#being punished for not valuing your body as a vessel for your Self enough by being reduced to nothing but is MEAN..... BIG FAN OF IT.....

[slam-dunkrai]

This started out as a fairly simple celebratory life update and then turned into a big unwieldy post I’m putting under the cut in case you don’t want to see that kind of talk. Content warning for weight loss and body shaming.

tl;dr: I have started working out and eating better over the course of the last several months; I’m very happy with the effect this has had on me; contrary to the desired effect, being shamed for my weight and also shaming myself for my it made me not want to do that and actually made me feel worse (shocker, I know); the BMI can eat shit

The other day I discovered I now fit into regular large T-shirts fairly easily — about 18 months ago, a 2XL was very much a slim fit for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted about this, but there’s also something a little odd on my mind about it. While I have eaten healthier and, in the last month, started going to the gym regularly, I can’t help but observe this coincides with a time in my life where I don’t feel like I’ve needed to lose weight; rather, I’ve been more content than ever in the knowledge that being fat isn’t a sign of moral failure. The body is just a sack of meat which houses me; its shape and weight have no moral value, but its chemical processes plays a significant part in how I feel. Since I reckon I deserve to feel good, I reason it only makes sense for me to look after it to the best of my ability; this has included cooking for myself more often, keeping note of my three meals a day (while also allowing myself a snack where needed), eating more vegetables, drinking more water, trying to be more active where I can — things of that nature, which, in my own, distinctly non-universal experience, have led me to lose weight.

Part of this change is that I’ve been in much fewer situations over the past two years where I’ve been subject to “cute” remarks about my weight and body type; part of me suspects that, as I’ve gotten older, people have been less inclined to be all infantilising about it (though this is likely a stretch; I’m 6′6″, of a wide frame, and I have a beard, I just haven’t looked like the sort of person who gets seen like that in a while). But what weighs on my mind is that, beyond being obviously insidious in ways more eloquently pointed out elsewhere, there is something self-defeating about the way very select types of body are seen and talked about as “ideal” or “correct”; deviations from this norm are “wrong” and to be punished until the possesser of this body, sinner that they are, repents and conforms to how they should be — thin, and therefore good. I spent a lot of my teenage years hating my body (and by extension myself) for being fat, unathletic, and not as a man’s body should be; surprisingly, you don’t tend to want to care for a vessel you’ve been led to believe is fundamentally inadequate, and I decided just treating it like shit was punishment enough. (It’s also notable that I’ve since realised I feel more comfortable identifying as what I can best describe as “man, But Not Quite”; we’re still figuring this one out, check back later.)

Again, these experiences are solely my own, and I am happier with how I take care of myself these days; the resulting changes to my appearance are a side effect I happen to like, but ultimately secondary to being happier in my daily life. Still, it really is wild how normalised it is for people to just call attention to how fat strangers are, unsubtly implying that this is some great wrong, and then when asked to defend this they’ll call it a form of care that will spur their target to decide on the spot — as though it’s so easy, uncomplicated and desirable for everyone — to lose weight. Y’know, because not looking a certain way is apparently shameful to some guy who already hates you; that’s why you should change your lifestyle.

#cw weight loss #cw body shaming

[themoomoorn]

Random Thot #46,853

I had a health exam for my upcoming new job and put my two weeks in for my current one, so I’m rewarding my neurodivergent ass-brain with this.  Sit tight and enjoy.

46,853: I’m half-convinced that Edelgard is like the Soul Series’ Alexandra sisters and daughter when it comes to her combat ability - or rather, lack thereof.  Unlike Claude, Dimitri, and Byleth, who all explicitly received combat training as children, Edelgard likely did not.  The tools given to her are what likely allow for her to fight at all - heck, they may even do a bit of the fighting for her.  How else can a noodle-armed womanlet like her wear all that armor and heft that axe?  

