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tfw-no-tennis · 4 years

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hxh....MUSICAL

as soon as i saw that a hunter x hunter musical from the year 2002 starring the OG 99 VAs existed, i knew i has to see this...so i set out and watched the nightmare of zoldyck (i would later find out that theres ANOTHER musical, which i plan to watch too)

luckily its all on youtube subbed! in 360 quality...oh hell yes lmao

ok i logically knew this was gonna be a musical but seeing the characters singing is like. a lot. THIS IS SO STRANGE

musical illumi is played by a woman which is interesting. shes got a good voice

i think they just panned to killua but it was so pixelated that i legitimately could not tell hvbadjkfbjkdsf

i have no idea whats going on vhbajdfhhajsdf theres a bunch of people falling over on stage...i think theyre dying? who are yall

oh shit backup dancers?

lmao illumi killed the backup dancers rip.

oh that IS killua lol. s/o to the 3 pixels that are visible

is this gonna be the zoldyck arc but a musical? lmao

OH WAIT IS THAT KURAPIKA AND LEORIO? i cant even tell lmaoooo

i can 100% tell these are fan subs lmaooo i love bad fan subs SO MUCH it makes a viewing experience even better

this is p much just a musical version of the manga/anime so far lmao i love it

the way theyre spelling zoldyck is. a lot

is every character gonna get an intro song. how much of this musical is singing and how much of it is dialogue cause theres defs a range w/musicals

lmao i love gon leorio and kurapikas interactions even here, they rlly feel like two parents being dragged around by their energetic kid

i cant even see the set at all so im just gonna assume theres like, the gate and all that behind them, but it all just looks like a dark wall to me lmao

i love singing exposition

HISOKAS IN THIS???????????????????? oh my lorddddd

OH i see now in the description that hes played by the 99 VA too lmao i love it

wow musical hisoka rlly b like [writes himself into the zoldyck family arc]

oh here we go w/the song introducing the zoldycks

damn grandpa got mad flips

this is. wild

its especially wild that alluka isnt here bc she like...didnt even exist yet at this point in the story

zoldyck family sitcom wow

i see the gon/killua romance is still going strong in the musical

oh so they did all the training and goin thru the door stuff offscreen lol

this is actually doing a pretty good job expanding on the canon stuff from this arc lol so props. espec w/showing more of killua being scared of illumi

oooh this is interesting actually, this is like....an AU where illumi is present during this arc, and how that would change things. And Also They Sing

the zoldycks are so fucked up lmao

also i feel like theres some ‘early adaptation’ character weirdness going on, like w/the grandpa, who seems much less intense here than in the anime (at least after seeing him in the yorknew arc), and milluki, who seems like a gag character here lmao

oh my god lmao is hisoka here to visit illumi?

the hilarious irony of illumi telling killua that assassins cant have friends, then going to hang out with his good buddy hisoka

kurapika is the only one here with a brain cell (for now)

ah yes hisoka and illumi doing their nasty murder flirting thing

HISOKA IS SO NASTYYYY I HATE HIM tho his actor is very good and smarmy

OH its canary!! is there uh. blackface goin on there. i cant actually tell, what with there being only 3 pixels present at any given time

really love how half of this is just the regular arc but with the characters singing abt stuff during it

the lady playing killuas mom has a rlly good screeching voice jesus lmao

ohh i love musical fighting so much

the sound fx on kurapikas sticks are cracking me up

butlers got mad cartwheels

oh theyre doing the coin thing! this is so out of order lmao

oh my god i love that theyre doing like, sick dance moves while coin flipping

ah the zoldyck messenger hawk makes an appearance. i love that thats canon and real

the 12 yr old gay romance is REAL even here

the subs seems to be translated very literally, especially in the songs, so its honestly not clear what theyre even singing about vbsjkdjhfskjfd

gon and killua singing about each other is adorable tbh. also i love how silva asks killua abt his friends and killua is like yeah i made some friends. and then only talks abt gon ahjsduhfabhskdf gayboy

ok so the zoldyck arc is like, ending, but theres still an hr of musical left so whats even gonna happen lmao. also where did hisoka go

oh no the audio and video arent synced anymore huvbhjadfbhjsakdf

oooh they asked canary to come w/them, thats cool

theyre having a party??? hvbajdsfbhasjkdf

oh shit??? what did zeburo just do to killua??? WHATS GOING ONNN lol this is UNCHARTED TERRITORY

OH GOD IT WAS ILLUMI. SHOULDVE KNOWNNN

omggg all their formal outfits....everyone cheering wildly at kurapika is cute

LEORIO AND KURAPIKA DANCING.....

the fact that both killua and gon are taller than kurapika in this is rlly funny

the idea that the zoldycks are also highly trained ballroom dancers is super hilarious to think about, even moreso when you consider how isolationist they are

seriously grandpas got mad flips

also i love leorios outfit

this feels like a filler arc tbh. and i dont mean that in a bad way!

leorio trying to get kurapika to go to the hot springs with him lmaoooo

HVDSJBJFSBFJHS HISOKAS BACK. IN DISGUISE. OH MY GOD

hisokas stage presence is fantastic gotta say

damnnnn dad zoldycks got mad flips too. guess it runs in the family

props to the actors for managing to keep their wigs on while flipping around like that

its so fuckgin funny thats hisoka just introduces himself as illumis friend, when this whole arc is all about how assassins Cannot Have Friends

so hisoka is just here trying to get family approval too huh

gon miming a fishing trip was adorable and realistic...sometimes u get skunked and It Just Be Like That

leorio is rlly tryin to shoot his shot w/kurapika and kp is just Not Realizing huh vbjsdufjbsaukjf

wow leorio breakin the fourth wall like that lmao

wow so illumi hacked killua. rude

hisoka and illumi are lowkey hilarious in this

leorio is rlly sending every signal possible to kurapika and kp is like. No

leorio: killua is a scary murder baby, but also im adopting him

kurapika singing abt how weird it is having friends after dedicating their life to Revenge(tm) is v on brand

HISOKA OH BOY

LMAOOOO HISOKA IS SUCH A FUCKING SNITCH I CANT

no wonder illumi didnt wanna tell him abt his evil plan lmaoooo he fucked up even telling hisoka that much clearly

the zoldyck siblings just staring at hisoka in confusion bc How The Fuck Did This Clown Get In Our House hvbhjdksfnjksdf

you can tell the subs are off when the audience is cracking up but you dont even see a joke there lmao

oh my goddd hisoka using bungee gum to make everyone dance is. hilarious

oh my god synchronized dancing

HVBSHDJFBJDSKFHBSJ illumi doing a dance routine independent of hisoka and hisoka being like ????? vhbjsdkhfjkjsdnfkj THIS IS HILARIOUS

supremely funny to me how illumi makes such a big point abt assassins not having friends, yet hisoka is announcing himself as illumis friend w/every given opportunity hvbhajdkdfhjskf

this feels so filler arc i love it. thats so charming to me since the 2011 anime doesnt have any filler (from what i can tell?)

kurapika and leorio rlly feel like killuas parents here lmaooo

this is all dramatic but kurapika keeps repeating what leorio says and its cracking me up hvbajhkdhfbjsk

i lov this fambly

ah, even in the musical illumi is still such a manipulative bastard

i feel like the quality just went down EVEN MORE, which i didnt think was even possible hvbhjkdsfskf. at least the audio is synced w/the video again

illumis got a good evil laugh

this is the exact brand of dramatic angsty filler content that i was hoping for in this lmao i love it

oooh more zoldycks

honestly this is more how i expected the zoldyck arc to go in canon hbshjdkujfkjsfdas

dramatic gay filler angst + somewhat incorrect fansubs = perfection

OH SHIT CANARY

BRO DID SHE JUST DIE???? OMFG

the subs keep calling illumis power ‘spells’ which seems to imply that illumi is some sort of assassin wizard rather than a nen user hvbsudhfkjsdjgf

come to think of it, what point was the manga at when this musical was written? it has to be pretty early on, maybe just as nen was being introduced

gon boutta go ham on illumi...Get His Ass

OHHHH GON DOING THE ICONIC ARM GRAB....ARM GRAB REPRISE

gon doin the good ole reliable shounen ‘punch your friend and yell at them so they snap out of a funk’ lol

i do love how typically shounen this is. friendship speeches! but delivered by SONG!

illumis main hobby is butting in at the worst possible moments

HISOKAS BACK OH BOY

hisokas playing card blocked killuas hit hvbhjakdhsfjnakdsf thats like in jojo when those manga blocked dios knives

wow the whole zoldyck squad is here

ooh forbidden zoldyck lore lmao

killua: mom u guys are lame im joining this much cooler family now. bye

i love how hisoka is just weirdly lurking around for all this zoldyck drama lmao

silva seems like such a bro in this but i feel like hes rlly not like that in canon vhauidfhbsjhdkjfk

oh nope there he goes w/the evil laugh lmaooooo

sorry dude but leorio is his dad now

gon sniffing zeburo hgbajkdfshbjkdfjnsjdk oh my god

oh hell yeah some synchronized main character finale dancing

actor showcase! everyone loves kurapika which, same

ah so the director of this musical also directed the sailor moon musicals, which i didnt know existed but of course that exists...thats funny considering the hxh mangaka is married to the sailor moon mangaka

anyways that was fun honestly!!!! i fuckgin love musicals, and musical adaptations of non-musical source materials can be like, SO different tonally, but this honestly felt like a fun filler

it was really interesting seeing something based on the canon from this early on - as i said above, some of the characterizations (like the zoldycks) seems a bit different than we’re used to, but others were spot on - like hisoka only showing up intermittently to sow chaos and do nothing else vhjkadhbfhkjdsfnj im assuming the yorknew arc hadnt happened at this point, but hisokas actions in this musical were hilariously similar to how he acted in the yorknew arc, so, props.

