for Old Men
No Murches Frida??
Nomadland
Notting Hill
Ocean's 8
Ocean's 13
October Sky
Of tn age??
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Onward
Oppenheimer
Origin
Over the Hedge
Pacific Rim
Pandas
Pan's Labyrinth
ParaNorman
Paris is Burning
Past Lives
Paw Patrol: Mighty
Paw Patrol: More
Pee Wee's Big Adventure
Perfect Strangers
Persepolis
Phantom Thread
Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game
Pitch Perfect
Pitch Perfect 3
Planes
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Pokemon: Detective Pikachu
Practical Magic
Pride and Prejudice
Primal Fear
Priscilla
Psycho
Pulp Fiction
Puppy Love
Puss in Boots
Queen and Slim
Radical
RRadi--- Wwi?/
Raging Bull
Ra the Breata?
Rat Race?
Ratatouille
Ready Player One
Real Women Have Curves
Red Tails
Reforge
Renfield
Repo Man
Rocky
Ruby Gillman
Rumor Has It
Rush Hour 2
RV
Róise & Frank
Sacfint??
Saving Face
Saving Private Ryan
School Daze
Scoob!
Scooby Doo
Scrapper
Scream VI
Searching
Selena
Selma
Semi Pro
Seven
Shaft
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
Significant Other
?
?
Skyfall
Smallfoot
Smoke?
Snowpiercer
?
Something's Gotta Give
?
?
Soul Surfer
Space Jam
Space Oddity
Sp Ra ????
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
Spider-Man: Homecoming
Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse
Split
Spy Game?
Spy Kids
Stone and D????
Ste W s5t?
Stomp the Yard
Storks
Sweet Home Alabama
Tag
Talk to Me
Tangled
Tee as Go!??
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Tenet
The Adia Prse?
The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster
The Baby-Sitters Club
The Best Man
The Big Lebowski
The Big Short
The Biggest Little Farm
The Bird Cage
The Blind Side
The Blues Brothers
The Bodyguard
The Boogeyman
The Book of Life
The Boss Baby: Family Business
The Bourne Identity
The Boxer
The Breakfast Club
The Bucket List
The Caine Mutiny
The Campaign
The Castle
The Chronicles of Narnia
The Chronicles of Narnia 2
The Chronicles of Narnia 3
The Creator
The Croods New Age
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight Rises
The Dark Side
The Dead Don't Die
The Dry?
The Equalizer
The Exorcist: Believer
The Fabulous Filipino Brothers
The Fast and Furious (#1)
The S Heartbeats?
The Has???
The Gentlemen
The Good Nurse
The Goonies
The Great Wall
The Guard
The Harvest (La Cosecha)
The H????
The Hobbit
The Hobbit 2
The Hobbit 3
The Holdovers
The Hunger Games: Ballad of Snakes and Songbirds
The Hunger Games
The Hunger Games 2
The Hunger Games 3
The Hunger Games 4
The Hunt for Red October
The Huntsman: Winter’s War
The Incredibles
The Intern
The Invention of Lying
The Iron Giant
The Island
The Jungle Book
The Karate Kid
The Kids are Alright
The Lake House
The Land Before Time
The Last Out
The Last Samurai
The Lego Batman Movie
The Lego Movie
The Lesson
The Lion King
The Lion King
The Little Mermaid
The Little Mermaid
The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship
The Losers
The Man from UNCLE
The Marsh King’s Doughter
The Marvels
The Matrix: Resurrections
The Mitchells vs The Machines
The Mummy
The Neverending Story
The Nice Guys
The Nun II
The Odd Life of Timothy Green
The Other Zoey
The Outsiders
The Peanuts Movie
The Persian Version
The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything
The Place Beyond the Pines
The Popes Exorcist
The Pre--?
The Purge: Election Year
The Replacements
The Ring
The Secret Garden
The Secret Life of Pets
The Silence of the Lambs
The S --------
The ?
The ?
The ?
The ?
The ?
The Take
The Time Traveler's Wife
The True Cost
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
The Un---- Country
The Usual Suspects
The ???
The ????
The ?????
The Wedding Singer
The Wizard of Oz
The Wood
The Zookeeper's Wife
Theater Camp
Them---?
There Will Be Blood
Thurs?
Titanic
To Kill a Mockingbird
Tooooo?
Tom ??
Tommy Boy
Top Gun
Top Gun: Maverick
Toy Story 2
Toy Story 3
Toy Story 4
Train to Busan
Training Day
Transformers Rise
Trolls
Trolls World Tour
Troy
Tully
Turning Red
Umami
Us
??
V for Vendetta
V????
VeggieTales: Abe and the Amazing Promise
VeggieTales: Merry Larry and the True Light of Christmas
Vindicta
Vivo
Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit
War Dogs
We Were Soldiers
We're the Millers
Wedding Crashers
West Side Story
Wet Hot American Summer
Where the Wild Things Are
Wildhood
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Winters Bone
Wonder
Wonder Woman 1984
Wonka
Wreck It Ralph
Yes, Man
Yesterday
Young Punx: A Punk Parable
Zombieland

I tried to write down every single movie available on my Delta flights in March 2024. I handwrote some of my notes to pass the 13 hours which is why there are ??? when I couldn't read my own writing/abbreviations. Note that not all titles were available on all flights, and my list is missing a chunk of them (especially titles beginning with "S" for some reason). Hope someone finds it useful! Maybe someone will get to creating a Letterboxd list of them all before me!

10 Things I Hate About You
101 Dalmatians
12 Angry Men
13 Going on 30
17 Again
2001: A Space Odyssey
27 Dresses
500 Days of Summer
80 for Brady
A Beautiful Mind
A Bug's Life
A Cinderella Story
A Compassionate Spy
A Fantastic Woman
A Few Good Men
A Good Year
A Haunting in Venice
A League of Their Own
A Room with a View
A Separation
A Simple Plan
A Simple Wish
A.I. Artificial Intelligence
Abominable
Adam's Rib
Airheads
Akeelah and the Bee
Aladdin
Alice Through the Looking Glass
Alvin and the Chipmunks
Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked
American Graffiti
American Street Kid
Amores Perros
An Inconvenient Truth
Anatomy of a Fall
Angels in the Outfield
Aquaman
Assassin Club
Asteroid City
Avatar: Way of Water
Avengers: Infinity War
Back to the Future
Bad Company
Barb and Star: Vista del Mar
Barbie
Batman
Batman Begins
Batman Returns
Batman vs. Superman Dawn
Battle of the Sexes
Beauty and the Beast
Beetlejuice
Being Mary Tyler Moore
Bend it Like Beckham
Better Luck Tomorrow
Big
Big George Foreman
Billy Elliott
Birds of Prey: Harley Quinn
Birthright Outlaw
Blackberry
Blade
Blade II
Blade Runner 2049
Blade Trinity
Blended
Blinded by the Light
Blue Beetle
Bolt
Bottoms
Brave
Brazil
Bridesmaids
Bridget Jones' Diary
Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason
Bring It On
Brown Sugar
Buoyancy
But I'm a Cheerleader
Call Me by Your Name
Carmen Jones
Central Intelligence
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Cheaper by the Dozen
Chevalier
Chicken Run
Child's Play
Children of a Lesser God
Chinatown
Cinderella
Clifford the Big Red Dog
Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
Clueless
Colossal
Condor's Nest
Cool Hand Luke
Coraline
Couples Retreat
Crazy Rich Asians
Crazy Stupid Love
Creed
Creed II
Crooklyn
Cruella
Chr. G
Dark Waters
Darkest Hour
Dawnland
Dazed and Confused
DC: League of Super Pets
Dear White People
Dee. Boys
Delivery Man
Desperately Seeking Susan
Despicable Me
Despicable Me 2
Despicable Me 3
Diary of a Wimpy Kid
Dret ard
Dr. Doolittle
Down with Love
Dr. Seuss Horton Hears a Who
Dr. Seuss The Grinch
Dr. Grinch The Lorax
Dreamgirls
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Drumline
Due Date
Dumb and Dumber
Dumb Money
Dune
Dunkirk
E.T.
Edge of Tomorrow
Eggs Over Easy
Elemental
Enter the Dragon
E????
Erin Brockovich
Eternals
Evan Almighty
Everest
Everything Everywhere All at Once
Evil Dead Rises
Expendables 4
F9: Fast Saga
Fallen
Fantastic Beasts
Fantastic Beasts: Crimes of Grindewald
Fantastic Beasts: Secrets of Dumbledore
Fargo
F&F: Hobbes and Shaw
Fast X
Father of the Bride
Feramana???
Ferner????
Field of Dreams
Finding Dory
Finding Nemo
First Man
Focus
Following
Fools Rush In
Forrest Gump
Freaky
Freaky Friday
Freelance
Frida
Friday
Frozen 2
Frozen River
Game Night
Gangster Squad
Garfield
Garfield: Tail of 2 Kitties
Get Smart
Ghostbusters
Glass
Glory
Godzilla vs Kong
Going in Style
Good Morning Vietnam
Gosford Park
Grand Torino
Gran Turismo
Gravity
Grease
Grease 2
Gremlins
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3
Guy Richie's The Covenant
Hacksaw Ridge
Half Nelson
Hanna
Happy Death Day
Happy Feet 2
Harlan County USA
Harold and Kumar: White Castle
Harry Potter 1-8
Haunted Mansion
He's Just Not That Into You
Her
Hereafter
Hocus Pocus
Honor Society
Horrible Bosses
Hotel Transylvania
House Party
How to Be Single
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
How to Train your Dragon
Hypnotic
I Am Legend
I Didn't See You There
I, Tonya
Ice Age: Collision Course
Ice Age: Continental Drift
Ice Age: Dawn of Dinosaurs
Ice Age: Meltdown
Ice on Fire
If Beale Street Could Talk
In the Heart of the Sea
In the Heights
In the Name of the Father
Inception
Incredibles 2
Indiana Jones: Dial of Destiny
Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom
Insidious: The Red Door
Insomnia
Instructions not INcluded
It
Jerry & Marge Go Large
Jersey Boys
John Wick
John Wick 2
John Wick 3
Joker
Jonah: A VeggieTales Movie
Journey to the Center of the Earth
Judas and the Black Messiah
Jules
Jumanji
Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle
Jurassic Park
Jurassic World
Just Married
Just my Luck
Kazaam
Kit Kittredge
Kramer vs Kramer
Kubo and the Two Strings
Kung Fu Panda
Kung Fu Panda 2
Kung Fu??????
La La Land
Labyrinth
Lady in the Water
Lakota Nation vs United States
Legally Blonde
Liar Liar
Life of the Party
Lightyear
Lilo and Stitch
Lion
Little Women
Living
Lo------
Lone Survivor
Love and Basketball
Love Again
Love Jones
Ma-d_____ ?
Madagascar
Madagascar Escape
Made of Honor
Mafia Mamma
Magic Mike's Last Dance
Malt------
Momma's Boy
Mamma Mia
Mamma Mia Here We Go Again
March of the Penguins
Mat------
Mean Girls
Meet the Parents?
Memento
Michael Clayton
Milk
Minions
Minions: Rise of Gru
Misery
Miss Congeniality
Missing Link
Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning
Mississippi Masala
Moana
Monster In Law
Monsters Inc
Monsters University
Moonlight
Mortal Enemies
Mr. Malcolm's List
Mulan
Mummies
Murder by Numbers
Murder on the Orient Express
Muriel's Wedding
My Animal
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
My Family
My Girl
National Lampoon's Vacation
Neighbors 2
Neruda
New Year's Eve
News of the World
Nights in Rodanthe
Nine Queens
No
No Country for Old Men
No Murches Frida??
Nomadland
Notting Hill
Ocean's 8
Ocean's 13
October Sky
Of tn age??
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Onward
Oppenheimer
Origin
Over the Hedge
Pacific Rim
Pandas
Pan's Labyrinth
ParaNorman
Paris is Burning
Past Lives
Paw Patrol: Mighty
Paw Patrol: More
Pee Wee's Big Adventure
Perfect Strangers
Persepolis
Phantom Thread
Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game
Pitch Perfect
Pitch Perfect 3
Planes
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Pokemon: Detective Pikachu
Practical Magic
Pride and Prejudice
Primal Fear
Priscilla
Psycho
Pulp Fiction
Puppy Love
Puss in Boots
Queen and Slim
Radical
RRadi--- Wwi?/
Raging Bull
Ra the Breata?
Rat Race?
Ratatouille
Ready Player One
Real Women Have Curves
Red Tails
Reforge
Renfield
Repo Man
Rocky
Ruby Gillman
Rumor Has It
Rush Hour 2
RV
Róise & Frank
Sacfint??
Saving Face
Saving Private Ryan
School Daze
Scoob!
Scooby Doo
Scrapper
Scream VI
Searching
Selena
Selma
Semi Pro
Seven
Shaft
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
Significant Other
?
?
Skyfall
Smallfoot
Smoke?
Snowpiercer
?
Something's Gotta Give
?
?
Soul Surfer
Space Jam
Space Oddity
Sp Ra ????
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
Spider-Man: Homecoming
Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse
Split
Spy Game?
Spy Kids
Stone and D????
Ste W s5t?
Stomp the Yard
Storks
Sweet Home Alabama
Tag
Talk to Me
Tangled
Tee as Go!??
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Tenet
The Adia Prse?
The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster
The Baby-Sitters Club
The Best Man
The Big Lebowski
The Big Short
The Biggest Little Farm
The Bird Cage
The Blind Side
The Blues Brothers
The Bodyguard
The Boogeyman
The Book of Life
The Boss Baby: Family Business
The Bourne Identity
The Boxer
The Breakfast Club
The Bucket List
The Caine Mutiny
The Campaign
The Castle
The Chronicles of Narnia
The Chronicles of Narnia 2
The Chronicles of Narnia 3
The Creator
The Croods New Age
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight Rises
The Dark Side
The Dead Don't Die
The Dry?
The Equalizer
The Exorcist: Believer
The Fabulous Filipino Brothers
The Fast and Furious (#1)
The S Heartbeats?
The Has???
The Gentlemen
The Good Nurse
The Goonies
The Great Wall
The Guard
The Harvest (La Cosecha)
The H????
The Hobbit
The Hobbit 2
The Hobbit 3
The Holdovers
The Hunger Games: Ballad of Snakes and Songbirds
The Hunger Games
The Hunger Games 2
The Hunger Games 3
The Hunger Games 4
The Hunt for Red October
The Huntsman: Winter’s War
The Incredibles
The Intern
The Invention of Lying
The Iron Giant
The Island
The Jungle Book
The Karate Kid
The Kids are Alright
The Lake House
The Land Before Time
The Last Out
The Last Samurai
The Lego Batman Movie
The Lego Movie
The Lesson
The Lion King
The Lion King
The Little Mermaid
The Little Mermaid
The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship
The Losers
The Man from UNCLE
The Marsh King’s Doughter
The Marvels
The Matrix: Resurrections
The Mitchells vs The Machines
The Mummy
The Neverending Story
The Nice Guys
The Nun II
The Odd Life of Timothy Green
The Other Zoey
The Outsiders
The Peanuts Movie
The Persian Version
The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything
The Place Beyond the Pines
The Popes Exorcist
The Pre--?
The Purge: Election Year
The Replacements
The Ring
The Secret Garden
The Secret Life of Pets
The Silence of the Lambs
The S --------
The ?
The ?
The ?
The ?
The ?
The Take
The Time Traveler's Wife
The True Cost
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
The Un---- Country
The Usual Suspects
The ???
The ????
The ?????
The Wedding Singer
The Wizard of Oz
The Wood
The Zookeeper's Wife
Theater Camp
Them---?
There Will Be Blood
Thurs?
Titanic
To Kill a Mockingbird
Tooooo?
Tom ??
Tommy Boy
Top Gun
Top Gun: Maverick
Toy Story 2
Toy Story 3
Toy Story 4
Train to Busan
Training Day
Transformers Rise
Trolls
Trolls World Tour
Troy
Tully
Turning Red
Umami
Us
??
V for Vendetta
V????
VeggieTales: Abe and the Amazing Promise
VeggieTales: Merry Larry and the True Light of Christmas
Vindicta
Vivo
Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit
War Dogs
We Were Soldiers
We're the Millers
Wedding Crashers
West Side Story
Wet Hot American Summer
Where the Wild Things Are
Wildhood
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Winters Bone
Wonder
Wonder Woman 1984
Wonka
Wreck It Ralph
Yes, Man
Yesterday
Young Punx: A Punk Parable
Zombieland