(Also, how the eff does this dress make clanking armor sounds when she walks in the game despite this dress having like no armor whatsoever)

To begin with, we have in-game factoids of her stat caps being the second highest in the game (390 when combined, with Cyril only beating her by 5 points due to his Aptitude skill), and she even has a magic cap that’s not only on-par with other magically-inclined units (72), but it’s actually better than some of them (Dorothea and Linhardt, who are both dedicated mage types, have caps of 61 and 66, respectively, while Manuela, who tends to get placed in Faith Magic-aligned classes despite being a hybrid unit, has a piddling cap 48).  She even has a quirky but feasible spell list for both magic types (Fire/Bolganone/Luna Lambda/Hades Omega for Reason, and Heal/Nosferatu/Recover/Seraphim for Faith, which is one of her banes, mind you).  I imagine this is the work of the experiments that gave her her version of the Crest of Flames - after all, the 2020 DREAM interview noted that the Hresvelg children were given a more “refined” version of the experiments the Ordelias had.  The refinement isn’t just reflected in-game with caps and magic too; Edelgard is also more robust in terms of health, whereas Lysithea is prone to bouts of weakness and illness.  In-game, she has poor Luck and Strength, and the single lowest HP cap of all the playable units at 48.  And while this one is admittedly conjecture, Edelgard doesn’t hint that her lifespan was drastically cut, as she gets to live a long life in all of her endings.  Even in her Crest-heavy ending with Hanneman or her healthcare-related ending with Manuela don’t mention that she had one or both of her Crests taken out.  Lysithea, on the other hand, is extensively motivated by the fact that she doesn’t have many years left, and it’s only in two endings (Lorenz, Balthus) where she’s able to live fairly long without removing her Crests; The rest either have her dying young or being able to live long only after her Crests are taken out.

Now what of her combat abilities?  Let’s turn to the source of where this silly thot came from.

For the uninitiated, Sophitia Alexandra, a fighter who’s been in the Soul Franchise since its very first game, did not grow up as a dedicated combatant like the other fighters - she was an ordinary baker living in Athens during the late 16th Century when Greece was part of the Ottoman Empire.  When she was bathing in a lake one day, she received a message from Hephaestus himself in that she has a divine destiny to destroy the cursed blade Soul Edge, and he gifts her with a divinely crafted short sword and shield in order to fulfill her mission.  While she does gain training in Athenian combat styles, a lot of her power and capabilities are tied to her weapon set, which are named the Omega Sword and Elk Shield.  Her younger sister Cassandra would follow suit in SoulCalibur II, actually going out of her way to steal the same holy armaments Sophitia used in Soul Edge and SoulCalibur I before getting her own specially empowered set.

(Sophitia Alexandra)

And Pyrrha, Sophitia’s daughter in SoulCalibur V, takes it to new heights.  Per a data book, the timid, mistreated Pyrrha has absolutely no combat experience, not even in self-defense.  While Sophitia and Cassandra were able to train themselves into formidable soldiers outside of their divine weapons’ influences, this is not true for Pyrrha.  If it were not for the sword and shield Pyrrha wielded (which is the same exact set Sophitia wielded before her passing), her clumsy attacks and timid guard stances would amount to ineffectual, useless flailing.  

(Info about Pyrrha’s fighting style from the SCV data book)

Back to the Egg.  Now it’s made abundantly clear that while Dimitri’s Jean Valjean-levels of raw strength heavily stem from his Crest, he’s also from the land where, in lieu of milk and honey, there’s extreme sports jock training in heavy armor in the dead of night with boulders for weights and weapon mastery.  Dimitri loves to train, and it’s a big aspect of his character.  The tritagonist of his route is also one of his combat trainers, and he’s done that job for three generations’ worth of Faerghus royalty, with his ending hinting that he keeps doing it for one more.  I imagine that even without the Crest of Blaiddyd, Dimitri would still be extremely strong and formidable, he’d just have to actually exert himself a little when saving some poor soul from a runaway cart.

(Just in case the savior imagery wasn’t clear enough with Dimitri, he even did lift a cart the way eventual saint Jean Valjean did in the book/musical)

Claude is far more in favor of covert combat, and his own Crest is more defensive than offensive, but he’s no slouch either, having had a renowned war general serve as his combat instructor since childhood.  He’s from a kingdom that, much like Faerghus, values the way of the warrior and prides itself on the strength of its people.  His hidden talent, tying to wyvern mastery, is in friggin axes, and he’s also shown to be adept enough with a sword at various points.  Plus there’s the fact that he was abused and mistreated by his Almyran family, complete with his father plopping him on a horse and making the horse ride off with him backwards with no safety net as a form of punishment - Claude tells Hilda that there was a “trick” in how he survived that.  As any horse jockey can attest to, you need raw muscle in every part of your body in order to really ride one, and I imagine that’s doubly true for your local albino wyvern that’s decked out in Ottoman visual puns.  Plus learning how to be crafty and protecting oneself more covertly undoubtedly contributed to his combat abilities too.