plus it was cool to see the ‘what if’ factor w/hisoka and illumi also being there, espec illumi interacting w/killua bc its so wildly different from how killua reacts to any of his other family members - hes clearly scared of illumi, in a way he isnt w/anyone else, and that was done well here w/the scene where illumi threatens killua’s friends to get killua to listen to him

also the angst was honestly great, and there was some REALLY sweet wholesome parts that i loved. and the music wasnt half bad either!!

i think the VAs did a great job playing the characters - hisokas VA was especially great (and i really loved kurapika too). gons hair was not very similar to how it looks in the show so it was a little more obvious that he was being played by a grown woman, but still a great performance.

anyways fun times, i love musicals and this was a fun ole 2000s filler shounen musical adaptation

#lj watches hxh #well. hxh ancillary material #also we're almost done w/the chimera ant arc but i still gotta edit up my heavens arena stuff hvbhjsdfbjdskgs epic fails #i have all my chimera ant liveblogs ready to go but i dont wanna post things outta order Ls #hxh

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venus-says · 5 years

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Aikatsu Stars! Episodes 33-38

Is that time of the year again (for the fourth time this month lol)

Yay, the weather was good today and I managed to do everything I had to do on time so the Aikatsu marathon continues! Another 6 episodes this night so let’s get going.

One thing I don’t like about these episodes is how rushed they felt. Like, last episode Rola was eager to get lessons from her mom which makes you believe the training hasn’t started yet. But then at the beginning of episode 33, the training was already over?

Talking more about episode 33 itself, I have a huge problem of how the show has been framing Rolas as wrong, that she has been so focused on beating Yume that she lost sight of her own path. And while this is a good message, this was never the reason why she has lost so many times?

Like, she has lost because Yume’s OP power would always come up and blast her away, she was never in fault of anything in this whole story so why does she have to go through the teaching of doing things her way for herself must come with a “you lost because you were trying to beat someone” note attached to it?

The next episode... boy I don’t even know what to say. Like, it was really necessary to put gyaru who were doing blackface to show Mahiru’s abilities with makeup and such? Like, even if they wanted to keep the girls as gyaru they could’ve done them without they using brown foundation, couldn’t they? I don’t know, this is such a sensitive subject, I feel like... I can’t really speak properly on the matter?... But it still bothers me quite a lot... and it kinda negates all the good things this episode was trying to do...? Idk, i’m just gonna shut my mouth and move on.

Following the tragedy of that episode, we have a mini-arc focused on exploring Yume’s power. And you guessed, I could care less about this whole thing.

I’m sorry but the sadness, the sense of urgency, all the strong complications they’ve put in these episodes just don’t work for me. I know it probably has for most of the people, many people must think these episodes, 35 especially, are one of the bests in the entire franchise, but since I don’t like the concept of Yume’s power since day 1, I couldn’t care less about this whole thing.

In fact, it just makes me even angrier because apparently, Yume is only THE THIRD PERSON to have experienced this, like if the show didn’t have already gone out of its way to show enough times just to show how special Yume is.

And if thongs weren’t bad enough already the headmaster HAS TO put more pressure and once more plan to expel her, when it really wasn’t necessary no more.

Honestly, I can’t. I just can’t. I also don’t like how fast it was for Yume to raise from her lowest point, you know the journey of her slowly getting her confidence again would’ve been way much more interesting to see then what we got. Oh well, at least now I hope that with this chapter close this power will never appear again and we won’t have to deal with it anymore.

The next two episodes are the traditional Christmas and New Year episodes.

And as always, I don’t have much to say about them. 37 is the typical x-mas episode you can expect from Aikatsu. Sadly it got sprinkled with terrible romance bullshit on the top which turned this episode that could’ve been very cute and adorable, and a very nice change of pace after so many eventful episodes, into a despiteful thing because we have boys and girls and obviously they can’t be just friends, they must be love interests because what other purpose would they have, right?

Episode 38 is the New Year episode and I have nothing to add here that I haven’t said before in this post. There was a lot of foreshadowing and prediction of the future here but these were things that are pretty obvious to presume so it wasn’t even fun to see and create theories.

If I have to add something here is that Rola’s solo version of 1, 2, Sing! is the superior version and if you disagree you’re wrong.

And this was Aikatsu Stars for the day, this was actually a lot shorter than I was expecting, I hope I’m not forgetting anything. In any case, we’re 12 episodes away from the end of this season and I can’t believe we’ve made it so far, it feels like time is flying. I wish this experience was filled with less complaining and more joy, but oh well I’m getting ahead of myself, this is a speech I should've been making in two days, not now. ANYWAY, enough talking. Bye-bi~

#Aikatsu Stars!#aikatsu

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hollenka99 · 5 years

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Lost and Found

Summary: Jameson spends time with his kids, creates one of his most famous shorts and a jazz singer threatens to kill the Jolly Gentleman.

Warnings: Reference to blackface,

September 10, 1923 Dear Mother,

Already, Anthony is in middle school. He has begun attending Joseph Le Conte Middle School. They only began admitting students last year. Therefore, his class is only the second to join the school at sixth grade. I asked him what he thought of this but he seems to be nonchalant to a degree.

In your last letter, you spoke of your hands. I am empathetic. I understand not wanting time to leave you behind. For you, it is the inability to sew because of your osteoarthritis. For me, it's the inability to speak properly due to my vocal cord paresis. I am willing to bet genuine dollars that they will discover a way to incorporate sound into the pictures and make the shift within a decade. I have half-heartedly made peace with my limitations. I fear it's long due that you do the same with yours.

Don't make any dolls for any of your younger granddaughters, not if it is guaranteed to be at your expense. If you're dead set on sending such a gift, ask Mabel to help you with crafting it. Please don't abuse yourself. That is the last thing any of us wishes for.

Yours, Jameson

December 4, 1923 Dear Jameson,

I recall you saying Floyd was a 'ghastly name'. I am guessing you never said that to Clifford. I doubt you ever will now. Especially with his birthday and Christmas almost upon us.

Yours, Mabel

December 18, 1923 Dear Mabel,

Please do not bring that up. When he announced the name to us, I held my tongue. Why Floyd? Of all the names he could have chosen to bestow upon his son, why is God's name did he pick Floyd? Not only that, what on earth possessed him to prefer Floyd to Lloyd? Lloyd is a perfectly good name, it is practically the same and I am sure it is more popular too. Who even calls their child Floyd anymore? By my guess, this time next century, Floyd will grow so unpopular in favour of Lloyd that it will be a rare occurrence to meet one.

Still, he is our nephew. I do struggle to imagine how he went from Louise to Floyd. Louise is such a pretty name for a girl. When Siobhan was pregnant with Sophia, it was one of the names we considered. If in two months we have another daughter, we may opt for Grace, Victoria or Eleanora, now that Louise is off the table. Should you also have a daughter next month, I'd ask you not to steal those names. This business is already tricky enough without reducing our options.

If Floyd wishes to change his name once he comes of age, I won't blame the boy.

Yours, Jameson

Harriet Victoria Jackson Female February 8, 1924 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

February 9, 1924 Dear Mother,

We have finally been blessed with the second daughter we had been hoping for. Therefore, six grandchildren is all you're getting out of me. At least there won't be any more debates between myself and Siobhan.

We've given her the name Harriet Victoria. She was born late last night which, yes, means her birthday is February 8th. I was aware it was a possibility but I convinced myself the chances were unrealistically smaller. I don't seem to have much luck when it comes to when my daughters are born, do I? If they're not being born far too early, they're born on what should have been their uncle's 44th birthday.

Her name is deliberate. We both like Harriet and Victoria but couldn't decide between them, among other contenders. We almost picked Eleanora. However, once she was actually born, Harriet Victoria seemed to be the perfect combination. It is fitting for her birthday.

Yours, Jameson

April 29, 1924 Pearl,

Do you mind fixing the stitches on Sophia's new doll? Mother barely managed to get the thing to stay intact. With her osteoarthritis, I'm surprised she got as far as she did.

I don't want to rush you but I would prefer if it was done quickly. I spun a tale about the doll needing the night to get used to America. Sophia believes the toy is going to explore our sitting room as she sleeps.

I am sorry for asking this of you at such short notice. You know how I hate to be a burden. With your expertise, there is no doubt you will do a fine job.

You have my eternal thanks, Jameson

May 1, 1924 Dear Mother,

On Sophia's behalf, I'd like to thank you for the doll you made for her birthday. She adores and refuses to part with it. You certainly succeeded in making her happy.

She may love it unconditionally but it makes me uneasy. I know it must have caused a great deal of pain to make it. Your hands aren't the same as they were when I was six years old. You were even struggling when I was preparing to get married. That was 14 years ago. You should stop pushing your hands past their limits. It must hurt you to do basic tasks such as cooking. Why would you deliberately put yourself through it for your granddaughter's sake? You could have gotten Mabel to do the stitching for you. Sophia would not treasure the doll any less.