Possible spoilers up ahead so read with caution!! Also would love to hear others opinions in the comments!
One of the worst things about engaging in this fandom no matter the platform is people seem to really misunderstand what the show is about. It is called Ginny AND Georgia not Ginny VS Georgia after all. The show is about their relationship and how even though yes they are both flawed, and one a literal murderer, they are both sympathetic in their own ways because it's all down to what they've been through.
Like ofc Georgia who lived her whole childhood being abused in every way by her parents would not really understand why Ginny needed emotional stability too. Her best parental figure as a kid was that woman from the Blood Eyes gang who saved her through the use of violence, so it's not shock she instilled those values into her kids too (doesn't make it right like she definitely needed a lot of therapy before actually being a mother but she never got that opportunity). This is also why the season 2 scene of her going to therapy with Ginny was so important (even if it was super invasive) because it's her starting to realise that she hasn't really been a good mother and that loving Ginny wasn't enough to protect her from other types of harm. It's like the first step in her trying to be a better person and get help. This is also why she killed Tom, Cynthia had done something great for her by helping her get rid of Gil (to an extent) and seeing her so broken up about Tom gave Georgia a way to show her kindness back in the only way she knows how. She was literally crying whilst doing it, she wasn't doing it because she's a sociopath or whatever people say, it's just all she knows. It's really sad when you think about it and I hope she gets a lot of help and gets to be happy in the end.
Now as for Ginny, I get that since we've seen first hand how much Georgia struggled (the abuse, not having food, the husbands ect), it's so easy to think she's being ungrateful given what Georgia went through trying to keep her safe and she was doing her best, but unfortunately the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And part of what Georgia did is find ways to disguise all the ugly parts (the dance parties to cover up Gil at the door, the pretty face paint to cover up her bruises, creating fry-yay since she had to miss the actual holiday) which definitely saved Ginny to an extent she just didn't know she had to do more because as a kid she didn't even have physical safety nevermind emotional safety which is why she never really realised how her other behaviours hurt her so much (like moving away and not ever giving her the chance to have friends). And this explains a lot of Ginny's annoying behaviour - which luckily she is getting help for - like cheating on Hunter and just being a bad friend in general she's never had actual meaningful relationships outside of her family before so of course she's not going to be the beat at maintaining them. And obviously she won't ever think about the actual consequences of things because Georgia moved her around so much she never really had to live with them before. And as for the poem, yes it was definitely harsh to us knowing why Georgia acts the way she does, but she's a child who has been through a lot too. Neither of them really know how to express their feelings in a healthy way (just as most teenagers don't god knows how many times me and my friends argued over the stupidest stuff but now we are all older and most of us have had therapy we are so much better off), but that doesn't meant Ginny was trying to hurt her. She has had so many feelings in her for so long and she was trying to get them out and have Georgia understand but she just took it the wrong way.
It's genuinely heart breaking watching 2 people who clearly love each other so much just completely misunderstand each other to the extent they continuously hurt each other.
Now don't get me wrong I'm not trying to say you can't dislike them, I mean it's all about personal preference, but we need to stop acting like to like one you have to hate the other because they aren't enemies. Can we please stop pitting them against each other?? Lets all be team Ginny AND Georgia <3
Anyway would love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts to add to my rant!!
TL;DR Both Georgia and Ginny have had bad childhoods in different ways which cause them to act terribly sometimes. A lot of Ginny's problems were caused because Georgia was never really given the chance to learn how to be a good mom, and Ginny in trying to express this often hurts her back. However this is part of the show, it doesn't mean we have to hate one to like the other. The beauty of it is how 2 flawed people can love each other so much but if they don't know how to comnunicate well, they will always hurt each other. I'm team Ginny AND Georgia.

I recently discovered there’s a club in my city that holds an open mic night once a month. You get four minutes on stage. I’ve never written or preformed comedy before. I plan on attending and just watching the other people’s set this month, then next month maybe try a set of my own.
For context, I’m pretty dry, sarcastic and say things I truly don’t mean for comedic effect.
Please check out what I’ve written so far and give me some creative feedback. Much appreciated, thank you!
Wow! Terrible idea alert!
No sugar coating it, this is gonna suck hard.
I’ve read the material and I guess ChatGPT was having an off day. Singularity is safe for now…
This is my first open mic ever, but I feel the need to mention my Patreon.
Let’s get serious though… about my Patreon
No, I wanna talk about finally finding a cure. Not for the pandemic, but the real virus, the woke mind virus. A lot of you are skeptical, but I can see one guy nodding along. He gets it.
No politics tonight. I tackle what really matters: racist impressions with puppets. But the thing is they’re not here yet, so it’s imagination time, close your eyes
I’m a liberal guy, but people have too many tattoos now. You used to have to be bad and scary to have them, now my CPA looks like he’s in the Yakuza
Recently hit the high seas and discovered a new breed of comedian: the cruise ship retiree doing ten sets a day. Met a guy doing his best Dave Chappelle. Dude, we just came from the Dr. Seuss water slide, I dunno if we’re primed for a discussion on free speech absolutism.
We’re more concerned with the ice cream machines than cancel culture debates. Read the cabin, this is like Wall-E in real life.

Here we go—I'm finally making a post!
So, after months of lurking (and a handful of half-written posts), I'm finally taking the plunge and giving this a shot. I know they say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but in my case, it begins with a single post. So, here goes nothing, right? Haha.
What am I looking for?
In a nutshell—authentic, meaningful conversation. A few days ago, a few other faculty members and I met up for an evening out to celebrate the end of finals. A few of us stayed pretty late, pontificating about life, talking about the most random topics, and basically just enjoying each other's company. I don't know about you, but in today's world (where so many of us are glued to Zoom screens and remote work), we need more of that sort of dynamic—just genuine, authentic, long-form discourse. I like to believe with the right sort of person (and the right sort of conversational skills), you can cultivate that sort of vibe in online conversation.
For example, when I think back to the past, one of my favorite memories was a lengthy conversation I had with a random stranger at a cozy little coffee shop in a small town in Upstate New York. We talked about everything from philosophy to the best type of coffee beans. That's the sort of conversation I crave!
A bit about me:

• I'm 34, male, and work in higher education.
• I finished my doctorate a few years ago (Finally! I can now add "doctor" to my name without having to prescribe anything or perform surgery, haha — although that dissertation was brutal, just sayin').
• I love the outdoors and often take local day trips to explore new trails and scenic spots.
• I have a passion for photography, always trying to capture that perfect shot (though my cat remains a stubbornly uncooperative model).
• Journaling and poetry are my ways of reflecting and expressing my thoughts, even if my poems often end up sounding like Dr. Seuss after too much coffee.
• Long hikes are my therapy. Nature has a way of putting things into perspective.
• I have a knack for making terrible puns. Consider yourself warned.
• I like to pretend I'm a trivia night enthusiast, though my knowledge of obscure 90s cartoons is more impressive than practical.
• I'm convinced that breakfast foods are acceptable at any time of the day. Pancakes for dinner, anyone?
• I’ve been known to binge-watch documentaries about anything from space exploration to ancient civilizations.
• I’m a coffee enthusiast and love experimenting with different brewing methods and beans.
• I’m secretly training for the “Olympics of Procrastination,” and I’m a gold medal contender.
• I pride myself on my ability to parallel park in one go – a skill I wish I could add to my résumé.
• My superpower is finding the perfect GIF for any situation.

So basically...
I'm hoping to find thoughtful interactions with folks who genuinely want to discuss all that life has to offer. I'm drawn to people with a natural zest and curiosity for life, who embrace a growth mindset, and who value emotional intelligence and strong communication skills. Whether we're delving into deep philosophical questions or sharing our favorite recipes, I'm looking for someone who appreciates the beauty of a well-rounded, engaging conversation.
If this sounds like you, send me a chat message! I'm looking forward to hearing from you!

SOURCE
I'm going to do something a bit different and take a close look at two major works from the DC Universe: Darwyn Cooke's The New Frontier, and James Robinson and Paul Smith's The Golden Age. If you're playing along at home, the texts I'm using are The Absolute New Frontier from 2006 and The Golden Age trade paperback from 1995.
First a bit of personal context: I didn't enjoy The New Frontier when it first came out, serialized in six quite expensive installments. I loved Cooke's art, I loved the use of some of the more obscure DC war characters, and I loved the characterization of the Martian Manhunter, but the narrative didn't work for me when read in small monthly doses back in 2004. I had read all of the full-length work Cooke had done up until 2004, and none of it had disappointed me at all. But The New Frontier seemed to read more like a tour through the 1950s and 1960s than an actual story. It wasn't until the final issue that I really understood what Cooke was leading up to, but then it was over, and I didn't have the time or the inclination to dig out the back issues and read the whole thing in one sitting. Even when I got the two-volume trade paperback collection a couple of years ago (in an eBay lot of trade paperbacks I bought off of none other than comic book scholar George Khoury), I still didn't bother to read it. To paraphrase Hemingway's Frederic Henry, we don't do the things we want to do.
So I never actually read the entire text of The New Frontier until this past winter, when I was able to sit down with the luxurious Absolute edition and dive into Cooke's illustrated world. I enjoyed it immensely, enough that I wanted to reread it again this summer, which is what I have just done, and now I want to talk about it. But I don't want to talk about it in isolation, and I'm interested in the connection between texts, so I'll also talk about its logical precursor: The Golden Age.
Like The New Frontier, Robinson and Smith's The Golden Age deals with the era between the 1940s and the 1960s. The era in which the comic book Golden Age grew into the comic book Silver Age. The era in which America was undergoing its own transformation, moving from threats abroad to suspicion at home. And just as I had difficulty enjoying The New Frontier as a serialized comic, I couldn't appreciate The Golden Age in that manner either. I only bought the first two issues, actually, back in the early 1990s, and then I lost interest, vaguely thinking that I might buy it as a collected edition some day (even though collections were not guaranteed the way they are today). I did buy it when the trade paperback was released, and because I had never finished it originally, I read the collection immediately. And I liked it. But I thought it was deeply flawed.
I reread The Golden Age yesterday, after thinking about it in regards to The New Frontier. It's not a surprising connection, after all. Cooke himself claims The Golden Age as an inspiration for his own work. But my memory of The Golden Age was a bit hazy, and I recalled it being a much more cynical view of the territory than what Cooke achieved in The New Frontier. My recall was pretty accurate--Robinson and Smith present a quite cynical view of the late Golden Age America.
Now that I've read both works back-to-back, I'm interested in exploring what each says about super-heroes, what each says about America, and how each achieves its (very different) effects. These are the kinds of things I'll be looking at over the next few days.
James Robinson's use of History in The Golden Age
One of the things that strikes me about both The New Frontier and The Golden Age is the way the creators weave American history into their stories. On the surface, such a technique might not be surprising, especially considering that both tales take place in the past. And while it may be true that a so-called "historical novel" or "period film" would be amiss to neglect the details of history which fit its setting, the same isn't always true for comics.
In comics, stories set in the past tend to take place in some vague memory of the past, without any apparent intent in locking the stories into a particular date or era. Take the typical origin stories, or "Year One" stories which DC Comics' creators have retold again and again. In such a story, whether it be Miller and Mazzuchelli's take on Batman, or Waid, Augustyn, and Kitson's take on the Justice League, the setting lacks a distinct time stamp. The characters are younger, true, but the setting lacks specific period detail. The reason for this isn't at all surprising, because locking the characters' past into a specific date would require some major explanations about their ages in the present. Had Miller time-stamped the date on Batman: Year One, and included captions saying "May 3rd, 1980," or whatever, then that might have worked for a few years, but even if we assume that Batman was only 23 when he took inspiration from that window-smashing flying rodent, according to that temporal continuity, he'd be 50 years old in the current stories. And he's clearly not.
So we expect stories set in the past to avoid any kind of specific references to contemporary history, at least in comics. A recent jarring exception to that can be found in Diggle and Jock's newly released Green Arrow: Year One, in which a young Oliver Queen references the "Kevin Costner" Robin Hood. That means Queen must have become Green Arrow sometime in the mid-1990s, which might explain his age today (if he was 22 in 1992, he'd be 37 today, which might be right), but it also implies that his son Connor must only be a teenager today, and he's clearly older than that. Perhaps the reference will work better 10 years from now when the Kevin Costner reference will become part of the vague historical past, but right now it seems too current to make sense.
Anyway, the other MAJOR exception to the rule of not using historical references in comics is the case of stories set during World War II. Even comic books written at the time of WWII regularly included time-stamp references in a way that later comics tended to avoid. Yes, since then, Superman has met Kennedy, and you might see analogues of Bill Clinton or George W. in a story or two, but in the 1940s heroes came face to face with major historical figures (contemporaries to them) on an almost daily basis. Here's FDR! Here's Superman grabbing Hitler on a cover! Here's Tojo! Here's Hawkman enlisting in the army to fight overseas! Etc. Such close ties between "comic book reality" and real-life events never matched the heights of the WWII comics.
And that's why later writers, Roy Thomas MOST prominently among them (he practically invented the whole idea of historical nostalgia super-hero comics), felt compelled to weave actual historical events into the retelling of stories from the WWII era. Thomas's Invaders for Marvel and his All-Star Squadron for DC playfully fit the timeline of actual US history into the fictional timeline of the past super-heroes. In his letter columns, Thomas would often explain (or justify, for the more contentious fans) how the chronology worked.
But, other than WWII era-stories, most comic book stories that take place in the past (unless they are time travel stories, which have their own rules) DO NOT USE SPECIFIC HISTORICAL REFERENCES. It's weird to imagine novels or films avoiding such references—they would surely be criticized for it—but in comics, it's commonplace.
So, in the case of both The New Frontier and The Golden Age, you have two rather significant violations of that standard "rule." And both of which seem deeply indebted to the type of approach Roy Thomas favored so much.
Let's take The Golden Age first, since it was published a decade before Cooke's work. The Golden Age seems like a logical off-shoot of Thomas's All-Star Squadron. It features many of the same characters, and Johnny Quick, a relatively obscure DC character from the past, would certainly not have been a suitable narrator for the story without the characterization Thomas provided in years of All-Star Squadron stories. James Robinson is clearly building on the foundation Thomas created. So, it's not surprising that he would, like Thomas, blend US history into his story. Yet Robinson's approach differs in two distinct ways: (1) He doesn't seem interested in the exact historical details and how they fit into his timeline—he seems more interested in the general sense of historical forces of the time, and (2) Unlike Thomas, who was writing out of a Golden and Silver Age optimism and a belief in the American Dream, Robinson was writing from a post-Watchmen perspective, as a foreign-born writer, who could play with the cynical expectations of the time.
Thus, Robinson gives us coke-sniffing "super-heroes," corruption, brutality, and sex in a tale which features the "pure" heroes of the DC Golden Age of comics. Robinson's approach is not to use specific elements of McCarthyism or the Red Scare (even though those ideas are referenced at least once), but to use the general sense of paranoia and panic, the cynical manipulation of the public for personal gain, and the looming threat of the bomb.
Ultimately, however, Robinson uses all of this as a backdrop for a traditional super-hero romp. The coke-sniffing "super-hero" turns out to be Hitler in disguise!!! (Well, actually the brain of Hitler in the body of a former kid sidekick—talk about a symbol of corruption!) And the hero-turned-power-hungry-politician in the form of the patriotic Mr. America turns out to be old JSA villain the Ultra-Humanite, who knows a thing or two about brain transplants. So, in the end, it's just a classic Golden Age story about punching Hitler and defeating an evil genius.
But it's Robinson's historical subtext which makes the story resonate. It's his use of those undercurrents of paranoia and despair which make these formerly perfect heroes of the past seem flawed and human. His story starts dark and becomes darker but, by the end, Robinson's veil of cynicism falls away, and he reveals himself to be a humanist, if not an optimist. His reverence for these Golden Age characters would not let them be truly corrupted—it had to be evil masterminds and Hitler all along.
And that, perhaps, is one of the failures of The Golden Age. The shock of the initial chapters is just a ruse, and as low as these characters seem to sink, everything can be explained by pseudo-science and comic book logic.
It's just another Justice Society of America story, ultimately, but it's a good one. And Robinson's use of the undercurrents from that era of history make it work, even if it never transcends its roots.
The New Frontier and Camelot
While The Golden Age used the historical subtext to evoke currents of paranoia and doom in a super-hero story, The New Frontier approaches history with a different agenda. As Ultimate Matt pointed out in response to yesterday's post, The Golden Age is labeled an "Elseworlds" title, which not only grants it an exemption from DC continuity, but it allows more freedom for the creators to take the characters and setting in a fresh direction.
The New Frontier, however, is not labeled as an "Elseworlds." And yet, it strays far more from the currently accepted version of continuity than The Golden Age does. The key word there is "accepted." Darwyn Cooke, in his annotations, states that he approached The New Frontier with a set of rules:

1. The timeline is real and covers 1945 to 1960. Silver Age characters appear at the time DC started publishing them.
   
2. Retcons haven't happened yet.
   
3. No New Frontier retcons could contradict original continuity—they had to complement existing continuity or show a fresh point of view.
   