(I mean you’d have to be shredded if you can pull off the Parthian shot on a fucking flying dragon.  61 Strength cap my ass.)

Byleth, as we know, grew up as a mercenary to the point of detriment.  There’s no need to go into extensive detail as to how Jeralt sacrificed almost everything else in exchange for contributing to Byleth’s combat abilities without being abusive and cruel, but even if you took away Byleth’s self-insert aspects, they’d likely bear a passing resemblance to Rei Ayanami in terms of behavior and attitude - An intended vessel/Avatar for a divine being from one end; Conditioned for little more than combat from another end.  Kind of a gloomy picture before she starts to express herself better and actually bond with other people meaningfully.  

(At least she’s cute as a button.  Kinda like Rei.)

But where does that leave Edelgard?  It’s a big question mark.  There’s no mention of her growing up with any kind of combat training, unlike the other three.  Heck, if tea time, Crimson Flower, and Heroes quotes are anything to go by, Edelgard grew up living a carefree lifestyle prior to the Insurrection.  She got to stuff her face with sweets and play with teddy bears and both dote and be doted on by her siblings.  Being child number 9 in her current generation, combat training and political studies likely weren’t major priorities for her, and since it’s speculated that Ionius favored her mother, she was likely lavished and spoiled by him.  After all, he expresses grief for her specifically when she inherits the throne from him, not the rest of her siblings.    

(Even the official merchandise notes how childish Edelgard is)

(This is all after she literally kickstarts her war, by the way).

While there’s varying degrees of elaborate flair that the Lords all wield their weapons with, Edelgard’s regular strikes with an axe feel far less rigid and more informal, and she’ll spin around her axe like it’s some kind of prop.  Her default battle stance isn’t even remotely protective and quite impractical; Dimitri’s stance with a lance is both of these things, while Claude’s arrow-twirling is a real-life exercise that’s done to keep the wrist flexible.  While she does refine her axe skills come Part II, she’ll still do things like throw her massive shield ten feet in the air for a critical hit.

(Seriously what even is this why is your hand out like that)

There’s even some proof of this: In her study request for axes and heavy armor, Edelgard will even acknowledge that the only reason she can likely keep up and wear heavy armor at all is because of her Crests.  And unlike Dimitri and Claude, who can get lesson plans for their respective Hidden Talents once they’re mastered (Horse riding for Dimitri, axes for Claude), Edelgard doesn’t get a lesson plan for Reason Magic, which is her Hidden Talent, so she likely didn’t get any kind of formal education surrounding magic either.  

(She has a similar quote in Heroes that’s even more explicit about this.)

The closest hint we get in Edelgard maybe having a hint of training as a child is in her Supports with Ferdinand, and even then, there’s no clear cut hint noting that his failures in beating her were combat-based.  She’s able to one-hit KO him in their B Support, but it’s locked to Part II and at this point she’s been both riding on the power highs of her Crests along with actually taking combat seriously.  She even says that their difference in skill level isn’t that great.

(Should’ve used Swift Strikes, Ferdie)

What’s more, in addition to all of those enhancements, she not only spends a lot of Part I in a custom set of armor that only archaic technology from the Agarthans can make, but they also made her a custom Relic that’s tailor-made to her specifications.  The other Relics as well as the Sacred Weapons, being over a thousand years old, still require their wielders to train in order to wield them properly, and in the case of the Relics, their potential cannot be fully tapped into unless the wielder’s Crest matches the Relic they’re wielding.  There’s also that particular safety issue, per what happens with Sylvain’s brother Miklan.  But this is not the case with Aymr, which is brand new, has a mismatched Crest that doesn’t negatively affect Edelgard, and requires the Agarthan tech-compatible Agarthium to fix, not the Umbral Steel that’s used to fix both the Heroes’ Relics and other Crest Stone weapons like the Vajra-Mushti.  The Aymr’s specific Combat Art even emulates the oft-broken Galeforce skill from Awakening and Fates.  It feels like that Aymr in particular is the Edelgard what Hephaestus’ swords and shields are to the Alexandra family.  