Hoping you are caring for yourself, Jameson

July 13, 1924 Jameson,

Would you be able to visit Saint John this summer? I feel this may be your last chance to bid farewell to the house we grew up in.

The truth is I am debating whether I should sell it. I know, it is a major development that possibly seems to have come from nowhere. In actuality, this has been on my mind for a while. Edward keeps me in better comfort than our parents did. This isn't about increasing our prospects. I'd never be that selfish. The issue is our mother. She can't stay there forever. Half the time, I'm visiting her to help with the chores she cannot do any longer.

She is stubborn though. I'm afraid that is a trait you've gotten from her. It isn't like you were the only one she passed that irritating habit to. We all have first-hand experience with that. I am coaxing her with unlimited access to my children. I'd like to believe that aspect is causing her resolve to slowly wane. Nevertheless, she wishes to stay in the home she's lived in since the 70s. No reminder of Granny living with us sways her either. She only replies with the fact her own mother lived the entirety of her widowhood without requiring to move to her child's house. What Mother neglects to acknowledge is that Grandma's husband was a headmaster while she ended up marrying a labourer. The difference in salaries is considerable. By this point, I can only assume the largest factor is vanity. God forbid she has to end up like her mother-in-law.

I spoken to Edith. She has supported my argument. Infuriatingly, Mother doesn't see her viewpoint as entirely valid anymore. Since announcing her impending marriage, Mother hasn't been quite as warm towards Edith. She states the only connection they share is Edith's daughters. Expressing my opinions is futile.

Still, my offer stands. Visit the house before anything is finalised. After all, she cannot remain in that house alone. I will have to sell that house despite not wanting to part with it either. The three of you in California can easily pay the bills for her with your routine sending of money to Canada. As much as I wish finances were the issue, therefore making my plans unnecessary, it is instead her health. Unless some madman attempts to replace her hands with a younger version, there is no other option for her other than to partially relinquish her independence.

Wishing you well, Mabel

July 30, 1924 Mabel,

The three of us have been discussing this matter between us. We agree with you. However, we think there is a better solution. One of us could buy the house from you. That way, Mother will live with you and be under your care but none of us will have to bid farewell to such an important part of our lives.

Tell us when it would best suit you for us to arrive in Saint John for any negotiations necessary.

Yours, Clifford, Jameson and Pearl

November 6, 1924 Dear all,

I came across a compilation of Wilfred Owen's poetry recently. I decided to buy the book. It is fitting for this time of year.

'Dolce et Decorum Est' struck a nerve with me. I was angered by the message but not in disagreement. In fact, I could hardly read past the second stanza. I was fine with the imagery of soldiers marching across the trenches wearily. However, it is difficult to read a description of a man 'drowning' from gas when your own brother suffered a similar fate. I don't know whether the type of gas mentioned in the poem is the same Harvey inhaled but the vivid image is harrowing to picture nonetheless. Yet, I persevered and reached the end. The last two rhyming couplets forced me to sit in my chair simply to absorb them fully. A Latin phrase is used, translating into 'It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country'. Never was there a saying so incorrect.

I enquired about Owen himself, only to learn the poor bastard met his end a week before the war met its own. A year younger than Pearl too. I'm glad his loved ones strived to publish his poems. People should read them and have a better understanding of what those men truly experienced. There was that ridiculous propaganda poster several years ago that I always hated. It was the one with two children asking their father what he did during the war, implying he did not enlist and was therefore less of a man. If any of my six were to question me, I'd tell them I tried to bring some laughter to such tragic times. That is an admirable feat to attempt.

I'll leave you with the lines that moved me.

My friend, you would not tell in such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Yours, Jameson

January 9, 1925 Dear all,

Yesterday, we returned home from our holiday visit to Ireland. It's been too long since I set foot in the country. Siobhan has taken the children to see their grandfather and uncle occasionally. Unfortunately, there never ceases to be something or other preventing me from taking my leave to join them. Until now, that is.

The chorea has begun to set in, leaving his handling of utensils clumsy. Throughout our stay, Michael was as irritable and impulsive as Henry or Theodore can be in their worst moments. He is in the intermediate stage, their father tells me. He has also relayed to me how my brother-in-law's dependence on him is increasing, some examples of which I have witnessed first-hand. Having never met an individual with the condition, I must say it was quite the shock. Siobhan warned me about he may behave. I still wasn't prepared. Neither, it seems, was Siobhan. Though, that is to be expected. After all, Michael is her brother.

Siobhan pulled me to one side last night, shortly after we sent the children to their own beds. She asked if I was willing to let her return to Limerick once the time comes for her father to require assistance. I understand it's expected for her to 'obey' me as her husband but the notion I would deny her request is preposterous. This Christmas wasn't some experiment to sway my views. Her brother is chronically ill and, however much we wish it wasn't the case, he is most certainly going to die from his illness. How could I refuse to allow her to help a dying man, especially when he is family?

I will say this, I am dreading her leaving. Although it may be years away right now, she will have to leave. I am going to miss her dearly when she does. Not only that, when she finally returns to us, there's no doubt the experience will change her. I am unequipped to provide her with adequate comfort.

Yours, Jameson

May 14, 1925 Dear Mother,

I seem to be in a creative slump. All I ever seem to do is adapt previous works or allow my writings be based on historical events. Everyone appears to be interested in creating another story inspired by cowboys and the wild west. The local landscape allows for that. I don't particularly care for the genre.

Anthony is at that awkward age where I can no longer use him as a child nor can I pass him off as a young man yet. He's enquiring if there are any roles he can fill. I despise having to constantly turn him down. The boy wants to follow in my footsteps professionally. I have the power to help with that, provide him with an advantage most won't have. It frustrates me when I am unable to do so.

If you have any plot ideas to send me, especially ones that involve a thirteen year old boy, I'd be much obliged.

Yours, Jameson

August 16, 1925 Dear all,

We spent a few days to see the Redwoods in North California. I've been wanting to come face to face with them for a while. They are larger than I'd expected, this coming from someone who had already braced himself for a massive tree. To some's disappointment, they are impossible to climb due to their width and lack of low-lying branches.

It's good that we've shown them nature. They're being raised in a city, same as their parents, and not exposed to woods or rivers. Sophia thrives in this environment. Henry usually sticks by her so he has a better chance of coming across wild animals. Theodore tags along as well, likely to be part of their group. I usually asked Anthony to keep an eye on them whenever we were preoccupied with Harriet or the dogs. We didn't bring Lyra with us, unfortunately. At her age, she wouldn't have enjoyed all the stress of travelling.

I recall promising to stay by Sophia's side should she ever need the company when she was born. Instead, I'm giving her things to keep her busy because she broke her leg while exploring near our campsite. She's trying her hand at whittling which she has taken to thus far. Additionally, Theodore stole a potato from his dinner plate a few days ago. It's since had pins stuck in it and a smiling face drawn on one side. He has been named George. I will have to dispose of George when he stops looking so fresh.

Yours, Jameson

October 6, 1925 Dear all,

After asking around, I have found an outlet that will suit both Sophia and Henry. It's an organisation founded roughly 15 years ago by a British couple. It encourages children to develop into upstanding citizens through earning badges and camping. The Americans adopted it not long after. Canada must have introduced the organisation earlier than the US, considering it's part of the Empire.

Girl Scouts begin at age 5 with Brownies, which I understand to be mythical creatures. When she is 10, Sophia will move on to become an Intermediate and thereafter a Senior after her 14th birthday. Likewise, Cubs are the first stage of Boy Scouts until the boy turns 11 whereupon he will be promoted to a Scout.

The two of them look smart in their uniforms, don't you think? The photographs were taken as soon as they returned home from their first meetings. They're demonstrating their variants of the salute. Girl Scouts have their three fingers to the side while Boy Scouts are more militaristic by having their hand next to their head.

They enjoyed their first meetings so hopefully, this is a sign their enrollments were a successful move.

Yours, Jameson

November 10, 1925 Dear all,

Has 'Carving For Beginners' reached you at the Imperial yet? I am hoping to learn of your reactions as soon as possible.

This short heavily involves the children. For instance, the pumpkins at the front? Those are all carved by Oliver and Sophia. Henry scooped along with Theodore. For some reason, Sophia specifically wants credit for the wide one. The accompanying music? Siobhan's own composition. Anthony is the one who hands me the knife halfway through.

Can you guess who was responsible for clean up? That's correct, myself and Siobhan. I will give Anthony credit where it is due. We were all meant to take part in the disposal of waste materials. While the others wandered off after becoming bored, he stayed behind to finish the job. We couldn't finish fast enough. My love for preparing pumpkins with the children just about surpasses my hatred for the smell. The Gentleman doesn't exaggerate on that.

Some of the title cards were inspired by things that happened while the five of them were preparing the pumpkins. Ollie struggled to get the lid off his pen and begrudgingly accepted my help. The pumpkin screams after the Jolly Gentleman makes the first cut because Theodore held one in front of his face before roaring like he was some pumpkin monster.

I wrote this short for them, almost as if the Jolly Gentleman was instructing them on the practise. I cannot express how much fun I've had whilst making it. I should make another short involving them behind the scenes before sound is introduced to film. I'll likely wait a couple years so Harriet may be old enough to be included.