4. When the story ended, everything had to be as it was when the JLA debuted in Brave and the Bold #28.
   
5. Snapper Carr does not exist.
   

In other words, you should be able to pull out your original comics from that era (or the Archive editions) and read them concurrently with The New Frontier and nothing Cooke does should contradict what happens in those old comics.
The problem with the continuity is that the comics from that era didn't have any continuity. It was never explained how a character could be on the moon in one issue of his own comic, and under the ocean in the same month in his Justice League adventure. All Golden and Silver Age DC continuity is a retcon. So what Cooke did was create his own continuity—he made his own sense out of the various adventures as they were originally published, although the bulk of the book deals with the time between major events. Just like The Golden Age, The New Frontier is about filling in the gaps.
While James Robinson filled the pre-Silver Age gap with an almost allegorical tale of Cold War paranoia and corruption, Darwyn Cooke fills the gap with a sense of wonder and idealism, and he uses his attitude toward history to solidify that tone.
Cooke's approach takes three strands: (1) The Right Stuff-inspired history of that era, embodied by the test pilots and early astronauts, (2) The early promise of the Kennedy administration, and (3) The strange DC comics history as seen in the stories published during that time. Cooke uses the first two strands to illuminate the latter. He puts the Silver Age ascension into perspective as part of a generation of hope and achievement. He shows that the formation of the Justice League was not a random incident, but part of a larger historical movement which led (in our reality) to things like the Peace Corps and Apollo 11.
Cooke ties together such disparate elements as The War that Time Forgot, The Challengers of the Unknown, Dr. Seuss, and all of the characters who would join the initial incarnation of the JLA into a single narrative. And although it takes quite a while before the villain emerges and the heroes band together, the narrative is structured around the real historical forces that would have shaped the creation of these characters. John Broome doesn't wax poetically about the symbolism of Hal Jordan's career as a test pilot in the original Green Lantern run from the Silver Age, but Cooke takes the fact that he was a test pilot and places him in the actual context of such a man. He even includes a scene where the young Jordan meets Chuck Yeager.
That's quite a different approach to history than we saw in The Golden Age, which covers a very similar time frame.
Although Cooke didn't intend (according to his "rules") to change any of the original stories, his interpretation of "fresh point of view" allows him to add things which would have been more historically true even if they weren't addressed in the comics of the time. For example, he not only changes Wonder Woman into an almost plump, hawkish, zestful character (to signify her Greek origins and Amazon heritage), but he creates an entirely new character to illuminate the civil rights struggle of the time. Since he had no black DC characters to draw upon, he created a Silver Age analogue to Steel, the black Superman ally. The Silver Age Steel, unlike his modern equivalent, isn't a technological marvel. Instead, this earlier incarnation of John Henry suffers at the hands of the KKK before taking vengeance, and ultimately dying when he's betrayed by an uncaring white America (symbolized by a blonde little girl, who points out his location to his pursuers). John Henry never meets the Justice League or teams up with any heroes. His death doesn't affect them at all, really, since they didn't know him. But Cooke includes a scene where Edward R. Murrow mourns the fallen hero and laments the state of the country, bringing an actual historical personage into the DC story.
The civil rights subplot, although powerful, is overwhelmed by the exceeding optimism of the other plot threads. Cooke's America, as full of conflict as it might have been, is one of scientific progress and movement toward a brighter future. His villain, ultimately revealed to be Dinosaur Island itself (a sentient being who has unleashed monster after monster), is even more absurd than the Hitler-brain-transplant nemesis in The Golden Age, but because Cooke accentuates the fun and spectacle of the super-heroes (and, to be clear, his emphasis is on the men and women in the costumes, and the risks they take for their heroism), the absurdity of the villain doesn't detract from the story.
Both The Golden Age and The New Frontier end with similar images (the first appearance of the Justice League banded together) and similar sentiments (hope for the future), but where James Robinson built that hope out of the wreckage of the 1940s, Darwyn Cooke builds it out of the dreams of the men and women who sacrificed for the promise of tomorrow.
Both books end with optimism for comic books and optimism for our country, but they took starkly different approaches to get there.
The Unstoppable Force of Progress: Characterization in The New Frontier
Since both The New Frontier and The Golden Age re imagine comic book chronology through one part actual US history, one part comic book history, and one part imagination, it's not surprising to find both Cooke and Robinson taking liberties with the characterization of these pre-Silver Age heroes. Both creators ask the question asked by any creator attempting to retell stories from the past: Okay, this is how they were portrayed, but what were the characters who did these things REALLY like?
I'll start by looking at The New Frontier. Cooke doesn't focus his story on one dominant point of view the way Robinson does (with Johnny Quick), but he tells his story through a few central characters:
Rick Flagg: Leader of the WWII-era Suicide Squad (and presumably the father, or grandfather, of the Ostrander-penned incarnation). Cooke presents him as a tough guy cliché. He's a Hemingway hero—he does what needs to be done and doesn't whine about it or waver in his determination. In Act III of the narrative, his position in the story is replaced by the similarly-characterized King Faraday, who also does what needs to be done, although he seems to have more internal conflict than Flagg. Faraday is a spy, after all, not a soldier. But both characters represent a government which has the best interests of the country in mind. If they hurt a few individuals along the way, that's a necessary sacrifice for the good of the many.
Hal Jordan: The man who would be Green Lantern is NOT portrayed as a cocky rocket jock, as he usually is in contemporary interpretations. Cooke turns his lack of fear into a self-destructive streak stemming from his face-to-face act of self-defense in Korea. In Cooke's universe, Jordan doesn't immediately become a hero just because an alien handed him a ring. It takes time for Jordan to learn that he deserves to be a hero, and that's a large part of what The New Frontier is about. He doesn't reveal himself in Green Lantern costume until AFTER he risks his life to save the world working as a pilot. The two-page "hero shot" of the characters walking towards camera (a la The Right Stuff) shows some costumed heroes, but Jordan is wearing a flight suit. Cooke seems to be showing that he needed to prove himself TO himself before he could accept his new identity, but his reluctance to use the power of the ring leads to Nathaniel Adam's death. (Adam is later reborn as Captain Atom in the comics, but that doesn't happen in this story, and as far as Jordan should be concerned, Adam is dead.) Cooke doesn't provide Jordan with any time for remorse, though, since he needs to use his ring to kick alien butt. The ring, by the way, is also shown as a symbol of destructive energy. When Jordan first uses it, he cannot control it, and it causes great damage. Cooke, then, seems to indicate that the ring might symbolize nuclear energy, and the subtext would be that Jordan's hesitance to use it led to another hero's death. Ultimately, Jordan is Cooke's symbol of the Kennedy era: conflicted, yet determined to bring forth a positive future—harnessing great powers for the good of the nation (and the world).
John Jones, the Manhunter from Mars: Jones says, "...this is a world where good and evil struggle in all levels of existence. I want to be a force for good." That's a simplistic view of humanity, but it's one seemingly shared by Cooke throughout this work. Good and evil may not be easily discernible on the surface, and Cooke gives us the threatening-looking John Henry (with a hangman's hood) as a hero and a little blonde girl as a villain, but the line between good and evil is absolute (and, in fact, John Jones assumes the role of a film-noirish detective so he can find the evil beneath the surface appearance of the world). Jones defines this ethical stance for the reader, and it represents the code of Golden and Silver Age comic books, which lacked anything but absolutes. Even though Cooke might try to provide some not-so-subtle shades of gray (Jordan as a murderer, Wonder Woman as feminist avenger, an undercurrent of xenophobia), his view of history seems to echo the simplicity of the comic book stories of the era. Individuals may not have always done the right things at all times, but it was an era of progress, and good triumphed over evil. The subtext could also indicate that governmental order triumphed over chaotic nature, with the unified heroes, under the leadership of the US government, destroying a threat that wasn't so much malicious as it was animalistic.
Even though Cooke's characterization of some of these characters, Hal Jordan in particular, might not match traditional representations of these individuals, I think it works in the context of the story. The characters serve the story and add a few layers to the text, but it's primarily a historical action spectacle, a celebration of progress over stagnation, and Cooke's characterization unifies the text. I don't think his characters have many hidden depths, but I think their lack of depth matches a story which is primarily about the grand force of history.
As one final observation: Cooke is actually better at small character moments with the minor characters than he is at developing convincing lead characters. The death of Johnny Cloud, Jimmy Olsen's eagerness, the sassiness of Carol Ferris, and several other character bits show Cooke's facility on the small scale, even if his epic narrative doesn't provide the opportunity for subtle nuances with the major characters.
Characterization in The Golden Age: Dragging Heroes to Earth
While Cooke ignores anyone else's retroactive continuity to graft archetypal personalities onto the early Silver Age heroes in The New Frontier, Robinson takes characters straight out of Roy Thomas's All-Star Squadron (like Johnny Quick on the left here) and Young All-Stars and sends them on a dark journey into the 1950s. Robinson does not re imagine these characters drastically, although he seems to do so with Mr. America (but that's part of his narrative ruse). Instead, he takes their established characterization and expands upon it by adding seeds of self-doubt, paranoia, and despair as the characters face a world in which the villains are not as easily identified as they once were. Robinson misdirects the reader at first by pretending to adopt a simplified Watchmen approach, pretending that he's showing what these characters would have been like without costumed villains to fight or gangsters to punch, when, in truth, he's simply changed the nature of the evil to something more covert and less easy to spot. (Which might seem Watchmen-esque as well, except Alan Moore showed us that the heroes were the villains in that story, and here, Robinson ultimately reveals that secret villains with brain-transplant powers were behind the whole thing from the beginning.)
Here's a quick rundown of the central characters in The Golden Age:
Johnny Chambers, a.k.a Johnny Quick: Johnny not only provides the book-ends to the story but, as a documentary filmmaker, he provides the exposition which sets up the story context. One of the things Robinson does NOT do well here, by the way, is clearly distinguish between narrative voice (provided through white, rectangular caption boxes), and newsreel voice over (also provided by white, rectangular caption boxes), although perhaps the colorist was supposed to use different color cues for each and didn't. The CHARACTERS who narrate, like Johnny Chambers, each have their own style of caption—Johnny's are rounded and blue, as you can see in the image. Actually, it's not that it's so difficult to identify the narrative voice, it's just that there is an omniscient narrator who pops up every once in a while for no good reason, and tells us things about the story sometimes, while other times he sounds like he's trying to give us character thoughts but not really: the highly subjective "fingers...fumbling...focusing...trying to..." immediately follows the objective "a photographer lurks among the rubble." The photographer is the one who's fingers are supposedly fumbling as he tries to snap the photo, so why does the caption sound like a bad Batman internal monologue? This really has nothing to do with Johnny Chambers, but I just wanted to point out this major flaw in the narration throughout. With so many characters (Johnny being one) actually providing narration through captions, why does Robinson add an omniscient narrator also? It's jarring and ineffective. It's like he took the strategies of Watchmen with the multiple points of view, and then spliced the conventional narrator on top of it. It just doesn't work.
But a few more things about Johnny: He smokes, and he wears glasses. He still has his powers, but even though they would help him in his day job, he doesn't use them. And he's incredibly suspicious, which is the characteristic that makes him the character the reader most identifies with. He's also lost the woman he loves because he works too hard, although he gets her back in the end. In short, he's a slightly older (although he actually seems to get younger as the story progresses, perhaps symbolizing his return to heroic stature), slightly more sullen, slightly more flawed version of the character we saw in the comics produced in the 1980s (even though those stories were set in the 1940s). He refers to his costumed self as "That Jerk!" at the beginning of the story, but ends on a hopeful note as he describes a "new age...fresh and clear and bright...as sterling silver!" He's never really a cynic, but his pessimism and self-loathing turns to optimism in the end (even quickly dismissing the threat of McCarthyism to look ahead to the glowing future of super-heroics).
Paul Kirk, a.k.a Manhunter: If we play out the James-Robinson-is-trying-to-do-Watchmen-but-not-as-well game a bit more, we could say that if Johnny Chambers is the Dan Dreiberg analogue (the low-self-esteem voice of reason and calm) then Paul Kirk is clearly the Rorschach character. He's the crazy one who will surely upset the apple cart, yet isn't that what has to happen in order to get to the truth? That's his role, anyway. Unlike Rorschach (in his insane way), Kirk doesn't have a methodical approach to uncovering the truth. In fact, he's tormented by the truth, which lies buried beneath mind implants, exploding into awareness only through a series of horrible dreams. He seems deeply disturbed because of the War, but he's actually deeply disturbed because of the secrets he knows. He's another character, like Johnny, who seems to become more youthful and vibrant in the final Act, when he is able to unleash his demons through old-fashioned fisticuffs. Unlike Johnny, though, he visibly suffers for a long time before he reaches the point of action. Here's a sample of his internal monologue from one of his many tortured dreams: "Save the eagle. Save it. Save—n...no...nooooohhhh!!" Then he wakes up and thinks, "Still afraid." That's about the extent of his characterization. He's tormented, fearful, and knows he should be better than that. And, "save the eagle?" Geez, I wonder what in the world that could possibly mean in a book about corruption within the American government. Clearly, even though this book is directed at an older audience than the original Golden Age tales, Robinson keeps his symbolism quite simplistic.
Tex Thompson, a.k.a. Mr. America, and Daniel Dunbar, a.k.a. Dan the Dyna-Mite: These are the two characters most radically changed from their Golden Age counterparts. Mr. America was a whip-wielding patriotic hero and Dan was a kid sidekick who later, under Roy Thomas's writerly guidance, became one of the lead characters in Young All-Stars. In Robinson's story, Mr. America becomes a corrupt politician who seeks power by any means necessary, and Dan the Dyna-Mite becomes America's beloved Dynaman, the only active costumed crime fighter of the time. And he snorts coke. And he's evil.
Neither of these two characters have internal monologues via captions for the reader, because that would give away the twist. Tex Thompson is not really who he seems, for he has the brain of the evil Ultra-Humanite (who has in previous stories adopted the forms of a gigantic white gorilla and a hot ex-starlet, among others). And Daniel Dunbar, who has fallen so far from grace in our eyes (a former teen sidekick with a drug problem whoring around) actually has the BRAIN OF ADOLF HITLER!
So there's not much to say about the characterization here, since these are two evil characters in the most simplistic way. What is interesting, though, is that (a) Robinson chooses one character, Thompson, who seems vaguely sleazy to modern readers anyway, what with that whip and the mustache, and when he's shown to be corrupt, we can buy into it, falling into Robinson's trap of thinking that it's just a regular dude becoming corrupted by power; and (b) Robinson's use of the pure and innocent Dunbar is also a good choice, because it is not only shocking to see him corrupted so extremely (before the truth of the brain-swap is revealed), but it's a nod to cultural expectations about former child stars, who, by the 1990s, were expected to grow up and become criminals or drug addicts or worse, at least by our tabloid-fascinated society.
Like a director who makes his film better through excellent casting, Robinson uses the right two ex-heroes in the apparent role of the villains. His bait-and-switch works, although I was personally disappointed that the threat turned out to be external (evil villains) and not the corruption of these characters from within.
Robinson uses other characters to show the corruption of innocence and loss of the heroic dream. Robotman, so noble in Roy Thomas's All-Star Squadron, has lost any humanity by the time of this story—he's pure machine, while Alan Scott, Green Lantern is conflicted about his duty as a business leader and law-abiding citizen and his passion for ring-slinging and butt-kicking. Hourman is shown to be addicted to his Miraclo pills, while the man once known as the Tarantula is an egoist with writer's block. Ted Knight, Starman, who Robinson would go on to write with great depth and sensitivity in the ongoing series about Jack Knight, is a mad genius who is trying to put the pieces of this shattered world together through science.
I should add here that Robinson, unlike Cooke, isn't drawing from the original sources as the basis for his story. He's adapting his characterizations from the work done during contemporary comics, as Roy Thomas provided retroactive characterization (and explanations) for the WWII-era heroes. Robinson is building on the layers which Roy Thomas built upon the layers which Gardner Fox (among others) built.
Overall, Robinson does provide a sense of disillusionment in his characterizations in this story, even if his narrative technique is sometimes sloppy or inconsistent. Cooke tried to add a bit of humanity to iconic characters in his work, but he was mostly interested in the icons of the era. Robinson drags his characters down into the muck and then builds them back up again, hoping to show how their inner humanity wins out (with all of its flaws) in the face of systematic adversity. Cooke's characters inhabit the skies, the stars. Robinson's characters live on the ground.
So, the final verdict, after looking at The Golden Age and The New Frontier for a week: Not much different than my initial assessment after reading them both last weekend. The Golden Age is flawed because of its inconsistent narrative point of view and it's cheap, brain-swapping revelations. Robinson and Smith capture the disillusionment and paranoia of the time quite well, but it all amounts to nothing except a superhero slug fest in the end. It's 80% of a great work, and 20% of stuff that doesn't quite fit (including the optimistic ending, which seems unearned). As part of a larger, genre-wide trend to make super-heroes more "realistic," violent, and depressing, I'm not a huge fan of its influence.
The New Frontier is flawed, but it's a flawed masterpiece, and I can imagine revisiting the story many times in the future (and I can't say the same about The Golden Age). Cooke tries to include too much in the narrative, and the main threat of Monster Island isn't presented as well as it needs to be, but the book contains dozens of amazing sequences, and it features sharp, engaging characters who flash in and out of the story. The speed of the narrative demands that the book be read quickly, and it works best when read this way, not because it allows the reader to gloss over the weak parts of the story, but because The New Frontier is an overture, and can be best appreciated when all of its notes are heard in rapid sequence. I didn't love it when it first came out, in the completely inappropriate floppy installments, but I loved it after reading the Absolute version a week ago, and I love it just as much after studying it closely all week.
As one final thought: Both The Golden Age and The New Frontier tap so deeply into comic book lore, and I am so deeply embedded in it myself, that I wonder if either of these works has any merit for a "civilian" reader. And I wonder if, perhaps, the darker, more "realistic" tone would be appealing to a non-comics fan, more so, perhaps, than the wide-eyed optimism (tinged with bits of darkness) seen in Cooke's work. Or would the non-comics fan find both stories completely useless and without merit? Are both works examples of the snake swallowing its own tail? I've already been swallowed by the snake of comic book geekery, so I can't answer that one.