Now I don’t really think that an Edelgard who’d be stripped of her Crest of Flames, the Amyr, or her special Flame Emperor armor, would be as hapless as Pyrrha would be without her mother’s sword and shield.  I imagine she likely started to do some kind of formal combat training once the experiments were done with, not just to kickstart her dreams of imperial conquest, but also to protect herself anyway after everything that happened; She’s also the only Hresvelg heiress of her generation left.  There’s also her natural Minor Crest of Seiros to consider.  But if you stripped all that away from her, then her ability to fight probably would come off as useless flailing to the other three more experienced combatants.  

All those cakes and that lack of muscle would at least catch up to her, anyway.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #fire emblem three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard critical #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von riegan #byleth eisner #headcanons #ramblings #soulcalibur #this literally popped into my head one day #seriously #edelgard isnt buff you cant change my mind

[floatingbook]

On existing (I am my body)

- long overdue, and written in part in light of these posts.

Descartes said “Je pense donc je suis” and from a pragmatic point of view, I think it’s stupid. Or more accurately, irrelevant. Yes, as human being, we think. But that’s not enough to action existence. If you are only your thoughts, then what actions, what interactions do you have with the world? Your thoughts are not enough to act on anything, to create anything, to change anything. Left in the state of thoughts, all the ideas, all the innovations, all the insights you might have might as well not exist in a way, because no one beyond you is aware of it. Yes there is value in knowing something for yourself, but there is also a reason the best kept secrets are the ones nobody knows about, because then functionally they might as well not exist. Practically, we exist because we enact change of the world — in that we alter the current state of the world every moment.

My existence is my body, but I am not the one putting limitations on it. Being my body, my body being me, simply means that if my body was different, I would be a different person. I would not be alive without a body, without my body. It grows with me; time imprints its passage on my body as it does on what would be described as “my mind”, but “the mind” is just another part of the body. It’s a whole. I can’t be separated from my body because I am my body. You don’t have to separate the mind/consciousness/soul or whichever you want to call it from the body. It’s a part of your body, just like your heart is one, and your blood is one, and your immune system. Does science only have limited answers thus far as to how our thoughts, our consciousness, our sense of existence, our intuition, work? Yes. That doesn’t mean that we have to invent something separate from our body to explain it. Being your body doesn’t mean that spirituality is an illusion or that there is no such thing as experiences that can’t quite be explained by science yet.

There’s nothing dehumanising about being our bodies. We are defined as human, as opposed to other animals, because of our bodies; not because we laugh or because of any other behaviours that we can exhibit; our bodies are what make us human and allow us to be classified as such. We are different from machines because of these bodies; we are more than the sum of our parts, especially because that particular assemblage makes it possible for thoughts and reflections and a sense of time and space and morals to exist. I am the source of my creativity, of my motivations, of my intuition, or more accurately, they are part of me, they arise from the body and without it would not exist.

When people state that we have to have a soul, that we are not just a body, I find it very limiting. Who taught you to hate your body? Who taught you that your body makes you nothing more than a machine? Who taught you that having a body, being your body was limiting? Who taught you that the body was not enough? Thinking that you need to have a soul that is distinct from your body, otherwise you are “just a piece of meat to be used”, is a sad representation of your body. As if the body was not worthy. As if you needed a soul to save the body from its lowliness. Why do you believe that being your body is a reduction?

All the hypotheticals where people try to bait each other with “and what if you were born in a different body?” or “what if we put your brain in a different body?” or “i feel like i was born in the wrong body” leave me confused. If I was born in a different body, I would be a different person. I can’t be separated from my body; there is no way that you can take the “floatingbook mind/soul/consciousness” (or whatever you want to call it) and leave just the physical enveloppe behind. If you could put my brain in another person’s body and somehow that could wake up, it would no longer be me nor would it be that other person. Because what makes me me is my whole body; just look at recent research on the brain-gut connection and its potential impacts on depression or autism to see that we don’t have a “mind” that can be separated from the rest of the body. Society and its paradigms can make you feel like there is a disconnect between you and your body, but that’s precisely because you believe that there’s a difference between your “soul” and your body. If you are your body, there’s no need for a disconnect. The self-hatred fostered by patriarchal society becomes evident (tho it’s not easy to get rid of).

The apparent disagreements that I have with some of the posts I linked at the beginning seem to be due with a difference of perception, of point of view. I don’t think that being my body is a limitation. I don’t think that being my body means that I don’t have thoughts or a purpose or creativity or that science already has all the responses.