Still detecting the faint smell of pumpkin somewhere, Jameson

February 24, 1926 Dear Mother,

Recently, I've been reflecting on the events of February 1897. A lot happened. I became afflicted with something we had never come across previously. There was a race for Father and Harvey to get their wages. I played soccer with Clifford before he sent me to bed because my heart was beating unnaturally fast. Harvey sprinted whilst carrying me because he was a faster runner than Father and I woke delirious that morning. Then, after all that, we celebrated your birthday while I was recovering from the operation.

This is somewhat of a tangent but do you recall me saying I was stuck for ideas? I have one but I'd be extremely surprised if you approved of it. It involves a boy named James and his twin sister Olivia, eternally nine and two years of age. Their names are non-negotiable. If they are grounds enough for you to think less of me then I'm sorry to hear that. But this censorship outstayed its welcome years ago.

I want to honour her. I think you forget I came close to losing a daughter myself. I respect that isn't the same but I'm certainly closer to understanding than Mabel, Clifford or Pearl. The story won't be published in your lifetime either, if at all. This project is for my benefit.

I apologize for being blunt but I am not prepared to stay silent on the matter any longer. I promise it will be tasteful.

Yours, Jameson

April 30, 1926 Dear all,

Would you say I am an irresponsible father for bestowing my daughter a penny knife for her eighth birthday? Fear not, I haven't thrown caution to the wind.

There are some conditions Sophia must adhere to if she wishes to make full use of her present. She cannot use it without one of us supervising nor can she have it on her person when she isn't working with it. It will be securely stored away during those times, somewhere her brothers and Harriet are unable to access it either.

In the very least, this will save our kitchen knives from being used to artistically mutilate sticks. Working with wood seems to be her calling at the moment. She will whittle and craft wooden figures whether we approve or not. We may as well give her the tools so she may move past this phase to seek safer pursuits.

Henry questioned if he was receiving a similar present in September. Certainly not.

Yours, Jameson

August 2, 1926 Dear Mother,

Well, we've returned to the place it all began. The journey was a little chaotic with a party of eight travelling the width of the country. If anything, our time in New York has made me realise it's been a while since I relied solely on a bicycle for transport.

Ollie sounds like he has set himself high standards for his future. When he overheard his mother and I discussing the city while planning the trip, he became interested in learning more about Julliard. Now he's seen the building, he's motivated to attend. I've advised him to slow down a notch. He's still in elementary school. If anyone should be considering their education past their eighteenth birthday, it should be Anthony. Even so, he still has a few more days of being thirteen and won't begin high school until next month.

The time for college is not yet upon any of them. Should Oliver wish to apply to Julliard in several years and be accepted, I will be exceptionally proud of him. Even more so if he finds success thereafter. Moving to America at the age of 18 was risky, even with my brother by my side. I can't imagine moving to the other side of the country alone at that age. Still, if we were able to make things work in our favour, I can't see why Ollie can't.

And how could we visit New York without checking in on our favourite statue? When I retold the story of our joint trip to the Statue of Liberty and the revelation I had during it, the reactions were mixed. I don't mind. The only person whose approval of the story I need is Siobhan's.

Yours, Jameson

September 19, 1926 Dear all,

Today marks 20 years since Cliff and I first settled in New York. That city changed our lives in more ways than one. Despite all the grief we got from Edison's lot and their schemes, I look back on New York fondly. I'm glad I went there this summer. Due to all this reminiscing, I managed to dig out all my old records. Let me tell you, it was quite the trip down Memory Lane. I was almost 20 years old again.

'Streets of New York' was the first ever song I heard Siobhan sing, you know. Later, once we'd gotten to know each other, she confessed to me the song made her uncomfortable. Given its contents, I am not entirely surprised. That song earned her a lot of unwelcome attention. I can only imagine how many men asked her which street they could associate her with. In fact, she admitted to me earlier she was wary of me when I first approached her.

'Arrah Wanna', now that is a song. Oh, I remember how 'Mrs Barney, heap much Carney from Killarney's Isle' used to be my favourite sentence, even more so when Siobhan said it. Whenever I visited her apartment, she'd sing it in the thickest brogue she could muster in an effort to make me laugh. In response, I'd try impress her by playing 'Frog Legs Rag'. That tune's not an easy one. Good for a dance though. 'The Entertainer' as well. I think we played those two together on various occasions.

All of these songs mean a lot to me. However, none of the above could claim the title of my favourite of the era. That undoubtedly goes to 'The Galloping Major'. I cannot count the amount of times Cliff would play while I acted the part of the Major himself.

One time, likely at some point during 1907, the two of us spent an evening drinking. We may have recounted the Major's misadventures a little too enthusiastically. Our landlord paid us a visit after hearing complaints from our neighbours. How could we be too loud? Gramophones possess just two volume settings: On and Off. They've only devised a way to change that recently. Nevertheless, as soon as we rid ourselves of him, Clifford sang 'Nobody' and 'Moving Day' as loudly as his voice allowed him. I must have attacked the keys to match him.

On reflection, I'm surprised we weren't evicted for being highly disruptive under the influence. Not to mention Cliff was barely of age to drink so I certainly wasn't. The man could have landed me in dire trouble if he so wished. It's a good thing he was ignorant enough to believe I went about my day lacking sandwiches to picnics. I would have been fine in California. College freshmen could drink alcohol before the prohibition.

I noticed Anthony's face blanked when he truly listened to the lyrics. Yes, I'm afraid the song he associates with me giving him piggy-back rides when he was small isn't quite as innocent as he recalls. On the other end of the spectrum, Theodore probably has a year or so before he becomes too big for me to carry him as well.

Yours, Jameson

November 1, 1926 Dear all,

I've just read about Houdini in the papers. On my birthday, no less. What an odd coincidence. Although, the method of death appears to elude the reporters. I'm sure those who deal with this sort of thing need time to come to their conclusions. The man only died yesterday. Not everything is so obvious. I do, however, like to entertain the idea it'll remain as much of a mystery as his methods were in life. It seems fitting.

When I saw him, he'd recently retired his handcuff act due to an increase in imitators. Was it 1908 or '09? I can't recall. Definitely before we left New York. I took Siobhan with me to see him. The atmosphere that day was so good I almost wish I could revisit it. All these posters, promising you that 'Failure Means a Drowning Death' got us riled up for a great show. During his Milk Can routine, he'd invite an audience member or two on stage to hold their breath with him. Neither of us were lucky enough to be involved that way. I will say, the curtains were a bit of a cop-out on his part. His shows must have been more exciting when you could watch him escape.

He retired the Milk Can too. I always did plan to see his act once more. I would have liked to witness him escaping from that Water Tank of his for myself. Work, family and life in general prevented me from doing so. That's how it is sometimes.

Regardless, I hope his family will be allowed to grieve in private. I suspect Hardeen will carry on performing without his brother. He always came across as the plus one to me. I'm sure I remember seeing posters referring to him as 'Brother of Houdini'. Hardeen was the one who opened the curtains during acts. He made worthy contributions himself. Perhaps this unfortunate turn of events will allow the public to see that for themselves.

Yours, Jameson

December 30, 1926 Dear all,

Christmas in our household has been another success. Theodore, especially, has found himself quite happy with his lot. We bought him Winnie The Pooh by A. A. Milne. It tells some tales of a bear having fun with his friends, who know him as 'Pooh', in the woods they live in. I bet he would have dragged his two favourite siblings to go find sticks to throw into a stream, had we not stopped him. The next time we are in Saint John, I will make sure I bring the three of them to play this stick game on Reversing Falls Bridge.

Sophia has requested if she may have some felt and stuffing for a 'special project'. I'm looking forward to seeing what she creates for him. You'd be proud of how much her skill with a needle is improving. Not only that, I'm certain Theodore will enjoy the handmade gift too.

Nevertheless, I hope you had a good Christmas and we all wish you a pleasant 1927.

Yours, Jameson

April 14, 1927 Dear Mother,

A young woman arrived in Los Angeles with her brother several days ago. They waited for us outside the studios when we were heading to work. They are in California because she has applied to the school of medicine in Stanford. They claim they wished to see the state properly before she moves to Stanford later this year. Their journey must have been long seeing as Stanford is hours away by train and the duo hail from New York City.

Clara doesn't look anything like Clifford but there is something about her that strikes me as odd. I cannot explain it. When she smiles, I am immediately reminded of Father. It is nearly identical. If you saw it, I am sure you would make the same connection. While she doesn't appear to have inherited more of her looks from either parent, Daniel very much has gotten his appearance from his mother, at least from how I remember her.

Daniel, from what Cliff has relayed to me, is interested in pursuing studies in business once he is his sister's age. He shares that quality with his father, it seems. Back when we were living in New York and founding what was then Jackson Brothers Productions, I may have been the one overseeing things from the ground but Cliff has always been the one truly adopting the leadership role. I sincerely hope his boy succeeds in any business endeavours he sets his mind to.

The biggest mystery to me is how the two of them are 18 and 15 respectively. I was aware Clara is a year older than Alice and Daniel has a year on Anthony. That knowledge doesn't translate to actually seeing them before me as young adults. It is incomprehensible to me that the young children I once knew are practically adults now. At 14, Anthony is fast maturing to the point of becoming a man. I had been under the assumption that he would be the first Jackson to attend college. Yet, here he is, presumably demoted to the position of third. He appears to be slightly disappointed to have lost his bragging rights. I've reminded him all is not lost, he can still truthfully say he was one of the first in our family to receive a degree. Even so, he has no clue what exactly he wishes to study when the time comes.