Transformation, if it were a scent, would arrive from quince blossoms. Quince blossoms –
first off, everyone thinks, if we’re referring to flowers, it must be sexual, and oh yes – if it were possible for quince blossoms to manifest a sexuality, then I would eagerly
search for it. When I’m walking through the neighborhoods, the scent of quince blossoms will stop me in my tracks, have me walk backward a couple of steps, then sniff again –
the scent is sweet and colorful in the upper registers of the mind – that’s the part that gets your attention – but then the reality of the scent,
something existing in the actual world, creates a soft and cloudless sky around the body.
I sometimes stand there for minutes and huff quince blossom perfume, but then I feel an instinct to
find the source, so I start looking around for the bush with the white or pink flowers, stand in front of it, soak myself in it.
People who talk to their plants might know what I mean when I say I don’t so much speak as moan. I stand there like a ruminant, tormented by floral desire, moaning.
People make quince jam, I know, but really, the jam is to the perfume what real estate is to paradise.
The odor of the quince blossom is like a twinkling river of love flowing over the sidewalks. You run into it without notice, and whatever your mind was doing before that moment
will know its own unique relationship with love because that’s where the mind goes – it goes to love.
I picture the quince blossom scent being the central seed in a rich, round fruit that ripens into love.
Or maybe quince is like the planetary core conferring a field effect by which our inner lives are oriented.
Wherever the needle points – before and after it is any direction – it is love.
Tallest tree with broadest branch – from where does all that mass arrive?
I used to believe it came from the ground, like the color of dirt and the color of bark are approximately the same, right, so maybe the one, uh, is derived from the other? Roots lapping up crumbs of soil?
The rationale behind global tree planting – to offset carbon in the atmosphere – is by now a shared understanding,
such that maybe people know by now that trees mainly come from the atmosphere. Among the most massive organism appearing in the biological record –
trees are ground dwelling air feeders.
The largest tree in the world, the General Sherman giant sequoia in California, weighs more than 2000 tons. Imagine if all of its mass, every ounce,
was purely derived from air perfumed by quince blossoms. Would the tree have still grown up to be a military man? Would a civil war still have been part of its plan?
The first custodians of the General Sherman were scientific socialists who hoped to build a utopian community
around the premise of logging. They called the tree Karl Marx, no joke, and the colony thrived for a few years before the federal government declared the area a national park
then started busting folks for illegal logging on federal property. Imagine the psychic tension the group must have felt
between scientific ideology, robust utopian lifestyle, and revolutionary rage – I picture that colony of lumberjacks debating whether to take up their axes and march to Washington.
They ended up suing the government – science! – and meanwhile, the government rechristened the tree General Sherman,
who decimated Native Americans and advocated for their extermination.
Still thinking of that towering presence made from the breast of quince blossoms, I head out to the main commons area,
where a light rain begins to fall on the encampment made of tents and fold-out tables and canvas camp chairs, in opposition to plausible genocide and the promotion of university divestment.
An intentional community assembled to speak to an environment that dares not utter the truth about what’s going on in Gaza.
A sign hanging on a clothesline reads, in hand-painted letters: If I must die, you must live.
This is the sentiment of the martyr to the survivor – to live, with a memory of death, yes, but life as its refutation, too. But death persists –
if life is absent the capacity to choose, is it still alive? Which prompts the martyr to intervene – I am but a witness, and sometimes my witness goes where the body cannot.
The body suffers. The body dies.
I walk through the light rain around the commons area, thinking about what the witness leaves behind.
Those couple of lines – If I must die, you must live – come from the opening of the poem If I Must Die by Dr. Refaat Alareer,
who was a Palestinian poet-scholar-activist and was murdered by an Israeli airstrike on December 6 of last year, along with his brother, sister and children.
The poem imagines a metaphysics of hope for the survivors, with everyday signs like someone flying a kite standing for divine love,
which also reminds us to tell the martyr’s story. The most compelling line in the poem for me
is about selling the martyr’s things when the martyr is gone – that detachment from the world of things prefiguring the arrival of the spirit,
though in the context of the poem, the selling of things is meant to spare the living the burden of expense – a last consideration.
I imagine the aroma of quince blossoms transforming into: if I must die, you must live.
I lean away from the quince, and the music of its presence instantly disappears, and I am stranded in a world without that clean windowpane of an aroma gazing out upon a sweet morning.
But then I just lean in again, and kites appear in the skies, each one representing an angel disguised as a cloud.
A jukebox begins to play in a corner of the county, a light rain falling after dark, and the people there aren’t thinking about massacres and murdered poets.
General Sherman’s approach to his civil war adversaries was to decimate the environment – what we called a scorched earth policy,
otherwise known as collective punishment, which has been determined to constitute genocide. General Sherman, winner of the American civil war
became famous for genocide, then carried that strategy into the so-called Indian wars – a series of back-and-forth massacres that included the purposeful decimation of bison herds
so that native populations would be deprived their main food source. The bison were just gunned down – no one bothered with the bodies.
But what if the giant sequoia – that name derived from the language of the native population – what if it grew all 2,200 years of its life
from the aroma of the quince blossom? If I must die, you must live – what it kept telling itself, year after year, ring after ring, memory of the dead
what causes this life of ours to be the most massively singular thing around. General Sherman, though, is all wrong
for the role, and I’m not sure Karl Marx works either, but it doesn’t hurt to try it for a while. Karl Marx, stop scorching the earth
with your so-called military tactics. Karl Marx, stop murdering and starving the indigenous population
by shooting all the bison. We have terraformed the planet, colonized its lands, then again, and again, and here is a tree
derived from civil war, a tree that remembers the array of forces that gave rise to the contours of Sierra Nevada, other epic boundary conditions.
Marx writes, Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.
If I must die, you must live. What of that world we won?
Oh, quince blossom – make us live.

the problem gets solved
slowly because you allow it to get solved
but even patience
needs hurrying along
sometimes
new heights of catholic bizarreness with a touch of paedophilia
i’ve seen a lot of things on the web, in its class this has to be the most extreme, rather amusing in its way
years ago in auckland , new zealand, i remember reading about this murder, no idea that he was a well known poet or the backstory
hai zi’s sonnet night moon
i don’t think you can be a good poet without a sense of injury
my rewrite:
the setting sun
striking through the trees
from a blood red lamp
everything is illuminated
in this ambiguous light
of suffering, joy, life and death
schooling cretinizes
starting with the teachers
there is nothing to be learned
not even process
all history teaches
poetry and politics don’t mix
ed. i was reading about li bai siding with the losing side in the an lushan rebellion, it was only his reputation that saved him from being executed
intersex
growing breasts
growing genitals
today’s obsession
lacks nuances
of being
.
intersex
growing breasts
growing genitals
today’s obsession
lacks nuance
about
being
the dead sea scrolls
so much fuss
about a lot of bad writing
intelligence is like everything else in having "opportunity cost", abilities in one area necessarily imply deficits in another
that is, in even high IQ’s you are also measuring disability
IQ only measures one type of intelligence and in fact i don’t think intelligence can be reduced to a score
i couldn’t even do an intelligence test now, my brain rebels at that sort of computation
in twenty years we are going to be nothing but a society shredded by the weight of side-effects from drugs; medical, psychiatric and otherwise
“ Use of amphetamines and atomoxetine had a higher risk for angle closure glaucoma, while use of methylphenidate was associated with a higher risk for open angle glaucoma
Given the prevalence of ADHD medication use (medically and recreationally), our current data on their associated risk of glaucoma have profound public health implications ”
good fiction ties itself to the way reality works even if its "magical realism"
poor quality fiction is utterly decoupled in this respect, egregious examples have to be propaganda and "dramas"
"it was unstoppable, like herpes on a lithuanian prostitute"
a finnish saying, apparently the trope for a woman from an ex-soviet country is a prostitute
if you look at their history you can see why they don’t like the russians
ninja
asian fantasy
the individual victorious against
coercive group think
death
is beyond
remedy
thinking
rearranges priorities
slowly
philosophers are crazy
mind games
word games
the vagaries of definition
simple cogency is not looked for
rather deemed inadequate
not finding what they are looking for
they waste their lives uselessly
waves of the sea lapping on the shore
has more meaning
creeps
make jokes
about
dead
mothers
saying something about nothing
the problem is
they interpenetrate
up on the hill
working on the water tank
voices carried in the wind
in the distance
two women on horses
ed. its really just to capture that hearing something and not understanding the source, then a bit later seeing where the voices come from
its very minimal which i think is "zen"
.
up on the hill
working on the water tank
voices carried in the wind
in the distance
two women on horseback
"decoherence" and "emergence" are relatively new concepts in physics and and basically on one side you have things being very simple and on the other you have the complexity and uncertainty of the real world and in between you have a mixing of things up so the simplicity is lost/decohered and replaced by opacity/emergence as to what is happening
i was looking at some quotes from emily dickinson’s letters to susan gilbert (her one time lover and sister-in-law) and they are conventional in the main, but one poem sticks out as indicating she really had a different head on her shoulders
show me eternity and i will show you
memory —
both in one package lain
and lifted back again —
be sue — while i am emily —
be next — what you have ever been —
infinity
love
separated
doesn’t last
we don’t take the lesson
look further and farther appears
when
it wasn’t there before
.
look further and further appears
when
it wasn’t there before
mRNA vaccines can alter our DNA
dr. julian fidge
i must use my keyboard a lot because i wear out letters, but rather than replacing the keyboard (microsoft) i now overwrite them with pink nail polish using relatively thick strokes taking up the whole pad and sometimes even over the edges
robots of flesh
humans
perhaps something else intervenes
it does
charlatans
take two
the deceiver
and deceived
one at least has the benefit of honest gain
the other broken shards of a dream
who is who ?
ed. giacomo casanova who was a hustler of timeless stature said : to deceive a fool is to revenge intelligence and in my view he is right because the nature of the injury to the victim is non-repairable so the focus has to be not being fooled rather than some falsely benign view of the universe where wrongs are supposedly righted today’s cultural glorification of victimhood is itself a form of con artistry giving permission to that endemic dissembling, now so normal, especially in gen X, you can’t talk to a young person without being awash in highly skilled manipulation and targeted deceit
carlo rovelli gives a much better explanation of nagarjuna than the usual religious obfuscation (translators usually try to fit him to every paradigm going) “ what is useful in nagarjuna is the idea that its better to think of the world not as entities or substance or matter that has its own properties, but only through the interdependence of things
everything is empty in the sense of not having an intrinsic reality, this emptiness is the foundation of everything — but that’s a view which is itself empty in a sense ”
i would put it a bit differently, that there is always some context that can’t be escaped and this is the background for existence, that non-existence is a type of existence as well as existence being a type of non-existence
gen Z, missionaries for their churches of one, not even a quorum to be formed to schism
synthesizing nonsense to make more nonsense
i have long since ceased to think the world is sane

PART ONE THOUSAND AND EIGHT
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Sunday
We materialised in a shop-front alcove, with a solid concrete wall to my right and a panelled wooden display wall behind glass to my left.
“Keep going,” Rubin said in my ear.
Not sure why he was being so insistent, I nevertheless strode forward as if I knew where I was going, and in just a few steps, the presence of multiple lanes of New York City traffic swept over me. Four lanes, all facing the same way, meant we were on one of the main arterial streets like Fifth Ave or Park Ave. ‘Zara’, a clothes boutique on the other side of the street did nothing to narrow the field any for me.
Not that it mattered. My point with this deductive reasoning was that neither of those streets had curbside parking.
Yet, sure enough, Dad's SUV was on the other side of the sidewalk in the closest lane of traffic, waiting for the lights to change. “Get in, quick!” Rubin ordered.
This wouldn’t be the first time I jumped into an illegal ‘traffic-light-parked’ car, and I raced for the back door, swinging it open and diving inside just as the lights changed. The door ‘magically’ shut itself behind me as I straightened up in my seat and took in Kulon behind the wheel and Gerry in the seat to my right.
“Hey, Angel,” I said, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss. “Missed you.”
“How’d it go with—er—your uncle?” Gerry asked, struggling with the normality of me having met with her god.
“Wanna put your seatbelt on back there, Sam?” Kulon chuckled, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as we moved forward across the intersection.
“It went better than I thought,” I admitted, then grinned. “I even got a really cool old-school bomber jacket out of it.” I saw her cringe and giggled evilly. “And you can’t hate on it, because it was literally a present from God himself.”
She clenched her hands into loose fists and pressed the heels of her palms to her temple. “I-I can’t even…” she finally stammered, and my giggle morphed into a full-blown cackle.
“I’ll show you when we get home. I don’t think you’ll hate it. It’s really nice and super authentic.” I then turned my attention to Kulon. “And dude! That has got to be soooo handy,” I said, gesturing back to where I’d jumped in the car. I was blown away by how easily it would be to catch people like that, just by realm-stepping the second a car was held up at lights. No guesswork. Not even coordinates. Just knowing.
“It has its moments,” Kulon agreed. “So, are we heading home?”
“Yes, please. The guys want to go out to Angus’ place to play some more ball this afternoon, but if I don’t get some home time in with Gerry between now and then, I won’t be going anywhere.”
The trip back to the apartment was quick, with Rubin vanishing as fast as he appeared once we had the building in sight. And with him on hand to pull back the guys any time we needed them, Kulon and Quent both stayed with the car and drove away together once Gerry and I were inside.
Of course, my luck just wasn’t playing nice with me today, for I knew the second I set foot in the apartment and saw Dad rise purposefully from his chair just inside the living room that having fun-time with Gerry wasn’t in my immediate future.
“I need a word with you, Sam,” he said, stepping between the sofa and the coffee table to give Gerry access to the rest of the apartment (with Dad standing in the doorway, it was as if it had been walled off).
“Daaaad,” I moaned, not really caring at this point what he wanted. After the morning I’d had, I needed some real Robbie-food and an hour or four in bed with my girl … minimum!
“Now, Sam.” His tone changed when he looked at Gerry and added, “We won’t be long, sweetheart.”
Not that it mattered. His initial bark had taken all my attention, and I felt my heart clench in my chest, wondering what else I’d done wrong. Not even Uncle YHWH had yelled at me, and I’d accidentally screwed with a couple of his worshippers. I couldn’t think of anything to warrant that, and as I processed the possibilities and came up blank, I barely felt Geraldine’s kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go and do some light reading in the bedroom,” she said, slipping out of my arms and making her way past Dad with a nod.
A few seconds later, I heard our bedroom door open and close, and I looked at Dad like he’d kicked a puppy. “Was that really necessary?”
“Would I have done it if it wasn’t?” Dad countered, and I had to remember who I was talking to. Between my run-in with Tucker’s people and my conversation with Uncle YHWH, I was being bolder than I had any right to be.
I forced myself to relax. “Sorry. It’s been a rough morning already.” I rubbed my chest again because, contrary to what anyone says, being tasered sucked, even if I did heal from it almost instantly.
Dad immediately frowned. “What happened? I thought you were visiting Gerry’s father for breakfast.”
“We were … I mean we did.” So much else had happened, and I didn’t feel like going into all of it. And since he was standing to one side, I headed into the kitchen, dropping my shoulder low to avoid his half-hearted grab on my way through.
I stopped at the plate warmer and was miffed at its empty state. My next port of call was the divine box Robbie called Voila. I remembered him telling me how I had to know what was in there for it to work (that, and how Charlie had scared the crap out of him yesterday morning when she’d told him the box was empty), but this was also Robbie, and he always had what we wanted ready to go. I brought to mind the one thing that would tide me over until lunch. The same thing that had been missing from Tucker’s table.
Just as I’d hoped, when I lifted the lid, an egg-filled baguette with bacon and cheese was waiting for me on a single sandwich plate. “Ye-essss,” I hissed in victory, lifting out the plate and taking the biggest bite I could manage without choking myself. “Thank you, Robbie, wherever you are! I love you!” My words were utterly muffled, but he wasn’t here, so it didn’t matter.
“Their food not to your liking?” Dad asked with an amused smirk.
“The company was challenging,” I answered evasively once I’d chewed enough to swallow. I then went over to the fridge and dug out the jug of freshly squeezed mango juice that I could never get enough of. With both items in my hands now, I was happy.
“Don’t even,” Dad warned when I instinctually lifted the jug to my lips.
“Hmmh?” The sound would’ve been an innocent ‘huh’, except I’d clamped my lips closed like that had never been my plan and put the jug on the island on the way to get a cup. With the dishwasher closer, I opened the door and grabbed one of the glasses from the second shelf. I then nudged the door shut with my shin and slid into Boyd’s seat, dragging the rest of my prizes over to me.
“So, what’s the family crisis?” I asked, pouring myself a drink but keeping the jug within easy reach. Wow, I really do use that word a lot, don’t I? I took a deep swallow to clear my throat, sighed, and then returned for another huge bite of my baguette.
“My youngest brother, Barris, our Mystallian God of the Hunt, has learned about you.”
Oh, for frig’s sake! I lowered the baguette and sat back in Boyd’s chair, my full focus once more on Dad. “Okay,” I answered cautiously, torn between frustration and annoyance. The other word choice that sprang to mind was a sarcastic ‘really’, which would probably require someone picking out an urn for my remains.
Dad shook his head and raised one hand with flared fingers. “It’s nothing bad.” He then pointed at my plate. “Finish your sandwich first.”
My next mouthfuls were maybe a third of the first two, and I might as well have been eating tyre rubber for all the enjoyment I was getting out of it. “How much does he know about me?” I asked between bites.
Dad moved to stand beside me at the corner of the island. “He knows you’ve almost graduated college. He knows there was animosity between your mother and me that’s since been resolved, and he knows about the pregnancy now.”
Now, the baguette felt like a rock in my gut. “Great.”
He slid into Lucas’ seat and curled a hand around my forearm near the elbow, anchoring me in place. “Sam, I said it’s okay. He’s on our side.”
I squinted. A lot of people were making that claim lately and I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Dad met my stare squarely, and I was always amazed at how easily he could do that. “He knows the dangers to your mother, so he’s going to run interference on the family for us until after the babies are born. Despite the fact that it’ll put him in the same crosshairs with the rest of our family as us when they find out he knew, he’s going to do it anyway. He only asks one thing in return.”
I barely restrained my eye-roll. “Of course he does.”
Dad’s face morphed into a dark scowl, and his grip tightened painfully. “You will show your uncle the respect he deserves,” he warned.
I dropped my eyes to his waist; so not up for this. “Yes, sir.”
Dad’s intake for breath was both loud and frustrated. He kicked the leg of the chair I was sitting on for good measure, and when my gaze snapped to his, he was pointing two fingers of his free hand at his own eyes. “That’s right, boy. Right here. Nowhere else. Not there … not there … not way over there.” He pointed to three random locations in the apartment before returning to their original spot before his eyes. “Right here. Always. You get me?”
For some reason, Dr Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham started rolling through my brain, and I was quite proud of myself that I didn’t smirk or even blink. “Yessir.”
He didn’t get any calmer. “Okay …” he finally said, after a few seconds that was—who knew how long for him if he internalised to settle down— “I know we’ve only touched lightly on this before, but I need you to lift your game before we meet with your uncle, starting with stripping the words ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ from your vocabulary. I know your stance on human manners, and I’ve accepted your decision and will support it when it comes up with the others. That said, even the humans hardly ever use those two servitude titles anymore, and you can’t afford to appear weak in front of our family. Okay?”
Dad was compromising. I knew the family wouldn’t agree with my use of manners, but Dad was willing to back that, and to me, it was the more important of the two. “I’ll try,” I said because I couldn’t say for sure if I’d succeed without premonition, and that one wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
Ha, I made a divine funny.
So, why aren’t I laughing?
Probably because I still hadn’t heard what Uncle Barris wanted in exchange for his cooperation. It couldn’t be my head on a pike, as neither of my parents would go for that. But what?
“He wants to meet you, Sam, at a destination of your choosing and he’s agreed not to come here looking for you so long as that request is met. He hasn’t even asked for this address.”
“He’s the god of hunting, Dad. Hunting me down would be a cakewalk for someone like him.”
“True, except he’s promised not to go there unless it’s an emergency. You’re his nephew, Sam. A nephew he knew nothing about until last night. All he wants to do is meet you, and given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”
“How did he find out?” I asked instead of answering.
Dad’s expression soured. “Helen Portsmith. Apparently, she turned up at his gym last night with her usual spiel; only this time, your uncle put it together correctly and came looking for me for real answers. I told him about you and your mother. I told him our secrets.”
Something about the way he worded that… “As opposed to what?”
“I still haven’t mentioned Robbie or his connection to Yitzak. Nor have I mentioned the true gryps living with us, except for Tiacor, who’s there for your mother.”
I was starting to put this together. “Okay, so when we meet, no mention of Robbie as a cousin, or that he has a food innate, or that Yitzak and Collette know about him.” I got the feeling learning that we had true gryps in the household wouldn’t really amount to much, as they could be anywhere they wanted to be all over the world. It was their world as much as ours.
“Exactly.”
“What about Clefton and Nick? They’ve been here and met us too.”
“Mention them only if you want to get them into trouble for not outing you from the very beginning. Same with Nuncio.”
Well, that’s a hard ‘no’. “Maybe Cuschler?”
Dad scowled again. “There’s no bad blood between us anymore, right?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow warningly.
I sighed. Spoilsport. “Fine. But what about Fisk and the girls … and Najma?” It wasn’t that I’d forgotten my nephew, just that my brother and sisters rolled off the tongue first. “Danika’s been here, and Najma tracked me down at school before everyone else had met me. Even Fisk has popped in from time to time to touch base.”
“Barris knows they knew, and he understands why they’ve kept it quiet. Nothing’s going to happen until the reunion, and even then, maybe nothing if your mother still hasn’t given birth.”
I pushed my half-eaten baguette away and pressed my forehead to the island. “Everybody knows a little bit,” I griped. “How in the world am I meant to keep tabs on who knows what?”
Dad’s grin made me want to kick him the way he’d kicked my chair. “What do you think internalising is for? Remembering whatever we want is literally our jam.”
“I s’pose.” But combing through the details at every turn still seemed like an awful lot of effort, even if that process did seem instantaneous to everyone else. It wasn’t to us.
Dad reached past me and brought back my baguette. “Finish your sandwich. You can go as you are. Your uncle runs a gym downtown, so he’s not exactly at his best either.”
I stared at him in horror. “We’re going right now?”
“Why not now?”
Because I just got back from seeing Uncle YHWH! “I dunno. I mean, it’s too soon, don’t you think?”
I don’t know how else to describe it, but Dad’s expression turned … parental. “And when would a good time be for you with your hugely busy schedule now that school has wrapped up?” he asked like I was an idiot.
I gave a nervous, shrugging roll of my shoulders. “I understand there’s this get-together happening at the end of the year…”
I kinda expected the cuff to the back of my head and tried not to snicker when it happened.
“Don’t be a smartass. Finish your sandwich, and we’ll go. This won’t take long.”
With nothing else for it, I did as I was told, leaving the empty plate and cup on the sink since the dishwasher hadn’t been emptied. “I’m so glad I got a say in this…” I muttered quietly under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
I have no idea why I thought we’d at least use the front door to leave. Probably because most people did. But this was Dad, and we were going to meet his brother, and he clearly didn’t want me to have the chance of wriggling out of it.
So without warning, he slapped his hand on my right shoulder and shoved me forward, realm-stepping away with me as I stumbled to keep my footing.
[Next Chapter]
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!