For centuries, the catholic religion claimed that women had no souls; it’s been less than a century since women have been granted them. I don’t find it revolutionary to pretend, as a woman, that I have a soul. I don’t believe in life after death. The concept of a soul has been used against women and against homosexuals to promise us an eternity of damnation. It is much more comforting to accept that who you are is intimately tied to your body, and that once you die, you do not exist as you once did. 

Down the line, the dichotomy body/soul is dangerous, because it often puts the body in the second place. The concept of soul put our existence solely in the abstract mind and posits that the body is just an extension of that, simply the mean by which we interact with the world. That opens the door to all sorts of abuses, like mistreating your body, punishing yourself physically, thinking that your body is just a vessel that you can wantonly alter to serve your soul’s purpose. It allows men to threaten you with religion and say that your soul will burn in hell if you do not behave and stay meek and silent. It implies that something is handing out souls — because if they don’t arise from the body, they have to come from somewhere. Belief in a separate soul means in practise that you consider the body lesser. Pretending that there is a dichotomy makes it easy to disregard the body, and who does that serve? Men. It’s way easier to push women into diets, into impractical clothing, into self-hatred, if they view their body with contempt.

I have found nothing more healing than realising that I am my body, that there need to be no separation between the “mind” and the “body”. Settling in your own bones, breathing, acknowledging that you have a physical form, that it is how you experience the world. That there need be no disconnect between you and your body, because you and your body are the same thing. I am my body, and this is why, and how, I exist.

#on existing #i am my body #a lesbian perspective #there's nothing reductive in it #the concept of soul and mind/body dichotomy reeks of religion and patriarchal control to me #i'm pretty sure deep down we agree on a lot #we just don't put the same words on it #your body is not the enemy #women's liberation

[yourseat]

amidst all of these

"Let it go, let it roll down on your shoulder" 

 Growing up, I was that kid that was shy to the bones. I don't exactly know why, but back then I already wasn't confident enough or even had high self-esteem. Though I must admit, there has been events in my childhood that caused medical trauma which I believed has stayed with me as the years passed by. I have a wonderful family. It is not perfect, but that's what made it beautiful. Never in my life I have been neglected and all my needs are well taken care of. I never really cared about money or the stuff I got, it's just that I was raised to appreciate even the smallest of things and to never take for granted the life I have. I grew up to be compassionate and always ready to be a helping hand. 

 "Don't you know the hardest part is over" 

"You're stronger than what you think" is the line that I repeat to myself over and over again but my agony never seems to end. I knew there were something wrong from the beginning because the way I feel things are a bit different from others. My emotions are always too extreme. When I officially start high school, I thought it was a new beginning for me; it was but my beginnings are a bit different. I definitely learned a lot of things and it made me who I am now. But then again, the process of getting there was exhausting. I thought I will be better but I was not making any progress. The voices in my head only got louder and I try to fight them every single day of my life. Even the smallest of things make me crumble in fear. You see, I always lived in fear. It has become a sick habit that I can't seem to erase. 

That's when I started to suspect that something's wrong with me because I can't bring myself to do even the menial things. 

Waiting in line? Paying my jeepney fare? Walking on a corridor? Introducing myself? Saying my orders at a fast-food restaurant? You name it. I always always feel fear while doing these things. 

I also remembered telling my high school self: "You can do this. You HAVE to go through all of these so you can be stronger in the next years of your life" I stuck by my own words and try to rationalize and compromise with the voices in my head. I tried and it seemed to work. 

 "Let it in Let your clarity define you  In the end  We will only just remember how it feels" 

Just when I thought I am slowly beginning to gain mental strength, I am rapidly losing myself. I wasn't aware that it was consuming all of me. But I stood my ground and just trusted the "process". I tried reaching out for help. I open up to my friends and family, I seek comfort in music and food, and I even make goals for myself because they said it can help me push through and have something to look forward to. But then again, the voices in my head doesn't want to stop. 

"Our lives are made, In these small hours These little wonders These twists and turns of fate" 

Indeed, life is full of twists and turns. I used to believe in "fate" for I have learned that a certain thing or event is most likely bound to happen beyond your control. But no, I have learned that you really make your own fate and destiny. This time, I am the one what will happen to my "tomorrow" I can still recall the times where I thought I was getting better but my mind is getting tired of reassuring myself while I am still constantly fight for my battles. I tried opening up once more to my father and all he said was "Mas tatagan mo pa kasi". That thought resonated with me because what if I'm really not really putting all my efforts on being stronger and mentally stable? What if "kulang" pa? 