Clifford has advised them to visit Canada if they ever found the opportunity. If they are willing to reach out to their father, they may be willing to extend that to his family. For now, they have returned to the east so they may celebrate Easter with their mother.

He has also refused to cease speaking about the few days he was able to spend with them. My ears are half spoken off from his ecstasy. I won't complain. He has regained a vigour he lost so long ago I'd forgotten he had ever possessed it in the first place. I have enjoyed acquainting myself with his eldest children. Some of my children briefly met their cousins as well. Henry has been enthusiastic about the discovery of Clara pursuing a career in medicine. He already plans to write to her on the subject.

Yours, Jameson

June 1, 1927 Dear all,

I am set to become a father for the seventh time shortly before Christmas. I know, we had planned for Harriet to be our youngest. It's always the way, isn't it?

We are hoping for another girl, purely because Siobhan would prefer the boy-girl ratio to even out. I wouldn't mind either but another daughter sounds appealing. Whichever sex the child is, I won't get to see their earliest years.

Michael's condition is worsening. I suspect he has a handful of years left. As such, Siobhan will move back to Limerick to help her father care for him. She plans to leave in January. I know she would go earlier, were she not pregnant. There is no way she would leave the baby with me. An infant needs its mother. As such, you won't be able to meet them until after she returns.

Nevertheless, I don't wish to dwell on the negative. The birth is months away. I will have to make the most of the short weeks with this new addition before I have to bid them and Siobhan farewell for an indefinite period.

Yours, Jameson

September 8, 1927 Dear Mother,

Theodore has entered kindergarten but instead of being excited, he is feeling down because Oliver has now begun his time at Joseph Le Conte. I don't understand why he is so upset by this. It is not as if school is the only place he could see his brother. Theodore acts as if he does not have Sophia and Henry at Selma Avenue also. They're in 4th and 2nd grade respectively. If this has anything to do with having a brother at the top of the elementary hierarchy, what can I say? He will do fine with those two looking out for him.

If anything, he should strive to avoid finding himself in as much trouble as they do. The two of them got a caning across their hands in the summer after an incident with a sparrow caused them to skip a class. While I sympathise with them, discipline is there for a reason. Better a ruler now than an actual cane later. I could tell them a story or two about the times I've returned to my desk for an uncomfortable remainder of the day. Knowing the trouble Cliff got himself into, he can probably beat me tenfold in regards to anecdotes.

What's worse than all that is the fact we are still very much missing Lyra. Holly and Woodrow may be able to fit on our laps but that doesn't compare to the way Lyra would curl up besides the children when they played on the floor. It broke my heart to have her put down. Siobhan loved her slightly more than I did. After all, Lyra was meant to be her dog and she spent more time with Lyra than I did. She was always a sweetheart and so gentle towards the children, even when they were young and not so gentle towards her. Holly and Woodrow also appear to be missing her. Still, she was thirteen and I could see old age was bothering her. Human and canine alike are sticking by each other's side to comfort ourselves with the other's company.

Yours, Jameson

October 18, 1927 Dear all,

The future of the pictures has finally come.

Despite everything, I'm not bitter enough to ask you don't give the Warner brothers your money. Truth be told, 'The Jazz Singer' isn't terrible. Although, I still retain the opinion that blackface looks ridiculous. Actors need to improve their make up or find a genuine black person who wants to act. I haven't come across one yet. The majority of them sing instead. They write great music too.

It doesn't matter. I'm going to try not be impressed we now have the technology to have dialogue and singing all synchronised to the visuals. It's over, what more is there for me to say on the matter? I'm on borrowed time professionally. My Gentleman is going to be left to gather dust.

It's ironic, isn't it? My youngest child will grow up not watching silent pictures when their father was a big name of the era. I almost want to laugh at that.

Failing to be optimistic, Jameson

Eleanora Margaret Jackson Female December 11, 1927 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

December 31, 1927 Dear all,

How was your Christmas?

Mine was spent making the most of my time with my third daughter. We've named her Eleanora, although she'll be known as Nora. She is going to be 3 weeks old tomorrow.

I have little over a week left with Nora. Every time one of my children was born, I enjoyed having them in my arms. I loved wondering what kind of individual they would become. Doing so with Nora causes a faint, unexplainable dread to rise in me. Many of her firsts will be on Irish soil, far away from me. Who is to say she won't return and be literate.

I know I have six other children, all of whom are dependent on me to varying degrees. I just can't stop hating the feeling of missing out. Like the rest of them, I want to be as much of a part of Nora's life as I am able. I suppose I should think of Siobhan. Lord knows how much she will miss. I lose one but she won't be able to see six. I really should stop these foolishly selfish thoughts.

Wishing you a happy new year, Jameson

#the life of jameson jackson #tlojj #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #writersofjack #my writing #crosspost #originally posted on Quotev and AO3 on Jan 7th 2018 #spot the easter eggs

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wannatouchmagoodgood · 7 years

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do u still stan mamamoo after their scandal?

which one lolhonestly, i’m not a person who “unstans” people after a scandal or whatever (except someone really really fucks up i guess but nothing like that ever happened to me before ALSO if ppl apologize i’m fine too). idols are still human after all, they make mistakes, they learn and they improve. but with mamamoo idek anymore, i still like their quirky personalities, i still think they’re all beautiful and talented. i’m not a person who drops anyone because of cultural appropriation etc (maybe cause i can’t directly “relate” to the problem in the first place? not saying cultural appropriation is fine, just saying that it doesn’t affect me like it may affect others since i’m a white european girl lol also i’m a very chill person who makes fun of basically everything) HOWEVER mamamoo are just…dumb? blackfacing in 2017, apologizing afterwards, right after that they wear bindis like…this is so dumb, seems like their apologize was just to make the people who got hurt shut up lol, half hearted apologies are not cool. also remember the thing according their one mv where sexual harassment was basically performed on screen and solar only commented smth like “i put much effort into my acting!!” (she didn’t literally said that, can’t really remember the exact thing answered, however, the point i’m trying to make is that it seemed like she didn’t get what the actual problem was). their ignorance starts to piss me off tbh like what is this, you don’t have to understand BUT AT LEAST respect it, they’re rolemodels in some way, it may hurt the people you need the most aka your fanbase like??? they can’t keep doing this lol what is this

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theo-westenberger · 7 years

Text

Getting back to the body after (during) being white

Contributed by Casey Llewellyn, 2017

How much time do you think we have left?

Who’s we?

People. On earth.

We arrived at the moon with nothing. Just our breathing capsules. I had been an explorer in my previous life. But I had never explored the moon. From the moon, the earth looked like a bad idea. It hadn’t been a good idea. But it had been. And that was the part people concentrated on. I could hear some of them through their inhalators. No one had much hope. We had ruined our home planet. I hadn’t spent much time thinking about grass and the blue sky before. I did now. I screened them over the black and the gray in my mind. Earth had been my home. The ocean, rivers. I had thought my home a building, but it was the earth. A voice rattled my helmet and bounced around my face. Was it me or was it just in there with me? “We ruined the Earth. We killed our home. We killed ourselves.” Someone was trying to talk to me through the glass of our helmets. But what was the point anymore? Our saying did not work. What is it to join other people? To actually work together? What could we have done? I no longer wanted to listen to somebody’s pain. I am thinking about the world. You can’t heal when you hate your mother. I am running. Pus fills the bottom of my suit. But I can’t find the wound. It occurs to me now in my lonely helmet that I was part of it. I had been a part of something big. We called it the world.

When I lived on earth, I thought I was white. Innocent. I wore a cloak of non-guilt as big as a mountain range. I was so good at innocence that I killed the whole planet without realizing I was killing myself too. When we called ourselves white, when we called everyone else all those others things, the words kept changing because each new generation was insulted by the word used to talk about the generation before. No change in language could address the insult because the insult was the idea of race itself. White never had to change words. It could never be an insult because white people had made up all the terms and made them sound scientific—Caucasoid, Negroid, Mongoloid—to colonize the earth.1 When we called ourselves white and called everyone else all those other things to take away their humanness, we lost our humanness. We removed ourselves from the ecosystem. We made a word to legitimize the violence necessary to colonize. We called ourselves white to absolve the things we were already doing. We were doing things that everyone who feels knows are wrong. We created in us a white wall that ended feeling. If we could not understand our connection to other people, how could we know our connection to the earth? If white greed was strong enough to imagine other people as property, what could stop it from cannibalizing the earth? Whiteness can never know connection. Connection is God. Connection is: we are not separate. Maybe this is what God wanted. God wanted humans to remove ourselves, so the rest of the planet could go on trying without us. But it’s sad. I guess we really are all in this together, even though so many of us could never feel that when we lived on earth.

(Song…see appendix)

Before we stopped happening, I played a game called Oregon Trail. Oregon Trail was all about the things you had that would ensure your survival as you took over the land that is now the United States. Money basically. But also supplies. You would make decisions and tell the computer about them by pressing the number keys on the keyboard. You floated a wagon on a river. Oxen pulled it. You drove the oxen. Oxen were animals, but they were in the “supplies” category of the game. Then you tried to get more supplies. It would tell you who in your party had died in a sentence that appeared on the screen. I played again after not playing for a long time. My whole party died. My mom has died, my father has died, my boyfriend has died, our mythical children died, the earth has died.