before i get into my post, just so everyone is aware, this will be a detailed post- so the length may be very long. *tw: suicidal thoughts\*
as many fellow transguys experience, i have close to never felt important in my body. im afab, and i remember being 2 years old and having a breakdown every single time i was put into a dress; matter a fact, ive always had a deep disliking of wearing dresses. to be quite frank, they have always made me uncomfortable. stemming from this, ive always, also, have had a weird approach through femininity as a whole- i remember being 5 years old and at the YMCA kidzone, and how we went around sharing our favorite color- and as i pointed out my favorite color as being red, i was met with distasteful responses, and many individuals pointed out how red is a "boys color". from then on, i reflected on how nothing i had done was considered to be feminine to me- i can singlehandedly admit that i've never played with dolls, played dressup (not that doing such is meant for specific individuals), and doing such has always made me an outcast among my peers.
fast forward to middle school, and as you may expect, i was bullied. my mom does hair, and with being a first generation African, this meant that my hair always had to be done. i went almost 4 years showing up to school, with braids, crochets, sew ins- you name it i most likely have had it. i absolutely resented this. it was so embarrassing switching up a style and getting compliments from my close friends knowing that i adored short, masculine haircuts. in 7th grade, i finally came out to my parents as a lesbian, which is a moment i remember up to this day since it changed the entire course of my parent's outlook on me. i remember my dad being so excited for me and naming all of the female celebrities he knew that were lesbian, and claiming how i could be just as, or even more successful than they were. my mom- not so much, and i could tell that she was more worried about explaining my sexuality to her friends who would ask (even though it is absolutely none of their business). in 8th grade, i decided to do something different- this was the year i had my first girlfriend, and also the year i was valedictorian- and i knew that for graduation i wanted to make a statement. so, i wore a creme colored suit and got my first masculine haircut. funny enough, i remember so many girls complimenting me- one even being flirtatious, which made my girlfriend jealous lol. but during graduation, this was the first time my mom's friend pointed out my sexuality, and in turn, she was happier about me being valdictorian than being a part of the LGBTQ+ community.
fast forward to high school, freshman year was amazing. i had finally attended a school where everyone was so caught up in their own drama (and just being straight up racist) that no one really cared about how i looked. in fact, throughout high school i had gained much popularity due to both my intelligence and fashion taste. i identified as being non-binary and knowing that i had my first job at 14, people would interchangeably use both she/her pronouns and, he/his. i was so embarrassed, and my coworkers would laugh about this making me feel worse and confusing me even more about my gender identity. i have always been a huge fan of Chella Man, and remember watching double incision top surgery videos, along with transmasculine Youtubers 24/7.
moving onto sophmore year, this was when COVID-19 quarantine shut down school. i was in a few friendships, most were toxic and of course didn't last, but some were meaningful and shaped me in the individual i am today.
sophmore year allowed me to grow, but i began to receive toxic and harassing messages from people who i thought were my friends, which drew me away from being my authentic self. to top it off, i was extremely suicidal and just conflicted. no matter how high my gpa was, or how many college credits i earned, i couldn't get past not truly loving myself. this resulted in countless- there was so many i assume the number is between 9 and 14, attempts of suicide. and at the end of the day, it was because i felt like i couldn't live my truth or tell my biggest secret- that i am trans.
after an attempt which led to me being hospitalized, i stopped talking to everyone. i didn't talk to anyone from my school, and completely stopped texting my friends for around 9 whole months. shortly after the hospitalization, i was gifted a journal, and decided to make my first book, which was filled with poems and experiences of being myself and what i would say to my "past self".
since i was in a dual credit program and had to take summer classes at a local university, i couldn't get myself to speak up and answer questions in that class either. i remember that so vividly, since it was a Sociology class- i always asked myself "why can't i be social? oh yeah, no one in this program is like me". it was a program full of cliques, and i did not fit into a single one.
eventually, it was my junior year- my actual worse year of school, ever. junior year was so bad, i decided to graduate an entire year early due to the bullying and disrespect from both individuals and teachers in the dual credit program i was in. i left my friend group due to the toxicity and bad energy altogether. theres so much i could say, but id rather not.
this was also the year i came out to my parents as trans, and i doubt they took me seriously. my dad surprisingly, at first, showed no support and had assumed i was in psychosis, which broke my heart. my mom, on the other hand, admitted that there was nothing wrong with me and promised that she would do everything in her power to allow my dad to understand what i was saying, and the feelings ive felt.
ive definitely had many ups and downs with my parents, yet they have always supported both my major choice (Social Work) and, the choices i desire to make within my body. the first year after high school, i went to a catholic university (which was, no offense, but the worst decision i could've made. too expensive, little to no diversity etc.) i decided to transfer to a much cheaper community college- which is honestly a much better school! i went from the most expensive university in my state, to a much affordable community college in hopes of transferring to a cheaper university after i graduated community college- i wanted to do this after highschooler, but my parents refused to allow me to go down that route. look who's saving money now :3!
today, ive come so far from the negative past ive encountered. i just turned 19 last friday, and i graduate next week friday with my degree in Social Work/Sociology (an entire year early)! i plan on assisting individuals which face disadvantages both economically and systematically on the basis of their race, ethnicity, and sexuality.
today, is also the day of my first testosterone shot! im super excited and have administered the shot about an hour and a half ago! ive never been happier than how i feel right now.
i wrote this essay (lol) for two reasons- one, i want individual's which can relate to my story and situation to know that although you may have experienced a similar, identical, or familiar experience as i have being within the school system to know- you have so much hope and time ahead of you. do not perform a permanent action with temporary emotions- there is always a light at the end of a tunnel, and with the right support- whether this may be a non-profit therapy office, friends you may have, or the Trevor Project (i highly recommend!), you have hope! the second reason is to simply document how excited i am to start testosterone! it is fully covered by my insurance (im on disability) in a state that is pretty chill about trans people (if you are in a state which puts you at some sort of risk that may challenge you being trans, i apologize but hang in there!). nothing though, can top my work enviornment- i make pretty good money and work at a job WHICH HAS OTHER TRANS PEOPLE! There is a trans woman who is literally my work mom, and a fellow transguy!!
nevertheless, i finally feel alive- i feel as if i can live without fearing what i would do to myself in moments that i feel bad or down. everything seems as if it's fallen into place. i don't want to go on about how proud i am, but yeah!
thank you for reading such a long post, and i truly hope that whoever is reading this has a sense of euphoria and can relate to being proud to be on t!
(tl/dr: i started testosterone after hating everything about myself and being bullied.)