I wasn't allowing myself to give up because all I know is that my family is working hard for me to have a "future". I tried to sucked it all in while still living on fear EVERYDAY in my life. But the hardest part is that I am aware that my thoughts are irrational, but I can't convince myself otherwise. Again, I thought this was just a "phase" that once I experienced it, I WILL get through it — that's what they all said to me and I believed it. I always tell myself that I am too young to experience all of these and I will waste my youth worrying every day. 

“Time falls away  But these small hours  These small hours still remain” 

You see, I am slowly forgetting things. My memories. It’s like my memories are being deleted one by one. I tried to remember them, but it is slowly fading on by one. It’s like I don’t even know who I am; like I’m starting to forget everything. But deep down inside I know, that even the small hours I’ve spent in this world, I was contented therefore it will remain on me forever. 

“Let it slide Let your troubles fall behind you Let it shine Until you feel it all around you” 

 Yes, I was struggling but I was still hopeful. I told myself that I do not have the right to complain to my parents because their pain is truthfully greater than mine. They have endured so much more for this family and I simply can not tell them that I drown in anxiety everyday and that I need help. I respect and value my parents so much because they truly are the bravest and most strong-willed persons I will ever meet. I am not a perfect child nor a perfect person; I make mistakes like everyone does but the only difference is, I beat myself into every single mistake I make. It makes me crumble to pieces every time. Some will say that I am a perfectionist and say it is a negative trait of mine that I shouldn’t impose on everybody. While that is true, but I just can’t help it because my mind can not afford to handle failure. My mind is already restless so I can’t handle any more slip-ups. 

“And I don't mind If it's me you need to turn to  We'll get by It's the heart that really matters in the end” 

Now, I think about how I made myself become like this. But then again, can you really blame me? I am vigorously fighting with all my irrational fears and worries without even knowing how to properly handle them. I can still vividly remember that every time the voices in my head got louder and my anxiety is through the roof, I will grip my hair so tight in hopes that it will stop and it will keep me grounded. That is also the time that I never knew that you can scream silently. Everything around me feels extreme and that one wrong move, I will explode like a ticking bomb. But after everything that is happening to me, I stood my ground and still offer the warmest smile and hugs for everyone because it is one of my subtle ways to try and keep them from the agony that this life could offer. I am still able to give so much love to everyone until I noticed that I ran out of it for myself. In other words, I am spent. I became an empty vessel floating around bodies of water. I became a body without soul. I lost all meanings. 

“All of my regret Will wash away somehow” 

Sure, there are a ton of things that I regret not doing, but most especially, I am not a good child to my parents. I did everything well except that. I do not blame anyone but me. My family did nothing wrong but they are constantly punished for things that God knows what for. I became the person that no longer has interest in doing things. It hurts me even to move a bone. This is where I learned to differentiate the words “empty” and “nothing”. Being empty means there was something, until it was gone. Feeling nothing is just a seemingly unending vast space. It is completely nothing. Nada. Zero. I learned how to become numb because I simply won’t let myself feel anymore in order to protect me from anything. I learned how to disregard any feelings that I have and became completely void. Believe me, I tried to retrieve myself back but it was to no avail. I still failed to do so. 

“But I can not forget The way I feel right now” 

I may fail to recall emotions or feelings, but I most certainly won’t forget the way I feel right now, as ironic as it may sound. 

“Time falls away but These small hours, these little wonders Still remain” 

I may fade away, but deep down I know in my self that amidst all of these, I was happy. 

 “I was here for a moment, and then I was gone.  I wish you all a long and happy life”

 ― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

[dizzy-and-friends]

Tidbit Taken for analysis

                             The Economy                                                    of Flesh

Once you are complete, a Hellion who has given correct tithe is retrieved by The Black Mother and carried onward into the void beyond sight of The Witness. No known records of this journey exist. Only that it occurs, as it is a memory all Hellions cherish.

From Flesh, into the Hellscape you are born. Our French Noblewoman remembers this moment clearly when questioned.

“It was like having a beautiful woman split apart and place Herself over me like a blanket, and so I rode within her. I do not know how far, but when we reached our point of rest she embraced me fully, and took from my body Her pleasures.