White as in pure, like snow, white as in a lesser evil, white as in a clean sheet of paper, contextless. Distruth that creates a reality. White as in a cloud, harmless.2

People say, work in your own community. (The smell of my own underarms.) But what is my community? I grew up in Boston.

Last night I heard the dogs barking and I was alone in the house in a field at the end of a dirt road, I had wanted to get out of the city and the dogs were barking a lot and I looked for my phone and I couldn’t find it anywhere, I had wanted to be in nature, and I thought did someone sneak in here up here by my bed without me noticing and take my phone? And I opened my computer for light. I was scared to make the click of the lamp turning on. Where was I? Was I German? Was I Welsh? Was I English? Was it whiteness itself that woke me? (The dogs kept barking.) Ever fearful of its violence returning home. The dogs are barking and you don’t have a flashlight, don’t have phone. You have no neighbors. None at least that you wouldn’t avoid if you saw them in the day. Who were the English before they were English? Who were Germans before Germany? Who was I before I was white? I crouched by the door with a bottle grasped by the neck in my two hands. I centered. I prayed. I told myself I believed I could live, that I deserve to. I have been turned off. My whole body has been turned off. I crouched by the door and remind myself to stand up straight. To uncurl even though I am afraid. I wondered if I would die, but it was just the dogs barking.

Perhaps we were not good enough at reading signals. A personal history with land.

My dad went to visit his relatives in Wales. The ceilings in the houses were too short for him to stand at his full height. A Unitarian minister with a statue of Lenin in the entrance of his house showed him around. His relative, who did not speak English (neither could my dad speak Welsh), hugged him.

The United States of America has not always existed and will not always exist. It is a moment, not a place. (This is not my idea. I hear it at a talk at a University.)3

White people in Texas who have land where they’re going to build a wall were featured on tv. The woman in the couple was crying because her and her husband’s farm was already behind a big border fence separated from the rest of the country. They have a special passcard that lets them into no person’s land. They had had a fire, but the fire truck couldn’t get to them. It drove back and forth on the other side of the fence looking for the opening. I guess they must have needed a passcard too. Or a code. Their barn was burning. They had gotten out, but their animals were still inside. This was where she started crying. She was talking about how their goat had burned. How its body had been charred, and she saw it. She was wearing a tank top. She wiped her eyes. They live on land that is between two countries, with a special passcard to liminality. But of course it is all of our land. It is earth.

The United States of America has not always existed and will not always exist.

When we lived on earth, my boyfriend and I used to watch the tv show Planet Earth. We would get high and cuddle in a bed in Brooklyn where neither of us was from and watch the birds one or the underwater one or the bugs one on a little computer screen. I would often suggest we go to Ikea to be more successful at making home.

In New York, I once went to a flower themed party. It was requested that guests wear flower print. At the party, there were magical beverages that someone had made out of flowers to mix with gin or seltzer. Chamomile and hibiscus and lavender, rose and elderflower. Because they were liquid, I had forgotten that they too were flowers. That we can shift shape. The maker told me, flowers make our lives possible. So many times that night, I had made the mistake of thinking that something life giving was decorative. I had brought some flowers that I bought at a deli as an offering. Flowers of three different colors that I didn’t know the names of. I had thrown out the plastic and the rubber bands holding them together. I was nervous to talk to the people. I thought, I am around true witches. It was only later I realized I wanted to be one.

When I was a kid, I associated witches with the drive up Route 1 from Boston to Salem. They had burned witches in Salem. We would drive up Route 1 to see my mom’s friend. No one else we knew lived in Salem. On the way, there was giant dinosaur that marked a mini-golf course and a restaurant in the shape of a large ship that we would pass. There was a large cow outside of a steak restaurant and a giant ice cream cone. Route 1 was fun. It seemed to me that the people of Salem had recovered well from the witch burnings. Giant dinosaurs and ice cream cones were things we, people, made on the land, with a combination of whimsy and businessery at a time when kitsch sold. Perhaps these amusements were decisions made by descendents of those who had not burned. Perhaps the witches had gone underground. We made these monuments to recognizable things because trees did not seem enough. The witches knew how to work with trees and plants, but they and their knowledge had been criminalized. Instead we made amusements that would go out of style with time and parking lots, so that you could get to them easily by car. Joni Mitchell wrote about that. It’s unfortunate that she also wore blackface and didn’t see the connection. There were a lot of examples of that in the music I listened to growing up. Like Ani DiFranco playing a concert at an old slave plantation.

My mom’s friend was a quietly gay artist who drew me a large and beautiful detailed dinosaur on foam core for my 8th birthday. It was a T-rex. It was bigger than me. It was missing teeth, so we could pin teeth on it blindfolded. That was the game. It was not in our minds that in 60 years we too would be extinct on earth. People made a big deal of going to the dentist.

At a restaurant with friends, one friend asked us all to tell our happiest childhood memory. I couldn’t think of anything to share. I thought, maybe I am unhappy, though I didn’t know I was. Maybe my childhood was subdued. Maybe I had subdued it. Then I thought of raking the leaves with my dad and his housemates at the group house where he lived. I would visit him there every other weekend, Thursday through Sunday. I jumped in the piles of leaves as we raked them. My dad jumped in too. I was cared for by everyone, but I paid special attention to the lesbians who I loved. I didn’t know that witching was a woman’s first power. I didn’t realize I belonged to this earth. At the table in the restaurant, everyone’s happy memory happened outside (except meeting Whitney Houston which had occurred in a concert venue). Someone commented, I wonder what this generation of kids’ happy memories of will be. In school and other places, I was taught that my ancestors colonized this land because they needed to, because they sought religious freedom. But I realize now that they were lied to about who they were and what they had the right to. Who are we? Where did we go? I ordered cheesecake at the restaurant. It was known for its cheesecake across all the boroughs. Who are we? Where did we go?

When I lived in Providence, I was bereft, so I went to a Unitarian church sometimes on Sundays. I didn’t know where else to go. Sometimes my boyfriend went with me, but that was before he was my boyfriend. He had gone to a church that hated us as a child, so the Unitarian church in Providence was a welcome, if uninspiring, change. I liked some of the sermons. They were sermons aimed at the mind. Sometimes the heart. Sometimes I felt larger. Sometimes a band played folk music. I liked at the end of church when the reverend stands by the door shaking people’s hands. I felt shy to be addressed as if I belonged there. It is so rare, and I didn’t feel like I belonged. I have no traditions in my life except Christmas, and I cancelled the party this year. I am often scared to talk to other people.

(Song…see appendix)

My parents moved away from their families. Many people do now. I learned my where my ancestors were from for a project in school. English, Irish, Welsh, German, one Swede. That’s pretty much it. What that means, theoretically, is being from an area of the earth. From a landscape that formed, in part, my ancestors as a people. Am I being too romantic? When I visited the landscape, it felt strange and not in my body. What I feel in my body is settler colonialism. My more recent ancestors ripped out their customs, their food, their accents, their religions and became white, so they could make a life for themselves in a society defined by genocide, enslavement and destruction of the earth. For money it seems, or perhaps also safety, or that’s what’s left all these generations later. And a lonely feeling, lost. The food I feel for is the food of capitalism: rice pilaf out of a box, chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese. My accent is American with the unplaceability of the owning class. My customs are shopping when I feel sad, eating out on special occasions, going to the theater, feeling guilty I don’t call or email more, doing important things alone, checking facebook, focusing most of my love on my boyfriend and creating boundaries in relationships with everyone else. When you hack through the mooring of your family, your world—patriarchal and racist—where is there to go? The moon? This hollow center that doesn’t know we are of the earth.

I, like many white people, like to say the word love. I love myself. But love is impinged upon by the white. I can’t see myself because I have learned not to see clearly all these years.

I grew up in Boston, Massachusetts. I was told, you can have everything. Everything is already around you and it is yours. There is Walden Pond. Walden Pond is for you. Remember, Emerson? No, I don’t, but I might have gone to highschool with him. A lot of white men will tell you they have the answer to everything. They’ll be obsessive, feel so connected to what they need to say, they forget you. Explain to you the importance of connecting, in the form of a weekend away you can’t afford to take, with the very thing that people like them are destroying, that they have robbed from most people on earth, a place here that hasn’t been poisoned. They will explain to you the importance of health care you can’t afford to address the health problems you have because of changes in your environment that people like them have caused. If we don’t think each other is worth change, what are we living for? If we don’t think ourselves are connected…we will do what we are already doing. We will separate. I can only speak for myself. I am someone who separates like milk from oil. The milk is myself. The oil is myself. I carry myself into the future split. I am moving farther away. You can live. You can live and play Oregon Trail. You’re almost alive, but you’re killing the earth and other people. You will have to go back and read more (reading is your language). You will have to go back and look for your body in the wreckage of your feelings that you watch tv to avoid. I’ve been alive for 33 years. I know. You will have to go back to look for your body. Where is it you left it? You will have to be a person for at least a few more years. Maybe then you’ll understand it. Maybe you’ll (I’ll) be able to unlive the lie of white. The lie of some earth left livable for your (our) children.