Last time, Dennis showed up at my door in the middle of the night... DRUNK. Up to that point, he’d claimed to be a virtuous teetotaler, but something had apparently gone amiss. He staggered into my apartment, hurled tequila all over the place, and claimed to have pooped his pants. Neither seeing nor smelling evidence of dookie, I surmised that he was pretending to need clean underpants because he wanted to wear mine for some damn reason. And my lovesick, dong-struck, smitten AF ass was flattered.
The freshly showered, drunken little horned-up weasel finally stretched out on the couch, wearing a pair of my black boyshots. His semi-alert junk was pitching a tent, and the sack was hanging out of the small undergarment that wasn’t made to contain a male package. He kept slurring something about certain body parts being blue. I knew better. Mr. Butt-Blaster over there was in the Psych Research program, while I was in the MFT/Sex Therapy program, although we had to take a few of the same classes. Having some sex therapy training under my belt, I knew for sure that BBs are a MYTH. Genito-pelvic pain resulting from prolonged and unreleased arousal may feel subjectively painful to a small number of delusional horndogs (although self-report measures are notoriously unreliable). However... more often than not, manipulative horndogs use blue balls to coerce potential partners into pity bangs, pity tugs... pity what-have-yous. And I have receipts. Or as we say in academia... REFERENCES.
Me: Dude, that’s not a real condition. Plus, your... stuff’s hanging out of my underwear. Nothing’s blue. I’d feel better if you covered yourself with that blanket.
Dennis: It’s real, I swear! I’m in so much pain!
Me: Go yank it in the bathroom if it’s bothering you so much.
Dennis: But that’s a sin.
Me: Oh for fuck’s sake. I won’t tell Jesus.
Dennis: I need to call my friend first. We gotta paray. Pray.
Me: You need to sleep it off. You can paray in the morning.
I covered him up with the blanket as he continued to mumble about his private parts. I think I heard him apologize for being drunk, but I don’t know if he was talking to me or to Jesus. No matter. I got in bed and stared at the ceiling, both irate and elated that Dennis was on my couch. I didn’t sleep at all.
As the dawn crept through the curtains and provided a gentle golden glow in my little studio apartment, I heard The Golden God stir. Footsteps. I heard the bathroom door close. Water running. Toilet flushing. There was a bit more rustling around. And then I heard the door open. I watched through half-closed eyes as he tip-toed towards the door in clothes that still looked damp. He gingerly turned the deadbolt.
Me: Sneaking out?
Dennis jumped. “Uh. No. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Me: You really think I’d be able to sleep? I’ve been writing stories in my head all night. You’re in them...
Dennis. Sweet! Can I play myself in the movie version?
I glared at him, but I don’t think he could see my face clearly. His glasses were perched on top of his head.
Me: Anything you’d like to say to me?
Dennis: Honestly, babe. I don’t remember much. I think they goofed and put alcohol in my drink even though I ordered a virgin.
Me: Don’t call me babe.
Dennis. Oh. Okay. Sweetie, I really don’t remember last night.
Me: Do you remember the past MONTH? You asked me for a really revolting sexual favor, I declined, and you dropped off the face of the Earth. It really hurt my feelings. Am I nothing more to you than a butt to screw?
Dennis: Noooo! Babe! Uh. Sweetie... It was just an idea. I love you and I... (He said some more words, but that Delphic L-bomb was making the blood rush through my ears to the point where I couldn’t hear anything else he was saying.)
He was leaning down to kiss me when I floated back into my body. “What?”
Dennis: See you next week?
Me: Ummmm.. Yeah. Text me the details. I’m half-asleep and I’m not sure I’ll remember.
Dennis. I got you, babe.
Me: Hold up. Are you still wearing my underwear?
Dennis grinned. “Yep!”
I shook my head, laughing a little and feeling slightly flattered that he wanted to keep something of mine so close to himself. “Keep them. Consider them a reminder of the treacheries of tequila.”
He nodded, kissed my hand, and sauntered out the door. What the actual fuuuuu had just happened???
Girl Talk
The next evening, I met up with Lucy and two of her friends from a recent show, Pick-Me and Doormat. These three had bonded over a shared burning desire for a forever love. Out of the three, Lucy remained the most jaded and skeptical. After all, she could override her own desires and read people well enough to discern the possibility that Scooter (her crush) was a skin-fluter. Skin-flautist? He was GAY. He’d at least had the decency to come out to her when he picked up on her romantic feelings for him. But Scooter was still deep in the closet to the rest of the world, though.
Doormat: Lucy, what’s going on with Scoots??? You guys would make suuuuuch a cute couple.
Lucy: Yeah, that’s not happening. He’s got too much baggage from his ex-wife.
Pick-Me: Well, maybe you could find out what she did to run him off and do the exact opposite???
Lucy: Yeah, I don’t have the money for that...
(Lucy and I both laughed. Doormat and Pick-Me didn’t get the joke.)
Lucy: Okay, Val. These are my boy-crazy backstage gal pals. Present your case!
Me: The whole case? As in... butt stuff...
Lucy: No! Maybe no butt stuff with this crowd.
Pick-Me giggled. “Butt stuff? I can handle talking about that. What’s going on? Your guy wants to try anal?”
Lucy: Okayyyyy... Apparently they’re fine with it?
Me: Yeah. But that’s not even the worst of it. He disappears. And then he reappears acting like nothing was ever wrong. And he’s a religious fanatic when it’s convenient, but he’s never mentioned actually going to church. He doesn’t even wear a cross. And he lied about this summer camp...
Doormat: Girl, just give him the booty!!! That’s why he’s being shifty. He wants something taboo. Most guys need to feel like they’re bending the rules a bit.
Me: Yeah, but I don’t...
Pick-Me: Do you love this guy or not? At least try things his way.
(Yeah, that thought had unfortunately already occurred to me. And I’d dismissed it.)
Lucy: I don’t know. Ladies, we’ve gotta consider her personal limits. Then again, if you really think it’ll land you the love of your life, what’s 30 seconds of discomfort?
Pick-Me and Doormat giggled.
Me: It’s not always that quick....
Lucy: Okay, girl. But George Gay and I have already started scripting a sketch called “The Prematurely Popping Butt-Blasting Hobbit!” We’re doing it in a show at The Imp as soon as it’s ready! And I talk about him in my stand-up. He’d be good at border control ‘cause he’s a MINUTE MAN. A miniature Minute Man. He’s already a one-pump chump, and he seriously wants to put it in the donut instead of the eclair??? “Hey babe... Sorry I haven’t called. How about we... Uhhhh! Uhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Damn. I didn’t even get my pants off! But I at least I GOT MY ROCKS OFF.”
I tapped her on the head with my straw, secretly trying not to laugh. “RUDE! Please never let him hear that.”
Lucy: I promise you that no good Christian boy would ever come to an open mic night at The Raunch Room. Or a show at The Imp. That place has gotten vile. The other girl in our troupe up and quit, and the director replaced her with this fatass sex manic. She’s disgusting. She’s obsessed with George Straight and she won’t stop going on about how much she needs some Georgie Porgie sexy time... Because she’s got “blue lips.” And then she sits there in her micro-miniskirt with her fleshy hoo-hah hanging out, rambling on about all this freaky stuff she wants to do with this dude who’s like my freakin’ brother. I can’t stand it.
Me: Gross.
Pick-Me: Wait... Lucy, did you say Denny’s a good Christian boy? Val, you have to reel him in!!!
Me: That’s the problem... I’m not sure I believe him when he says he’s a Christian. George Gay thinks he’s using religion as an excuse to ask for weird stuff in the sack.
Doormat: I bet he’s totally a Christian. They make the best husbands. You do what you gotta do to lock this one down! And if you can’t give him exactly what he wants in bed, give him something close. He’s a man. You can’t blame him if he goes looking for it elsewhere.
(I felt my fists clenching. Pick-Me and Doormat were making my brain implode.)
Me: Or maybe I need to admit that I’m not right for him and walk away? I mean, that sounds impossible right now, but I think it’d be for the best in the grand scheme of things.
Pick-Me: Nooooo! As a woman, it’s your duty to make yourself into exactly what your man wants. It sounds old-fashioned, but old-fashioned WORKS. That’s why our grandparents never got divorced!
(Yeah, I’m not sure Grandpappy was running around trying to put in in Granny’s hiney.)
How (NOT TO) Prepare for a Date
My lovestruck brain convinced my lovestruck ass to prepare itself for the possibility of an invasion. Dennis had texted me that he was coming over on Saturday night around 8:00 PM, and that he wanted nothing more than conversation and respectful making out. But he also asked me to wear lingerie...
On Friday, I went to Victoria’s Secret and abused my credit card with a very pretty, very flattering halter teddy with Swarovski crystals adorning the plunging neckline. I’m pretty flat-chested, but I’m also short-waisted, so the plunge gives the illusion of length. Once I was all set for lingerie, I got my hair professionally done, extensions and all. Then I went to the dentist and had my teeth whitened with medical grade lasers. This plunged me even further into debt, and it hurt like hell. I was crying and shaking by the end of the procedure. And my teeth hadn’t been even slightly yellowed beforehand. But I wanted Hollywood-caliber blinding white teeth.
And then, feeling like I’d just been punched in the mouth, I went to the day spa to have every bit of body hair removed, save my eyebrows and eyelashes. Dennis despised body hair on women, even the vellus hair (peach fuzz) that tended to crop up when you’re a bit malnourished. So I had everything waxed. And when I emphasize the word “everything,” I’m not just talking about my crotch and my armpits. I’m talking about my forearms. My back. My cheeks. My toes. It was like he wanted a plastic doll. And I was more than willing to get as close to that as I possibly could.
And, listen. I know this was dumb AF. No matter how much I abused my credit card with flattering garments and beauty services and cosmetic dentistry, I’d never be “Hollywood Hot.” I was “regular person attractive with a former scene kid slant,” which basically meant that nerds, theatre weirdos, and recovering scene kids found me hot, normatively attractive dudes flirted with me often enough, gross guys gushed over me (although I still didn’t know how to describe or even identify a bona fide neckbeard... remember this was the 20-tweens), and image-conscious posers didn’t give me the time of day because I was a bit weird.
And I’d always been relatively fine with the way I looked until Dennis and his hot and cold whiplash got into my head. If only I were Hollywood Hot enough to serve as a trophy on his arm, maybe he’d consistently pay attention to me? BARF. And sure, I had considered that our personalities didn’t quite mesh. Even so, he kept calling (sporadically) and I kept answering (faithfully), so I decided to focus on something that I could pretend to have some semblance of control over... I could waste a shit-load of money on superficial crap that most straight guys probably wouldn’t even notice (but that might make me feel more confident in my own unnaturally hairless skin). Oh, and then there was the butt stuff...
On Saturday morning, I went to the Sal Paulo Center for Wellness and Healing and got my very first high colonic... just in case. I wish I had a disgusting story to share, but it actually wasn’t that big of a deal. My colon hydro-therapist was named Harmony, and she was able to put me at ease. I explained that I might try anal sex with my boy... with a guy I was dat... With this guy I’d been kinda seeing. So I wanted to be clean. Harmoney enthused, “Oh, that’ll be fun! But these are sooo good for you, even if you’re not planning on having visitors in there. A high colonic flushes out years and years of toxins that get trapped in the pockets of your large intestines.
This was complete BS, but Harmony was really sweet and she did a good job of keeping my mind off what was happening. Ultimately, it wasn’t painful (just a bit uncomfortable), and I did feel better and lighter and more energized when it was over. Probably no different than the way the average person would feel after taking a giant dump. Before I headed home, I popped by another salon for eyelash extensions, a mani/pedi, and a bottle of snake oil that was allegedly packed with pheromones. Well then... I suppose I was as prepared as I could be. Lightheaded and woozy from the emptying of my lower intestines, combined with the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything since Wednesday of that week, I made the long drive back to my apartment in Wellsprings and started tidying up.
As the 8:00 hour grew nearer, I wiggled into the halter teddy. I checked my hair and makeup. I changed my shoes three times. And I poured myself a small glass of Rosé to take the edge off. I gently brushed my insanely white (and incredibly sensitive) teeth and gargled with Listerine so that Dennis wouldn’t be able to smell booze on my breath... and to counteract any fasting-related halitosis that might have been present. The clock said 8:15, so I dimmed the lights, lounged on the couch, and waited.
He never showed.
Laugh at me. I’m not kidding. Please laugh. Or at least cringe. This was some of the dumbest BS I’ve ever done in an effort to please some dude. And then to get stood up... It felt like the end of the fucking world at the time, but it just seems pathetic when I look back on it. Although... to give my lovesick younger self some grace, it really was a pretty harsh blow to my little ego. I mean, at least call to cancel! Right?! Oh, that’s too much to ask from a spiritually confused young man? Okaaayyyyy... For whatever it’s worth, I wore the halter teddy for Axton a few years later and he seemed to really appreciate it. He also didn’t give a fuck about the peach fuzz on my forearms. M’kay, back to the story!
Stood Up? Stand-Up!
George and Lucy soon figured out what was going on, came over with hard liquor and a carton of Marlboro Lights, listened to me cry, shared some of their own stories of being sorely disappointed by men, and cracked me up with their “Prematuely Ejaculating Butt-Blasting Hobbit” sketch... which would eventually lead to me becoming a regular at The Imp. But, in the meantime, how did I cope with the crushing disappointment that seemed to permanently permeate my mind long after The Golden Weasel went completely radio silent... AGAIN?
Well, once we were in tech week for Cats, I barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone obsess over Dennis. And once the show opened, I took up smoking again, I dyed my hair purple, and I had a green finch, a linnet bird, a nightingale, and a blackbird tattooed on my ribs to commemorate my first leading role in a semi-professional production. It’s a very pretty and meaningful tat, and I’ve never regretted it. I loved having purple hair, although I eventually got tired of the upkeep. And I finally managed to quit smoking for good just last year. That may have been the hardest freakin’ thing I’ve ever done. But I’m a soprano again!!! In my world, that’s very, very important.
So... About halfway through the run of Cats, my phone rang at 2:00 AM. It was a number I didn’t recognize. 716 area code. Must have been a wrong number. I pressed Ignore and rolled over. The phone rang again. Same number. Again. Same number. Why the hell am I trying to create suspense??? I finally answered the butt-fucking weasel’s call.
Me: Who the fuck is this???
Dennis: Uhhh... Hey, babe. Good to talk to you, too!
Me (with as much venom as I could muster): YOU. I had written you off as a lost cause.
He laughed. “Nah, babe. I told you. I’m staying with my bro here in Buffalo. But I’m coming back to Cali in a few weeks. Whatcha... wearing?
Me: Dennis, it’s 2:00 AM...
Dennis: Ah. Darn it. It’s 11:00 here. Didn’t think about the time difference.
Me: Yeah, well. I have a matinee tomorrow. If you really wanna talk to me, call me tomorrow evening.
Dennis: Sa-sweet! What show ya doing?
Me: Cats. I told you that.
Dennis: Ew. Nobody likes that play anymore!
Me: I DO. Our audiences seem to.
Dennis: Hey, you wanna hear about the show that I just helped direct here in New York?
Me: Tomorrow.
I hung up on him and silenced my phone.
But he didn’t call the next evening. Midway through the following week, I tried to call the 716 number. No answer. I had fumed and stewed and cursed his name and gotten dangerously intoxicated and written about a hundred pages of scorned woman rage after he’d stood me up. But in time, I put my focus into rehearsals. I planned activities with my parents and my brothers since they were coming to Wellsprings to see Cats. I got back into burlesque. I enjoyed mocking “the weasel” with Darius during my voice lessons and I admitted that he’d been absolutely right about the intolerably arrogant character of the man I’d idealized. And while I wasn’t taking summer classes, I looked forward to the classes I’d be taking in the fall. Things had evened out, and I had pretty much gone back to being my perky, happy-go-lucky self.
And then Dennis rang again, claiming to be back in town. He claimed he was desperate to see me. I caved and agreed to meet him at his place. Things got spicy. And then he clutched his nuts, hung his head and begged me to whip him as he wept over his wicked sin of desire. NO. A little light BDSM (just for fun) between consenting adults isn’t shocking or off-putting to me. But this felt unhealthy.
Even students of psychology battle with mental health issues just as med students sometimes get physically ill. Dennis needed help. My best guess was that he needed some combination of psychological and spiritual counseling, but I’m not sure that an ideal hybrid exists. I tried to assure him that I was perfectly happy to avoid engaging in anything “intimate,” I offered to lend an ear, and I assured him that I didn’t think less of him because he had certain *ahem* fantasies. But he banished me, accusing me of being a wicked siren.
And my head was re-fucked after that bizarre encounter. So before long, due largely to my insistence on making things much, much weirder than they needed to be, things... got suuuuuper weird. Still dazed by Dennis’ bizarre behavior and ensuing radio silence, I decided to take drastic measures in an attempt to forget about The Golden God once and for all. That drastic measure was... Scumbanger. I’d rather not talk about that again. It’s embarrassing. Apologies to anyone who applies Rule 34 to Cats. No smut for you!
But fun random fact! Furries are NOT into Cats (the musical). They despise it. Mainly because the actors in Cats don’t wear fur suits (we wore elaborately decorated leotards and tights). And the actors in Cats have human faces (we were wearing heavy makeup, but you could still completely tell that we were people). There isn’t the anonymity that a “fursona” would allow. So, no. We didn’t have to deal with any furries yanking it in the audience or skulking around by the stage door.
Let’s pop back over to The Imp! Once Cats had opened, it was much, much easier to see the weeknight shows. The improvers were elated since George Gay’s rehearsal schedule (which was the same as mine) no longer forced them to rehearse during absurd hours. And once “The Prematurely Popping Butt-Fucking Hobbit” was ready to perform, I started seeing shows at The Imp on the regular.
It was tons of fun at first! Moe hadn’t disclosed to me that I was in his boom-boom crosshairs, so I thought he was just some eccentric old dude who made up bizarre stories using tarot cards as prompts. The fatass sex maniac that Lucy had told me about was terrible at improv. But holy crap... I laughed my ass off at her outfits, and at the fact that she often got onstage, plopped down with truckloads of grub, and proceeded to engage in what we’d now call a “mukbang” while the real comedians acted out a sketch. Was she ahead of her time???
Within the month, Cats wrapped up. Moe divulged his disgustingness and pitched a hissy fit because he was being rejected by an “older woman.” Even so, I continued to spend my Thursday nights at The Imp, careful to avoid Moe and determined to keep a safe distance from Mary. But the fall semester was upon us before I’d had enough time to completely get Dennis out of my system.
I’m embarrassed to admit that Moe had given me a “love banishing” spell that involved a candle, a pendulum, a few drops of my own blood, and myrrh oil. He’d passed on this “super chill Wiccan bro wisdom” before he revealed his romantic intentions, and he lorded his generosity of spirits and spells over me when I rejected his advances. Whatever. I still nicked my skin, mixed the blood with myrrh, smeared it on the crystal pendulum and let the it swing over the flame, allowing the ideomotor effect to “magically” push the pendulum clockwise or counterclockwise depending on what I wanted to hear. If I’m being brutally honest, it comforted me in those moments. And, no. The skin-nicking wasn't self... Are we allowed to use those words together? Let me put it another way. I didn't get any kicks from the nicks. I didn't even believe in spells. I just felt like I needed a ritual. I needed an illusion of control. It was utter foolishness, but I suppose I could have done worse things. I suppose I would do worse things in due time...
The Fall Semester (just before the events of Married Mary)
The golden weasel, prematurely popping butt-blasting hobbit, religious fanatic horndog, women’s underwear wearing weirdo... indeed resurfaced when our class schedules forced him to. We had Biological Psychology together, which didn’t exactly thrill me. That had been my favorite class as an undergrad, and I was psyched to experience the grad school version. I wasn’t about to let Dennis ruin it for me. So I vowed to keep my contact with him purely surface level. Even if that meant busting out Moe’s bullshit spell every week after class.
Of course, Dennis tried to yank me around a little more once the fall semester was in full swing. Though it was heartbreaking to keep him at arm’s length (and though I faltered many times), I realized that I simply liked him more than he liked me. And that was nobody’s fault. We met. We clicked. We low-key dated. We hooked up. And it all meant one thing to me and quite another thing to him. The longer things carried on and the more opaque the emotional connection became, the harder I tried and the harder I loved. Meanwhile, he slacked off and loved far more lightly (if indeed at all). My feelings waxed as his waned. Yes, he should have manned up and had a conversation about his waning feelings with me. That would have suuuuucked in the moment, but it would have saved me heaps of heartache in the long run.
The Diary...
Where did I go wrong with Dennis??? I think I went wrong right off the bat when I dreamt up my own version of him, fell madly in love with it, and then gave that pompous ass undue attention and too much forgiveness because he was the avatar of the dream guy I’d invented. It’s happened to me before. I think I’ve been in love with fictional characters (mostly my own) more times than I’ve been in love with real human beings.
Is that weird? It’s probably weird. I’ve also heard it’s an aro/ace thing. I’m grey aro and grey ace in case anyone’s confused by my undying love for Dennis and the crrrrazzzy hot sex with Axton. Oh, I left that part out of the Funky epilogue, didn’t I? Best to keep those details private. And I’m not gonna launch into an explanation about what “grey aro/ace” means. I realize that it’s annoying to go on about such things. If you know, you know. If you don’t, you probably don’t care. I’m not offended at all. It’s a completely understandable indifference.
So what else went wrong with Dennis? Does he deserve to get tarred and feathered, drawn and quartered, locked in the stocks to have rotten food thrown at his face? I don’t think so. I think he might have been on the spectrum. I think he was far less experienced than he let on when we entered into something vaguely resembling a romance. Eventually, I succeeded in backing away from him, although I never dramatically cut ties. That would have required giving him more undeserved attention. I simply allowed myself to lose touch with him.
Am I angry that he led me on? Not anymore. Early into the fall semester, he tried to recreate the vibe we’d had initially, but I just couldn’t trust him. I still liked him more than I cared to admit, but I politely refused his quasi-romantic advances... for the most part. But as I slipped a few times and found myself alone with him (resulting in varying degrees of intimate contact), a bizarre new behavior emerged. Dennis would sometimes ignore me at school. Grad school? Nah, son. We were back in middle school. It was infuriating. The ignoring usually happened when things had gotten spicy between us. But it wasn’t consistent. Sometimes, he was extra sweet and touchy-feely after things got spicy. It was unpredictable, inconsistent, senseless, smokin’ hot, ice cold, and completely maddening.
And I captured every little thing that transpired between us in that dreadful, dramatic diary of mine, which was brimming with saccharine statements about my undying adoration of... Dennis? The Golden God? The Golden Weasel? The Prematurely Ejaculating Butt-Blasting Hobbit? His moniker depended on my mood. I often took inspiration from Sex and the City and tried to write like Carrie when she was pining over Big. I wrote terrible poems. I tried to close the door on Dennis by writing a definitive ending to our dalliance. I tried to rewrite some of the more confusing interactions and make them make sense. I cried myself to sleep in an effort to maximally suffer because I still believed in the notion that one must reach a “suffering quota” before she’s earned the right to be happy. That’s total BS.
But now that Dennis was partially reinforcing my pining, the emotional high was off the charts whenever he would randomly pop up and express romantic desires. The high was even higher when he continued to acknowledge my existence following an expression of romantic desires. I briefly became a Behaviorist and worked privately with one of my professors to research schedules of reinforcement and the Partial Reinforcement Extinction Effect in relation to a phenomenon that Dr. Helen Fisher calls “frustration attraction.” In layman’s terms, we were researching The D.E.N.N.I.S. System. So my unintentionally hilarious giga-cringe diary also included crap-tons of research notes, many of which were terrible ideas. If you’ve ever made notes on a project, you know that the cutting room floor is there for a reason. As for me? I had accidentally saved my cutting room floor as a word document...
A year or so later, Funky hacked into my computer, found my diary, and posted it to Tumblr. I wouldn’t find out about this “publication” until a few years after I dumped Funky. And by that time, an older, even weaslier version of Dennis had seen it... More on that in The Abridged Goblinization.
Pre-Funky
I suppose I have to close this out with a small mention of Whiskers. Ugghhhh... He didn’t leave much of an impression on me until he upped his game and got waaaaay more obvious with the flirting. My head was rammed so far up Dennis’ ass (even when I hated him... perhaps most of all when I hated him), I paid no attention to any other man. With the obvious exception of the superficial attention I paid to Scumbanger.
At some point, once Mary fully loathed Whiskers and once Whiskers was able to socialize freely without Mary keeping tabs on him, I basically told him exactly what I wrote in this post about my feelings waxing while Dennis’ waned, and how I was working on accepting things for exactly what they were instead of what they might have been under different circumstances, blah, blah, blah. He sniffed out my weakness and put on this creepily consistent “attentive, emotionally available guy” act. It didn’t work on me at first because I still thought Whiskers was butt-ass ugly. But then I checked myself for being shallow and decided to give him a chance since he’d been consistently kind for several months.
After some awkward initial missteps, Whiskers (now Whisky, not yet Funky) and I got along really well and I felt proud of myself for finally being able to enjoy male attention from someone other than Dennis. I gave myself too much credit for helping Whisky escape the crazy clutches of Mary, and I broke Girl Code when I dated the bearded giant (even though Mary had been through four new men since the night of the Christmas show... and was still MARRIED). Girl Code is tricky when you’re dealing with a delusional maniac. Some would probably say that I didn’t break Girl Code. Mary said that I did. And that had some suuuuuper dramatic consequences that I’ll touch on later.
I neglected to mention this in the first Dennis chapter, but it's relevant to the story; so I'm mentioning it now. Remember how I wasn’t able to sleep next to Dennis at first because I didn’t feel comfortable enough (even though I was fine with banging him). Was that weird? It seemed a little weird to me. And I had a long think about it after I began to accept that Dennis was a douche. So I made up a new rule. No banging until I felt comfortable enough with the guy to literally sleep next to him.
I broke that rule with Scumbanger. Of course, I wasn’t trying to have a relationship with that dreamy, depthless douche. I also broke that rule with “Whisky.” Once. And by the time he convinced me that he had simply been too “in his head” because he cared so very much, I flat-out told him that I wasn’t going to bed him again unless I reached a point where I felt more comfortable with him. And... Dude managed to make me feel at ease. Was this an act? Of course! But how was I supposed to know it was an act? Especially when he was being infinitely kinder and more attentive to my emotions than Dennis had ever even come close to being? It honestly felt like an improvement in the beginning.
So. I fell asleep in Funky’s Whisky’s bed one night. And I took that to mean that I must have trusted him and that he might be worth considering as a legitimate romantic partner. I had established a boundary for myself long before things got real with that masked beard. And although I had faltered a few times, I felt like I was finally getting it right. I felt confident that I had somehow walked into a hidden gem of a relationship. I was dating a guy who wasn’t my typical “type” (theatre weirdo/attention-seeking pretty boy). But he had been consistently kind. Even when he was weird at first, he was convincingly apologetic for his awkwardness. And once things settled down and I persuaded him to stop worrying about boom-boom and focus on being a genuine gentleman... He did exactly that. It was honestly an enjoyable companionship. AT FIRST.
And that’s how it began. Dennis, by being a middling piece of shit, had paved the way for Funky, a bona fide piece of shit alcoholic psycho, to do his very convincing impression of a normal human being (an impression that he’d honed over the many years he’d spent as Vert’s maître D), to seem like an improvement over the last guy and the guy before... Which resulted in a sense of accomplishment and personal growth when I began to catch feelings for this "hidden gem of a man." Or so I thought.
I’m still not sure if these chapters really explain anything... I think if you’re determined to dismiss my reality, you’ll never accept anything I say. I spent a few weeks writing very defensive entries in my journal, and I think I got all the poison out. So that wasn’t intended to be a passive-aggressive statement. Just a statement that hopefully demonstrates my current understanding of human nature. On the flipside, if you’re already an ally to me, you probably didn’t need this long-winded explanation in order to feel some semblance of empathy. But hopefully it was a little bit funny?
So is Dennis an entertaining character? I’m breaking the fourth wall and asking ReddX as well as the audience. Because I personally feel like this trash fire of a relationship belongs in the book version. And I’m already deep into the re-writes, so the Dennis mess is woven in from the get-go. Also... I’m not dropping any hints that Whiskers is pre-Funky. I think letting the audience in on Whiskers' future identity creates more confusion than comedy. Plus, it's probably not that hard to figure out, so I should let the audience/readers solve that mystery. I’m totally open to constructive feedback! Even if you're politely saying that I suck, I'll take it in stride and try to do better.
Alright. I’ve taken you very patient people on the lamest romantic journey of my life! And with that out of the way, let’s go have a drink at nasty-ass Beer Goggles next time! That's Married Mary (Part 9), which I posted several months back, before I decided to shoehorn the Dennis debacle into the story. Sorry if that creates any confusion. And thank you, as always, for being here!!!!
And here are some peer-reviewed articles debunking BLUE BALLS!!!
https://academic.oup.com/smoa/article/11/2/qfad016/7148610
https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Peter-Anderson-38/publication/10707600_Tactics_of_sexual_coercion_When_men_and_women_won't_take_no_for_an_answelinks/59874c9745851560584cede8/Tactics-of-sexual-coercion-When-men-and-women-wont-take-no-for-an-answer.pdf