Suffocated then, I later woke emerging from the chest of Flesh, in my case a slave, captive from elsewhere and used as a coin purse. The coinpurse survived after being rebuilt, but the scars remain where i pierced her body. Such is my birth where I was branded by Gods.”     -Alice the Red, Transient Hellion.

37th Heatdeath, Age of Treason

Alice had devoted such a large Tithe, 25 victims. Meat, Flesh, and Spirit whole. The vast generosity gave Alice a package of Flesh for her own economic use.

This gift was bestowed once Alice found her Resting Place, the land which Alice would root her future into.  A tree sprouted overnight and upon it were  seven Damned. Whole units of Flesh, Meat, and Spirit that were bound to the tree by their burning Sinew, hanging for Alice to collect.

Alice was first in a panic. She was not acclimated to this generosity and assumed it was a curse. Alice was tired from her Pilgrimage and could not bare to walk on the exposed bone and torn muscles beneath her bare feet any longer.

    Alice had no choice but to retire beneath the tree where her new home was decided. Once regenerated, she stood confidently and retched deeply into the cracked clay beneath her. The Flesh on her tree griefed her constantly with tortured wailing and pitied cries of redemption. A passing Succubus looked upon Alice’s stake of land, and the great wealth of Flesh found on the tree. The Succubus then pledged her self as servitor under Alice.  Unlike a Harpy, the Succubus will break their loyalty for stronger breeding partners, as was the case here.

Being a mere child, Alice questioned the Succubus about her reasoning, and so the Succubus explained The Economy of Flesh.     The Damned upon her tree are vessels of guilt, manifest of all wrongdoing. Chosen at death by “The Black Mother” according to their sins and laid to rest as undying immortals beyond. They are ripped from their homes and wait in the void. Once made Flesh again, it is the Hellion’s duty to ensure their punishment is fully realized.

To ensure full capacity of regret, their Flesh is flayed 1/6th of an inch and used as Currency, their Meat below that depth is used as sustenance for those below the Hellions which are classified by what is required to tame them;

E.g. The Harpy is tamed with Meat, the Succubus is tamed with Flesh. Both are intelligent beings with a capacity for speech which is not the case for all beings.

With enough Flesh, a Hellion can renew their bodies, or change them entirely. You can craft anything from Flesh, and it is a very durable material. Meat is used to repair, sustain, and feed Sick or Injured Hellions.  

Within The Rites there is a Passage about retaining the legacy of those you’ve freshly slain. You sacrifice the victim of your brutality to The Witness and the Flesh, Meat, and Spirit of the victim are taken by The Black Mother.

If you are not taken as tithe as well, rejoice in your new splendor as The Rites declare you rightful owner of their total physical remains; Flesh, Stone, Meat and Sinew combined.     This is the Reality Beyond, Citizens live in a world where the strongest battle each other for land and submit each other as tithe to Her. The weak submit themselves to serve beneath those they fear the most, as to avoid death under The Rites. Civilization has, by the time of Alice’s Arrival, escaped The Age of Barbarism, and The Nomadic Scourge had been almost fully quenched by now. Alice was by all accounts the most wealthy newborn  Transient Hellion in seasons to pass.  

The Succubus was convinced that Alice was a fine specimen in this world and would attempt to court her daily for offspring.  Alice denied her requests but valued the knowledge she was able to tap by interrogating a citizen of the Reality Beyond.

    So the Succubus remained by Alice indefinitely, trading attention for knowledge and information about the world Alice was unacquainted with.

[itsmooglepom-blog]

How I Learned to Not Hate Myself (And Other Women)

I grew up in the 90’s, and like most other millennials, I flourished in a unique and unusual time span also known as “The Age of Technology.” With the revolution of the internet and the explosiveness of the media, it was (and still is) easier than ever to spread thoughts, notions, and ideas.