You know what they say, the meek will inherit the earth. Who says? God or Jesus. The Bible.

(Song by Mirah…see appendix)

A cockroach crawls into a future.

A list of some moments referenced where I learned from other people and sources:

1. Fake Science. What “oid” means on the end of a word. From Dictionary.com: -oid 1. a suffix meaning “resembling,” “like,” used in the formation of adjectives and nouns (and often implying an incomplete or imperfect resemblance to what is indicated by the preceding element): alkaloid; anthropoid; cardioid; cuboid; lithoid; ovoid; planetoid. Compare –ode.

Origin of –oid: Greek

2. Indebtment to the Undoing Racism workshop by The People’s Institute of Survival and Beyond for this investigation of the language of whiteness. 3. The talk at a university: Talk at Brown University by Qwo-Li Driskill

Appendix of songs:

A song for the beginning of the play: Hey. Being white can’t make me want to go on living. Hey. Being white can’t make me want to go on living. I know I need history now. Hey. Being white can’t make me want to go on living. I know I need history now.

A song for the middle of the play: I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense that whiteness has to do with the destruction of the planet. I sense this in my deepest self.

Song by Mirah for the end of the play: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzqvz3CvkzM

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lumiolivier · 7 years

Text

Chapter Eleven: Face Off

Word Count: 3516

Chapter No. 11/36

Notes: This is kind of up late and I have my reasons for the (maybe) one person that reads this. To make a long story short, I wasn’t in a good place in my head today and I was kind of in shambles, so go ahead. Read away. Or don’t. That’s just a suggestion. Like dry clean only.

Chapter Ten: Close the Book

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” I kicked my shoes off at the door and started toward the staircase. I had a shit ton to do and not a whole lot of time.

“Hi, baby,” Mom stopped me, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I’m going to Julian’s house tonight,” I explained, already done with her, “It’s kind of important.”

“Why can’t you stay home tonight?” she begged, “The three of us are home at the same time for a change!”

“She’s got a point, Mimi,” Dad chimed in, “You should stay home tonight. Where did you say you were going again?”

“Julian’s,” I told him, “It’s just down the road.”

“That’s the kid from Monday night, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded, really wanting to go upstairs now.

“What are you two doing that’s so important?” Mom stalled me.

I wasn’t going to tell her what I was really doing. She didn’t need to see Julian in that kind of light. They sure as hell didn’t need to know he was like me. And she knew some of the bitchy soccer moms. She definitely didn’t need to tell them about her daughter giving him temporary plastic surgery to keep them off his dick. So, I lied through my teeth, “We’re coming up with a new drink for the café.”

“That’s great!” Dad praised, “What’s it going to be?”

“Not sure yet,” I kept covering my tracks, heading upstairs, “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

I couldn’t deal with them right now. As much as I loved them and I understood they wanted to spend some time together as a family, I could do that tomorrow. But tonight? I had bigger fish to fry. Tonight, I had to keep Julian from getting jumped in the alley by a bunch of horny, menopausal women.

“Mimi,” Mom called up the stairs, “Hold on.”

“What?” I sat at the top in full on exasperation. On a time crunch, Mother.

“You’ve been gone every night since Sunday,” she pointed out, “I understand it’s a work thing, but do you think you could stay home?”

“Tomorrow,” I promised, getting her off my back, “I’ll come straight home from work and I’ll stay all night.”

“Fine,” she allowed, “I guess we can do that.”

“Fantastic!” I went up to my room and into my bathroom. Under the sink was a well-organized system of my cosplay makeup. This is where I kept the good shit. Let’s see. A jar of liquid latex…maybe my fake piercings…anything that made Julian unrecognizable. His face after going back into the kitchen haunted me. It burned in the back of my mind and anything I could do to make sure that never happened again, I was going to do whatever I could.

I had a damn nice case to put everything in with drawers and everything. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I almost looked professional. An impulse purchase from a year or two ago. Wishful thinking, really. I got it for if I were to ever do cons on a big scale like Julian did. Now, I could finally put it to use. I had a couple jars of liquid latex, a nude palette, and my fake piercings for good measure. I always did love a man with a face full of hardware.

Then, I remembered the reason we were doing this in the first place. No matter how ok he looked after we left work, something tells me Julian was still a little shaken from book club. I had to do something to make him feel better besides fixing his face. A light blue wig hung from the inside of my closet door, giving me a brilliant idea. Dare I? I couldn’t bear to see him so freaked. Maybe this would cheer him up.

I put my wig on, clipped in my pigtails, attached my headset, and put on a classic. With a quick change of my outfit and a black hoody to cover up with (it had started cooling off and he didn’t need to see me quite yet), I dragged my makeup case down the stairs and headed for Julian’s. It’s not every day when a living, breathing embodiment of someone’s waifu shows up on his front doorstep. It might have been a good idea to give him a heads up, but alas.

“Hey,” Julian opened his door, “I’m pretty sure we’re past the point of you having to knock anymore.”

“You ready?” I asked.

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

“Alright,” I peeled my hoody off and watched Julian’s jaw drop halfway to China, “What?”

“Did you Miku for me?” he gasped.

“I might have,” I smirked, “Why?”

“Because,” Julian spun me around, “You’re perfect.”

“Made it all myself,” I boasted, “Except for the wig. That was a late night on Amazon.”

“Mimi, it’s flawless,” he still struggled for breath, “If this is what your Miku is, I can’t wait for Sunday.”

“My Misa isn’t bad either,” I assured as he continued to look over my handiwork, “Believe it or not, this was one of my firsts.”

“Really?” Julian wowed, “But the stitching is so straight. The outfit is so perfectly put together. And this was all with little to no prior experience?”

“Pretty much,” I nodded, “I had used a sewing machine maybe twice before making Miku.”

“I see I picked a damn fine partner in this next chapter,” he awed, pulling me against him, “Konbanwa, Miku-chan.”

“Konbanwa,” I blushed, “We have a mission, Julian. Remember? You’re cursed with a pretty face?”

“Yeah,” he let out a heavy sigh, “A cross I must bear.”

“Poor you,” I chuckled.

“You saw it got me today!” Julian squeaked, his eyes showing his fear.

“I know,” I settled him, my guilt setting in, “And that’s what you have me for.”

“What kind of fun and excitement is in that big, blue case of yours?” he worried, “This isn’t going to be the part where you actually cut my face off, is it?”

“No,” I promised, “The sharpest thing in that case is the edge of a palette. You have nothing to worry about. I can only make it look like I slit your throat. I can’t actually do it.”

“Really and truly, though, Mimi,” Julian thanked, “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“And if all goes well,” I sat him down and dug around for a decent foundation, “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to do it all again.”

“In that case,” he got up, “I should probably get us some of this. I made a stop by the liquor store on the way home because I’m a gentleman and such.”

“Alright,” I agreed, “I could do a drink. What’d you get?”

“Bottle of red,” he ran down his list, “I like some wine once in a while. Don’t judge me.”

“No judgment,” I had no room to.

“Then, I got some butterscotch flavored vodka,” he went on, “Seemed interesting. A bottle of UV Blue.”

“Yep,” I stopped him, “Just give me the UV. Do you have any lemonade, by any chance?”

“No, I don’t,” Julian shot me down, “But I do have lemon juice and sugar.”

“Bless you,” I grabbed a reusable water bottle out of Julian’s cabinet and started mixing. I filled half of it with water and a quarter of it with lemon juice with a few tablespoons of sugar. After a thorough shaking, I added a couple shots of UV and shook it one more time.

“You did that like an old pro,” he looked at me in amazement.

“I wasn’t exactly a good girl in high school,” I admitted, “I had someone that would score for me, but she ended up moving my senior year and I had to quit drinking for a while. This is one of my favorite cocktails.”

“Any good?” Julian asked.

“Here,” I offered him a drink, “I didn’t drink soda, so the lemonade just worked.”

“Damn, that’s good,” he critiqued, “Could use a little more sugar for my tastes, but aside from that, it’s pretty good. Five stars.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged, “I’m a girl of many talents. Now, make your drink and let’s do this.”

“Easy with the being demanding, though,” Julian twitched a little, “You being my Miku-chan and giving orders like that…It’s kind of a reoccurring dream of mine…One of those special dreams you keep to yourself.”

“Goddammit, Julian,” I sighed out, “You could’ve told me it was your reoccurring sex dream and we could’ve moved on from it.”

“Alright,” he swirled his Jack and Coke around, “I’m fine. I’m good. We’ll never talk about it again.”

“Thank you,” I sat him back down, “Can I start now?”

“Go ahead,” Julian allowed, “We’re going for something practical, right? I’m not getting demon horns?”

“No,” I went back to looking for a foundation color, “I’m not giving you demon horns. Unless you want some.”

“As badass as that’d be,” he giggled a little, “No. I can’t. If I go to my grandma’s house, she’ll start yelling at me in Latin. And she’s right off the boat from Italy. I don’t want an exorcism from her. Nor do I want to give her a heart attack. I love my grandma.”

“I’m sure you do,” I got my round brush and ran my first color on his cheek, “Nope. Too dark.”

“What?”