This somewhat long (and hopefully enjoyable and easy-to-read) post offers a new perspective on what The Sopranos is all about. (with evidence and examples from the show)
What I will show, in the paragraphs to follow, is that the bedrock of the show and the relationship around which all else pivots is the one between Anthony Sr and Anthony Jr.
First some background info:
The key to understanding this show is Dr Melfi's quote: the falcon cannot hear the falconer. (The center cannot hold)
This quote is from the poem The Second Coming (by William Butler Yeats).
For reference , a falconer is a person who trains and gives directions to a falcon (in times long, long ago). For the purpose of this post: AJ is the falcon, and Tony is the falconer.
So, what is this poem about, in a nutshell?
It's about how the chaos of the modern age is making us lose touch with ourselves, our history, and our priorities.
It is my contention that the main goal of The Sopranos is for Tony to lead Anthony Jr onto a good path. Not just to point him in the right direction, but to ensure he follows it. In other words, for the falcon (Anthony Jr) to hear and heed the falconer (Anthony Sr).
But Tony, the falconer, is himself lost, and needs guidance and growth. When he was young, his falconer (Johnny Soprano, his father) led him down the wrong path. Or perhaps, failed to show him a better path.
At the very least, Tony knows that he doesn't want the same life for AJ. He just doesn't know how to effectively lead him. Christopher, Matthew, Sean, Ritchie, Ralphie, Tony B, and even Feech, are all just stand ins for the relationship that matters most: AJ.
Tony's on a journey to become a better person. Or at least a different person. There are many components to this journey: Self examination via Dr Melfi. Losing his mother. Meadow acting out after Jackie Jr's death. Breaking up with Carmela. Becoming closer with his sister (she marries Bobby and has a child. Tony promotes Bobby and gets them a beautiful house). Other experiences include killing both Christopher and Tony B to prevent the dangers that they present. He couldn't suffocate his mother, but he did take action against other troublesome family members. (Including Adriana)
The other line Melfi quotes from the poem is: the center cannot hold. All of these experiences helped center Tony in a better place that serves to protect himself and his family. Some of these experiences are overly dramatic, like killing Christopher and Tony B. But that's the "language" of the Sopranos, that's the kind of story it is. In real life it might be simply cutting off contact with a toxic family member or friend.
But perhaps the most important experience is AJ's suicide attempt. This finally breaks Tony. This changes the dynamic and allows Tony and Carm to listen to AJ.
People say Tony becomes an irredeemably evil person in the last seasons. I've never felt that way. Things happen in his life that are bleak and sad. But that's what happens as we age. Family members die, fucked up things happen to those close to us, and we learn hard lessons. Not everything is sunshine and bouncy castles. Some of us die not because of a rival mafia, but from not being able to lead a physically and/or mentally healthy lifestyle. Or from accidents, illness, or something else. In the show, this is represented by the ever present danger Tony experiences from his business rivals and the feds.
The biggest lesson Tony wants to impart to his family, especially AJ (the weakest), is to enjoy the good times with the people they love. He says this in the final episode of season one, during that rain storm at Vesuvios. This is a very special scene. The way it was set up with the rain storm , the fallen tree in the road, the hungry/starving family. Where did they end up? At Vesuvios, Tony's best friend's restaurant. In the midst of all this peril, not to mention what Tony has gone through that season withstanding attempts on his life by his own mother and uncle, all of a sudden they find themselves in this calm idyllic environment, all of them together, with food to the rescue expertly made by his best friend, amongst family. In the midst of the chaos that is life, if you can find a moment to enjoy good times with those who matter most, there is nothing more important. And thematically, season 1 is the blueprint for the story at large.
I believe he says something like that again at the dinner table while he and Carm are reconciling. But it's said one last time... not by Tony, but by AJ, in the last episode of the series, in the final scene.
Tony doesn't only try to lead AJ there, but be around long enough, and is there for him long enough, for AJ to experience all the things he needs to experience in order to realize this on his own: in other words, to grow up. We see the effects not having a father can have on people like Ralph, Chrissy, Paulie, and Vito Jr. They are cautionary tales. Tony at the very least provides a safe home environment for AJ (relatively speaking), and he's there to check up on him when he can. He actually cares, despite his odd work hours and temperamental behavior. Tony clears a path and provides him enough space to flounder and find his way.
AJ has gone from child to young adult. When we meet him he is a child obsessed with playing video games and eating ziti. Then came girls. Then came getting led down the wrong path, and kicked out of school. A serious relationship with the wrong person. Heartache. Struggling post secondary. Working shit jobs. Then the climax of self hatred and being on the wrong path...attempted suicide. Then self examination and the windy road to self possession and better priorities after that. Actually wanting to serve his country. Being, by the end, more settled and more relaxed. Picking his gf up from school and working as an assistant producer on a movie. He seems more content and at peace. These trials and tribulations have brought him to a place where he can finally recognize how important it is to simply enjoy the good times with the people who truly matter most. It's not about consumerism or any other thing they may be chasing. David Chase has said that the two main themes of the show are consumerism and death. In the end, consumerism is defeated. What's really important before we die is family, and enjoying them.
And this is what it's all about. The falcon, AJ, has finally heard the falconer, Tony. He didn't just hear his father, but understands and makes it a priority. He is now truly on the right path. The one Tony was afraid he would never follow. And now, the journey Tony started in season 1, episode 1 is over. His most important job is done. And with the show's main mission complete, he can leave. Fade to black.

To what's left of you quarter, piece, and part powerful gentlemen and to the appearance of an extreme degree powerful “women” of this penny parade continent, this five and dime celebration, this dollar store revelation, this world-wide cultural instantiation and its jubilation, from factories in Fiji, to factories in China, to the world itself as if a great, round, roving, marvelous factory to print colored bits of paper and tin cans, shells and bombs to burst in midair – confetti for every beach and ocean in this ever-expanding tidal future of ours!
It is nearby somewhere my own hunger urged me from mine and your wilds alike, and in the emergence of a lucidity from the depths of yon trash heap (and my longstanding work therein), which predates not just my meeting you, and its tending endlessly to your children, but every and all conception of me for eternity and more; I came to you and allowed you to mistake yourself for me, as there was no mistaking me for you - for what's left of life in your eyes reveals to me what you know that you both know, and don't know, you need, what you can only ever imagine is lost or out there to be found or bought in your world, what has been conditioned into you so as to preclude seeing and especially the strength of “not seeing,” and it is with every momentarily wakeful glance you give in my direction, every question you hear, every call answered, that ensures me all is not forsaken despite the ceaseless attempt on “all’s life” to the contrary, a tryer of the reigns finds reigns, a fisher finds fish – in the depths of this land, and what clings to it on all fringes and fronts, fits you as your highest metaphor of a culture’s soul: a prisoner’s home for a lost vagabond, the destitute, overdosing on richness, dressed nicely if in the most poorly-fitting and disheveled clothing, as when a child too small tries to don the clothes (i.e., attitude, appearance, nature, purpose) of his absent father – he was looking into a future, and now he is this “future,” much less a “future” anyone would desire, utterly abandoned in hope, deed, action, and almost word, but for everything effeminately subtle and indirect, one thing is said, another is done, and no value may be found in the schizoid feeding frenzy to the tune of perhaps the most psychotic ruling herdsman type who have ever had the unfortunate chance (for every living creature) to love at all, but as anyone here only ever understands such things on meticulous spreadsheets of numbers that can never add up (Remember 2008? Whoops!), as if a sort of simulation of life, or in many cases, simulation of a simulation, of life, or something resembling some sort of denizen of some sort of strange land’s strange life, or similarly, a home that can’t house anyone at all, is only understood in familiar commercials where, a large volume of words, images, and bright colors are lauded and leveraged as a subliminal jackhammer, and of course, the less they mean, the less bearing, therefor reminder of and on reality, the better, so long as one message is clear (desire - what is missing and sought? How to twist the knife into the lonely and afraid?); I can state without undue excess and absolutely zero excitement, that the vault is empty, the account reads zero, rather, your vault is empty, and zero would be an improvement, for its implication would be that of an animal who, having a glance in the mirror, has had a profound and terrible revelation, not the ghost and mummy and living skeleton, the standing ruins that stand and stare back, but, had instead, possibly relearned to create beyond itself, or unlearned, to take pride in everything it IS, and to feel longing and despair and especially contempt for everything that it ISN’T; not a goal, or a destination, and yet would be a road as if so? Feign one more pointless yet needy life, lived as long as possible, forever taking more than can ever give, in service of the greatest number of pebbles and papers, and for itself, its own little day? When is this day? No, let us not see beyond the day – things are too good, your future is already in the water, don’t let anything, least of all yourselves, stand in the way.
Yet it wasn't for any of this I was glad or sad, as the tepid radiations and hopeful evacuations of a life on the wondrously vapid factory clone farm are often quite touching, and at times, seem to reveal the confessions of a beautiful animal, or the image of what once was, now reminiscing on their own or someone else’s golden years, some creature lost to winter everlasting, and astonishingly absent and completely unaccounted in a strange game of 'the most numbers' (as if creating for an audience, what you know as consumer groups and shrubbery, that doesn’t even exist, at least previously, without even realizing it) - once more, let us congratulate this species on its wildest success - it is rare that anyone changes anything, such as, even the most minor character of nature, culture, and being, let alone channeling, cultivating, and hobbling an entire species' psychic domain, with a success not unlike Malaria (and its nature), be it with prescription methamphetamine or the other panoply of assorted multi-colored poisonous candies and treats, largely advertised in yellow and red, like warning signs one finds on a deadly viper, you know (they really catch the eye), and though the medicalization of the future, a sort of savaging by the greatest of shorts never even conceived, but like a carcass that is just there, waiting for the bloated and their bloated feast, because as wisdom will teach anyone who lives long enough, success with or without awareness, as with all success, is classified as Victory under the great auspices of Nike, of which Nemesis never fails to find conscious or unconscious compensation. That’s the thing about the “unconscious” – the unknown is most feared, but just because it is unknown, does not mean it is wrong, unreal, or “not there,” nor does it make it chaos, merely, beyond you, before you, after you, your aftermath – to quote a wise woman, “funny that, humans can be ruins too, and that ruins can stand so long!” - and with these digressions aside, all these matters of which I speak need not in fact be recorded by anyone (even me), it is merely sufficient that they occur. Things are revealed, and those beings who are being revealed to, are helpless, but TO BE revealed to. Whether they see or understand what they are seeing, at all, is another matter. What emerges can’t not emerge, what is revealed, can’t not be revealed, or not witnessed. Like flowers and bees (and spiders) – the world is beautiful and many-legged, bites and stings and sometimes even smells nice.
For, to attempt to comprehend - what it means, for life to mean nothing? It would mean to truly understand this precipice – that, for time itself, mankind itself, ceases to exist, or have any reason, meaning, purpose, or even justification - but that is not our numbered and enumerating way, for, as a nation of decadent accountants, as nation of creditors and debtors even to one’s own family and friends, a nation of strangers and government agents who are primarily bound by their need to sell products and services in plebian, repeated, undifferentiated-as possible-like fashion, all of whom have many guns, are coerced by many guns, under auspices of those guised as ‘the educated’ even, it is the number here that matters most, and nothing else, but it was seeing the real nature of that number, and to what it applies (and how the code is woven through data to reveal all the ugly facts of life) that has us clapping ourselves on the back, or at each other’s throat, both of which are great opportunities for enterprising individuals, for, in a country and culture of mercenaries and prostitutes, the accountant who promises the most, wins, which is to say that the world’s oldest profession has taught all great and small American alike, how much the world, a family, a son, a daughter is worth: nothing. Love has no monetary value, happiness, contentment, the fact that a human being is born is complete, has no value, and if you market to them while they are bewildered, frightened, and alone, coming as they are from a culture conditioned to be sick farm animals, vacuous watchers and consumers and food and sacrifice and disposable animal, then one’s success is eventually guaranteed – and it is this sort of flagrant and glamorous prostitutions and illustrious illusions that has dominated our culture, to allow the most mediocre types to not just attempt to inherit the world, but to continue to assume that they are entitled to it, and to entreat themselves to all therein as if disposable possession, an entire world, increasingly filled with this singular, totalizing, delusion. Sadly, it is this sort of brainless extroversion, and disease, that dominates and continues to pass as leadership in what is already a totally medicalized, encapsulated, and strait-jacketed culture.
Which is really humorous, when you know then the term “business leader” is an oxymoron, and unfitting. After all, a pimp and a butcher do not have followers of loyalty or even duty, they don’t own minds or hearts, they own a line to the bank and paying bills – they have animals employed under pressure, under duress, under the knife, performance, art, feeding the hungry and the needy. The sort of deprecating and depredating effects one finds in such miasma and gore are what is known in the slammer as prisoner conditions—not just immediate depression that conduces to deep, dark, dreamless sleep – and not just that animals in captivity will act out violently as a matter of vital Will and its need to prove to itself, that it is indeed alive in some capacity, but to race to the bottom of the behavioral sink. But everything comes and goes, so it is that which went down the drain has washed back up on our shores, like dumping and leaking perchloroethylene and trichloroethylene, which, as deadly solvents seep directly to the bottom of the groundwater table, some things are just like that – an avalanche – unstoppable, indelible, ineffable, unstoppable, inevitability as it is – fate weaving itself, the basilisks of the new dawn cawing, and then their coming home to roost – leaving the question, who or what was this all for? The state, the herd, and the people are indeed “one,” even if many. Fascism with a good conscience, is to say, civilization is for the survivors, the good, the moral, and the just; and every judge, jury, and executioner agrees, especially when they elicit the confession from the condemned, all of which is fortunate and convenient for the survivors (cowards), so long as one takes their place in the orgy and circle-jerk chain of pity (which is all pity for self, projected outward as cover) of which, all the strangers with guns agree as well, yet despite all these plain as fact appearances, behaviors, and communications that anyone can see, read, and almost even understand, I know others don’t yet know or share my excitement at proposals of an updated and appropriate lexicon, and it is here that we visit terminology that is apt for a soulless, blood-sucking age that would rather see man as docile sheep, than become anything different, more, abd superior.
So it is, henceforth, all those conspicuously inconspicuous nobodies who always hunger more than they can Will - you are not known as the “the managerial elite,” but the “Malarial Elite.” Not the “business class,” but the “boring class.” Not the “political class,” but the “parasitic class.” Not the “leaders of tomorrow,” but the “pillagers of yesteryear.” After all, who would want health - when sickness is so profitable? Rather, how could the healthy even bother with the sick, how could they understand them? The entire medical profession’s creed, to this day, is “please don’t bother us,” as, everyone needs their papers. Yes, while even Dr. Frankenstein and his murdering monster appear naïve and juvenile compared to the sort of psychos who run most wards and hospitals, not to mention any of its direct connection to the state, this is the nature of miasma, no one could choke through it even if they wanted, - so who could ever stand on the shoulders of giants or titans, when the entire country from top to bottom, can only beg, borrow or steal from around the ankles? And the need is locked in – slavery, the most wealth and power ever created in the history of the world, wasted on a dying, decrepit ruling class of pseudo-human being who sound and appear as if they couldn’t have a genuine thought or feeling in their bodies, even if needed to prevent a nervous breakdown, even if needed to mitigate the breakdown of an entire civilization, or imminent death and war around the globe.
And this is perhaps the most astoundingly marvelous thing about a long-extricated, tortured-out diffusive chain of irresponsibility – the one who conceives of the bottom, the lowering of the bar, is not the same as the one who enacts it, is not the same as the one who installs it, is not the same as the one who tills it, is not the same as the one who owns it, all of which beleighs the truth that, most everyone is happy to disappear, they are happy that so little is ever asked or expected, that nobody remembers their name, or asks more. Yes, aloneness, and dangerous aloneness therein is the only real condition, but so it is for everyone. You see, take heart, you’re not alone here. It was only illusion. One or many, many or one – you’re the same thing, desire, create, act and enact the same thing – like addict and supplier, and that’s how and why you have built precisely what it is you have built - and the isolation also serves a purpose – as it makes your domination precipitously convenient (a civilization of people taught to be helpless, passive, watchers and consumers, and bad actors for bottomless pits of crowds at that). People are easy to manipulate, coerce, and control, when alone. The solution that knows how to answer for all problems- as both Socrates and the rapacious, long-annoying American salesmen, marketers, and spammers of all inboxes humanly known, know – you look for the self-conscious weakness, and then you twist the knife as insidiously and compellingly as sublimely [terrible and frightful yet divine distance between desire and reality] possible. Imagine doing this to an entire lower class – like raising rabbits for disposal and harvest.
And while our most acrimonious of orders is, pertaining to the supposedly beloved objects of one’s and one’s culture’s desires, first to try to masticate it, if not, fornicate with it, if not, buy and sell it with the purpose of others enacting the former and/or the latter behaviors upon it, it strikes me that even the larger, stunningly clueless population is beginning to scratch their heads as they watch time stand still in perpetuity, rather, as they watch time leak, fume, and die, to their detriment, on their dime (they pay for it), which, if you’re wondering why is an alarm to you and them, is because this is not what they were promised, and, that first Boston Tea Party is a simpleton's joke compared to the tyranny that rules happily and without remorse today. And so it is, what is being witnessed, interpreted, spun, and sold, is not what they are being promised right now (they see the very opposite in fact – reality, right under their nose, and they can even almost “read it”), and as with right now, Victory demands compensation, and it isn’t just coming, it is already here. Oh no, the best is yet to come, you assure me? I’ll agree, but only because it is in my language and on my terms, and you have no idea what that means.
Even then, despite my great love for this land and some of its most rare and valuable individuals (because the rest is corporate, i.e., state-sanctioned, wasteland), despite knowing all of you far, far, far too well, I am left with no pity in common with you, and if you’ve been reading the stars and the wind and the times (it stands still, slow enough to read for even the illiterate, in some regards, after all), you know then that you have all but nickeled and dimed away everyone else’s pity too, and those left parroting the party line are dead already without knowing it, fail to see they are alone, the target, the victim, the product, as well – but there’s hardly an accountant alive who can cook these books, even a Jew, or maybe someone from the Chinese Communist Party, of which, our own leadership shares beds, and a future as insect-overlords of a placated, wasted, dying populace of a poisoned land.
Yes, our way of life is incidental, a waterwheel in the river of misery for most that is called human biology – so nobody can help themselves against their own (intentionally) weakened and morbid Will and better interest, for instance, the people who once lived here were helpless to crave the steel and alcohol Spanish merchants advertised – and once this poisoned stream had traveled for centuries, found its way into my mouth and after a lifetime of ripping it out, to see what is beyond it, a life-time of sickness and its convalescence, exactly as everyone here intentionally and unintentionally designed, and with perspective on asylums and institutions from both deep inside and far beyond their walls (these are funny conceptual and imaginary designations, walls, barriers, doors, etc.), inside or outside of it, it is fear and hatred and pain – and a recirculation of dollars and pity, with its requisite shame, sympathies, and pities. The price for playing the game? Your eternal soul? No, that was marketing, so you didn’t notice your body was being used, abused, and consumed, by little camouflage predators who have the appearance of ‘ordinary’ human-beings (now its sublimated into the market, god being dead and all), but, alas, are not Apex, but incidental, happenstance, a laugh, a gas, mediocrity given its day since the real predators are medicated, surrounded, and killed off, and ultimately, as ape is to man, this homo sapien is to a better humanity of present and into the future – a (blind) laughing stock. An emperor and empire with no clothes at all. Just as neanderthal did not understand why homo sapien laughed at him, homo sapien doesn’t know how bad the joke is, and the exacting ways in which he and she are the joke (yes, presuming entitlement, and to be the goal, and what's to be preserved).
Even as I have watched, and continue to watch, the most basic and mediocre types of animals reach majority, in all human arenas, whose vanitous parents, teachers, and policemen, all profiting, even forming a way of life, based on their own absence in these future ‘derelicts’ lives, starting in their most vulnerable precatory age, of their own wisdom, persuaded them, having generally only paper or medications to offer, in manners not dissimilar to business in Italian mafia or other gangland activity, to become physicians, psychiatrists, lawyers, sociologists, and even justice-fighters, or freedom fighters (at least on TV, or social media) for an entire society that was conditioned to be ineffectual, hapless, resentful dependents, a dollar farm, a low-wage servant class, buckets of frozen fish consumer voting blocks to market sickness to, tossed to the dust and wind as fertilizer for future pennies, all vegetating on an American-factory-farm-scale organized lunatic asylum, or, as is well known, the streets, and other similar institutions such as prisons and schools, whom all get their French fries from the same governmentally relevant contracted organization, aka business, aka American business, aka corporation, aka, the State as nation, and the state of its affairs – an entire population missing in action, on vacation, tending tiny, totalized, cog-size gardens and planting for their own promised day alone, or sick on the job, owned as it were, by the people who own the entire country, and in some sense, the world, with our closest business partners, in both industry, and way of life, being the Chinese State, of which all Americans should be horrified.
—all of which conduces towards a feeling, or, thought of tremendous weight and burden, which is to say, what can anyone expect in a land where one doesn’t have friends and neighbors or even a husband or wife, but predatory yet desperately needy and dependent associates (nothing is more depraved than businessmen in rut, when they see only paper dollars with starry, religious-eyed zeal), all of whom can, do, and will continue to charge each other by the minute, to get the most out of every serviceable transaction they can name for a surcharge, or convenience fee, or tax, or service fee, of which, the original stamp act which was one of many matchsticks that helped founded this country, is a farce and a joke compared to the sort of brigands, actors, and ugly celebrity that is our body politics – a society where brutal taxation and its repression is culture, is the way of life, occasionally exemplified by “kill dozers” or small business owners flying their small airplanes into local tax offices (see Texas), of which we can say, the genius of America wasn’t a recreation of the old slave pyramid, at least two or three times in a row, as merit turned to money, that is gold, which turned to paper, which turned to non-existent ones and zeroes, nor is the genius the ever-present image and its parading and campaigning of forgettable faces and non-existent personalities and all its pretense of the removal of what sadly passes for aristocracy these days – the genius of America was to monetize every part of the body, every aspect of culture and life, to scrape the human being down to the bone, not of any human value, not of any real value that they themselves feel or want to represent in the actual world, in any remotely authentic, sincere, and even needed manner, but strictly: monetary value. There is no value outside paper money zero and ones values. Which is to say, the modern human soul is a worthless copper penny stretched between the crude, well-armed yet hapless Europeans of America, those eroded basalt Pillars of the West, and the equally hollow and vacuous Chinese Communist Part of the East, whatever facsimiles are left from their origins derived – between the two, like the upper and lower clamps of a vice grip, humanity are a great mass of herd animal, ready to be flambéed, roasted, crispen and woolied, ready to be turned into garment, and dinner, and pointless, disposable sacrifice (for the people that own them, but not for gods, greater purpose, men, or connection to the Earth and environment).
And how much value may be derived from this worthless penny? When the game is the bait and switch, it is never enough. And then how much can you charge for the sickness you create? Each layer of skin is a few cents more, and every American businessman, who becomes wealthy, knows that every penny adds up, because for most American business men, when it is, was, or becomes their time to rob anyone and everyone blind, we see the American for what they are (an empty, pitiless, stomach, no brain) and the most powerful nation in the history of the world – which proves, not just how blind great power is, but also states, the more one wants, the more one must debase one’s self, thus the entire human future, had to be sold out to satiate the money printers - where lavish expense in both cheap thrills and their curtailing, are incurred, inflicted, endured, yet loved with Barnum and Bailey advertising appeal of a culture that can’t decide whether it wants to be most pitiless master or most pitiful slave, prude or whore, noble Paladin or gutless Brigand – a nation not of refined or even rudimentary taste in appearance, behavior, and communication, but of tawdry delight and intoxication, angry politics, fear, and hate, not two minutes, but 24/7 – the assailing and travailing of the world against the senses, against reason, against purpose, against humanity, and harder will it become still. Not just against better, superior senses, but all senses, but that is nonsense for you, and as with yesteryear, today, nonsense rules – the lack of sense, the utter lack of reality. And when it’s clear, when you can quote a man, speaking of a past that hasn’t happened yet, who once said, “even if this country had been twice as big, it still wouldn’t be enough,” and, “the love of possessions is a disease in them” - What can you then truly say to a nation of dependents and liars all suffering under the same physiological sicknesses, whose condition is to admit, buy, sell, or permit everything, except for the Truth, and by design? Cowardice, that is generally called, “healthy fear”? And, the straightforward truth? The simple Truth? All of which precludes the complex, take lifetimes-of-vigorous-activity-to-understand-and painfully destructive-to-swallow-Truth? This isn’t s dog and pony show nation, it is a dollar-leash nation. And where reason and logic fail, passion prevails, therefor, a poem to end, in your honor:
Your life, on a leash, how much can you pay? Therapy, credit, lease no money down today
Your life, on a leash, it isn’t worth a thing
Humans have no value, but for the pennies
They might bring, but them alone, isn’t enough,
Together, a few bucks, but none are left That’s right, not a dime for you or for your kids
Sell it all before the fall, retirement commune called “to live” When nothing to give, but everything with a price No tomorrow, don’t think twice, wondering why
There's no ovation to your ending, fearful but
Just pretending – for, behind all that is corporate nice
Are strangers with guns, aplenty at small price
But the cost is wrought, you broke it, you bought
If you’re so smart, how come you aint rich?
One shouldn’t ask such clueless questions
In culture’s nihilistic pitch – few flown
To the top of the roost of the coup
When one is oh so unconcerned,
Rich, and hidden without a peep
This dollar harvest continent
Then demonstrates, by all such
Empty imagistic reprobates
What was sown was
salted stupid, to be easy
then well reaped
Buy and sell an empty shell
shooting fish in a bucket
Or herding sheep
But this sickness
It lingers
Trade coins
For every
Finger
squeeze
And lie
you
Paid
The
true
Price
That you’re nice
That you deserve it
That you can actually afford it
Selling dependence as codependence
the people are stupid and so deserve it
But your dull, dusty harvest, you made it, is here
I don’t know how you tolerate it through the smell
that anyone would be appalled
scrawled floor, ceiling, wall, stinking worms can't stumble, only crawl
Or how people will live through the coming years
of ever-worse, ever-harder, all-consuming and producing horrid fears
A sold-out nation of no rank and station, a parasite full of parasites
Not providence, but lots of guns and hatred
Of course would make so much noise, it’s simply what you can get away with
when men are all absent, resented, and hated - but this is the price for your fascist consumer statist corporate paradise of low-rent, low-class dread and vapid, empty, paper-money doll pretty, petty pointless penny-talking heads
***After it was written, this poem was titled - “Squeeze [the fun out of it]”