“Foundation color,” I clarified, “It’s too dark. If I end up using this color, you’d look a tad racist. At one time, I was quite tan and this color worked for me. Now, since I hadn’t seen sunlight in at least three years and I’ve been rocking this sweet dungeon tan, it doesn’t work anymore. If you were to push me over in the snow while I was completely naked, you wouldn’t be able to find me.”

“So, you’re essentially saving me from blackface?”

“Yes,” I licked my thumb and got it off.

“Do what you have to do,” he gave me complete control, “But was that really necessary?”

“I didn’t feel like getting my makeup remover,” I brushed him off, “That worked just as well. Probably a couple shades lighter. Hold the phone…”

“What?” Julian asked as I held the back of my hand to his face, “Is this the part where you pimp slap me? Because that would make this night take a really strange turn that I don’t know if you’re ready for or not.”

“I’m not pimp slapping you,” I was ready to full on beat the shit out of him, but not pimp slap him, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not,” he assured, “But what was your alleged dumb move?”

“You and I are the same pasty ass color,” I yelled at myself, “I never would’ve guessed. To look at us, we don’t look the same shade.”

“But here we are,” Julian settled, “You and me. We’re the same in so many other ways. Why not this, too?”

“I guess,” I grabbed my usual foundation color and a sponge and got to work, “And you’re sure I have free reign to do whatever?”

“Anything to keep the cougars away,” he begged, “I completely trust that you won’t totally fuck my face up.”

“Just a little fucked up?” I suggested.

“Mimi!”

“I know, I know,” I giggled, “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

“The mini heart attacks are unappreciated, “Julian took a heavy drink from his glass.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, starting with the first layer of liquid latex, “I can’t help myself sometimes.”

“Can I ask you something?” he tilted his head, giving me better lighting.

“Shoot,” I blew on his cheek, making the latex dry quicker.

“How did you learn to do all of this?” Julian wondered.

“YouTube,” I told, “General boredom. I taught myself how to do special effects before I started writing fan ficton. I’ve only been doing that for a few years. I started doing this for just Halloween to scare the shit out of little kids.”

“Dark.”

“But fun,” I smiled a bit, “Then, I wanted to get more detailed and it became more of an art form than anything else.”

“And it evolved into what you’re doing for me,” he guessed.

“Bingo,” I grabbed a different brush, “I’m going to have to do this to myself if we ever decide to do Dramatical Murder together.”

“Why?” Julian asked.

“If you’re going to be Koujaku,” I elaborated, “I’m going to be Noiz.”

“I thought there was something between those two,” he agreed, “There’s a lot of hate and anger.”

“I’ve always thought they’d have some really wicked hate sex,” I let out a heavy, dreamy sigh, “A girl can dream.”

“It’s bad enough we’ve talked about my reoccurring sex dream,” Julian teased, “We don’t need to talk about yours, too.”

“But if I’m going to be Noiz,” I went on, getting back on topic, “I’m not going to commit that much and get all of his piercings. Mostly because I don’t have a dick to pierce. That’s where my friend liquid latex comes in. It becomes like a second skin and I can stick whatever rings I want into that instead of me.”

“Hold on!” he squeaked, “Hold the phone! He’s got piercings where?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “Three of them.”

“In his dick?”

“In his dick.”

“Why?” Julian whined, “Why, in God’s green Earth, would anyone even consider doing something like that? What kind of drugs do you have to be on?”

“So, you’re saying you’re not pro dick piercing?” I assumed, getting more liquid latex.

“No!” he put his foot down, “I am not pro dick piercing! That makes mine hurt just thinking about it! I don’t care how drunk I am or how full of painkillers I might be, but nothing could ever make me consider piercing my dick. That doesn’t even sound pleasant. Imagine having sex with those in! You’re balls deep and out of nowhere, she’s bleeding and you have to be the one that’s all, ‘Sorry, babe. My dick ring cut into the sides of your vagina. My bad!’ No fucking way. Then, there’s the act of actually getting it done! What kind of person says yes to giving someone a dick piercing? What kind of sick, twisted, sadistic mother fucker agrees to that? No. Not happening. Not in a million years.”

“Did you know they make tongue rings that vibrate?” I tried getting the vein in his forehead to go back, “I’m sure they can go where dick rings go.”

“I just can’t…” Julian gagged, “The pain outweighs the result. I understand Noiz is a fictional character, but still. That’s just…That’s wrong. Even if you put in the vibrating tongue rings. There are better ways of satisfying whoever you’re getting cuddly with. That is not one of them. Can we change the subject before I start crying from phantom pain, please?”

“I bet I could make you feel better,” I assured, switching brushes.

“Do tell.” At this point, I think Julian was willing to try just about anything. Aside from piercing his dick. I’m pretty sure he made it quite clear that was off the table.

“Sekai de,” I started singing, “Ichiban o hime-sama. Sou iu atsukai kororo-ete…Yo ne?”

“No,” Julian stopped me, “Don’t you Miku me. Don’t you start with the World is Mine.”

“Aww,” I pouted, “Why not?”

“Because little lead to the creepy otaku in me coming out,” he confessed, “And you don’t want to see that. I’m talking the asthmatic, breathing over you in the middle of the night, stealing your underpants kind of thing.”

“You know,” I said, “If you wanted a pair of my underpants, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak into my bedroom and watch me sleep.”

“Seriously?” Julian gave me a look, “It’d be that easy?”

Because once I get comfortable around someone, I have absolutely no shame, I put my brushes down, reached up my skirt, and shimmied my panties down my legs, spinning them on my finger, “See? All you had to do was ask.”

“My God, woman,” his eyes grew wider, “I think I love you.”

“It’s not like you’re going to force me into anything,” I giggled, “I know better. You’re not that kind of guy.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it damn near happened to you today,” I reminded him, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want me to go through the same thing. Either that or I’m just really trusting.”

“A girl like you should be careful,” Julian warned, “Some people may try to take advantage of that overly trusting nature of yours.”

“But you’re not one of them,” I assured, putting my underwear back on, “Julian, if I was to walk aimlessly across the street, I’d completely trust you to be the one to get me out of any oncoming traffic. You just come off very trustable.”

“Wow, Mimi,” he smiled, “I’m honored.”

“You should be,” I looked his new face over, “I think we’re good. You want me to throw some fake piercings on, too?”

“Surprise me.”

“Fine,” I started poking through the nearly dried liquid latex around his eyebrow, putting two rings in and put a little more on the bridge of his nose, smoothing it out enough to make him still look human, “If you were to actually get a piercing here, it helps clear your sinuses.”

“Really?” he thought it over, “Not sure if I could pull something like that off, but maybe this would be a good trial run?”

“Noiz has one,” I swooned, “Then again, Noiz has more piercings than God knows what to do with.”

“Noiz has piercings in his dick,” Julian cringed, “I lost a little respect for him. Although, being able to take the pain enough to do it three times, I must admit that is pretty metal.”

“It is,” I agreed with him, debating whether to spoil a little piece of the anime by telling him Noiz can’t feel pain, “There. You have two piercings in your right eyebrow and one between them. Congratulations, Julian. You have a new face.”

“I don’t know,” he looked himself over in the mirror, “I’m still kind of hot. But approachable. Like the kid you were best friends with throughout grade school, but he moved around seventh grade and you don’t see him again until sophomore year of high school. His family moves back to town and puberty hit him like a ton of bricks. But you can still see a little bit of the kid you knew all those years ago. Only he’s going through a phase with all the piercings.”

“You see the world in an odd way,” I admitted, “But I can see where you’re coming from.”

“See?” he popped me in the shoulder, “Do I not?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I’m still a babe,” Julian’s ego grew, “But an approachable babe.”

“Someone really needs to knock you down a peg or two,” I rolled my eyes.

“If it can get the soccer moms to get off my dick,” he chuckled darkly, “I’ll take it.”

“You’re welcome,” I started putting things back where they belonged, “Don’t lose the rings, though. I’m going to need them for when we do Koujaku and Noiz. And Koujaku doesn’t having any piercings.”

“Unless he’s got them in his dick, too.”

“No,” I assured, “Koujaku doesn’t have any hidden special piercings. I promise. That’s only a Noiz thing. Although, Noiz does ask Aoba at one point if he’d ever think about getting a piercing for him. But I don’t remember if that was a fan art or official canon. Pretty sure it was official.”

“Nerd,” Julian gave me a shove.

“Really?” I gave him a look, “Pot? Kettle? Says the guy with a pair of katanas on his living room wall?”

“That’s for home protection!” he defended, “If some asshole decides to break in my house in the middle of the night, then I can yank them off the wall and protect myself.”

“You’d stab a man with your katanas?”

“Hell yeah, I would!”

“Alright, crazy guy,” I closed my case up, “Am I coming back tomorrow morning to do this again?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” I promised, “I’ll be here at five o'clock.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I threw my hoody back on and left Julian’s house to take my long, treacherous journey back to my house in the dark. Dammit. I really hoped it would’ve still been a little light out by the time I left. At least he’ll only take about forty-five minutes to make approachably hot. So we had that going for us.

But my God. This guy was a complete dork. And an absolute whirlwind. I swear to God, he was like a Tasmanian devil in skinny jeans. But I was really starting to like him. I wasn’t sure how much, but maybe we could be that special kind of relationship that I’ve seen in every anime ever. Maybe I was the Haruhi to his Tamaki…But who knows?

#Sorry For Being a Closet Otaku #nanowrimo

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