During my most formative years, I was a huuuuuuuuge “Tomboy.” Imagine: A small girl who fancied video games, comic books, action figures, and computers as opposed to the expected barbies, baby dolls, purses, ponies, and/or anything else obnoxiously pink. Don’t worry- Even as a romp I had my fair share of stuffed animals, too, you can ask my mom. She had a hay day when she finally donated them all to the Salvation Army, believe me. Not many girls were very nice to me when I was in elementary school. The majority of my friends were boys. I saw girls as these mean, catty creatures I didn’t understand. I avoided them and refused to associate myself with them. I was DIFFERENT. Even at a young age, we’re taught to compete. And in this competition, I wanted nothing more than to WIN. Even from as far as I can remember, I didn’t want to be like “other girls.” Being like “other girls” meant you were bland, boring, and outright insufferable. It meant you didn’t have any ideas of your own and you conformed to a predictable stereotype. Girls were seen as weak and incapable. If you did something “like a girl” it was seen as an insult. And, of course, I did not want to be insulted. Why would I want that? I had a lot going for me, I already didn’t like the same things I thought other girls liked, so I was good.  …Right?

These impressions became fundamentally etched into my being. They allowed me to be “The Cool Girl™” and quickly I adopted the moniker of “One of the Guys.” Because, to me, being (like) a guy was way more desirable than identifying as a girl. Sometimes, I would even say things like, “Aren’t you glad I’m not like those other girls? They’d be mad if you said/did xxxxxx thing. But not me.” I was an obelisk of obscurity, a commodity to be coveted.

Latching on to those sentiments was so easy for me. I didn’t have a great history in dealing with other double x chromosomes; it just fit like glove. Throughout junior high and high school, I had a handful of female friends, but only clung to those with similar interests. I recall very distinctly feeling both a sense of jealousy and superiority toward other girls simultaneously. Jealousy because I suffered through unsurmountable insecurity as a teenager, and superiority because I was nestled in the perfect presumption that I would always be better or smarter than them collectively. These were thoughts that existed somewhere deep, down in the darkest reaches of my being only to resurface later in life.

As I got older and matured, I found myself in some questionably abusive relationships. Often, I would agree with their misogynistic tendencies and somehow blame myself for the mistreatment I endured. These types of relationships became a pattern, resulting in a few different things: -Me hitting rock bottom in terms of dealing with my own self-esteem.

-My hatred for other women reaching an all time high.

-The eventual realization of how and why I was wrong all along.

These realizations started in my early twenties. Becoming an adult was exceedingly difficult for me, because I already had so much mental and emotional baggage I lugged with me. Around the age of 22, I started getting over an eating disorder I had been battling. Anorexia was a problem of mine that stretched from my teenage years to my early adulthood. And, admittedly, it’s all because of misogyny.

The magazines, the ads, the books, the posters; every where you looked, there was a thin, beautiful woman in your face. That was desirable. That was what I needed to be. What I needed to maintain. Sometimes, I would eat only a small sandwich and a banana in a day. Other times, I would restrict myself to oatmeal and juice. I kept justifying why I wouldn’t eat to make myself feel better. “Oh, I’ve been so busy with work. I didn’t have time to stop and eat.” I’d be with guy friends and they’d see an overweight woman jogging and it was open season. “Haha. Look at that fatty!” They would cry out, laughing.

I felt a knot in my stomach, it didn’t feel right to judge her. I mean, she was trying! Look, there she is! Making an effort!

“At least she’s running, though!” I replied, vehemently trying to defend her.

“Yeah! Running to go eat a donut, I’m sure.” One of them would bleat. I knew that feeling. I spent endless hours at the gym doing cardio to punish myself for a single cosmic brownie I didn’t have the will power to say no to. I would run and sweat and sweat and run, until my face was numb. Sometimes, I saw double. I remember looking in the mirror, blacking out, and waking up on the floor with a bump on my head. I was so dedicated to confining myself within this small body. I wasn’t allowed to take up space. Eating less and working out more was the answer. My overall health didn’t matter as long as I was “desirable.”

Fitness and gym culture became a large influence on my day to day life. One of my other more prominent epiphanies resulted from a common argument: “Why do girls wear makeup to the gym?” At first, I assumed it’s because they want “attention.” They must be there with a full face of foundation, perfect eyebrows, and contoured cheeks because they NEED constant validation. I mulled it over and realized that my views were a result of internalized misogyny. Not everything women do is a performative action to appeal to men. Women wear makeup for a plethora of different reasons. And the fact that I wanted to knock them for it was simply out of jealousy. I wasn’t brave enough to wear makeup to the gym, nor did I ever look as good as they did while doing it. Why did I even care in the first place? What caused me to be so brash? Why did I want so badly to dislike someone for something so simple? I became honest with myself and the answers flowed in. As a result, more topics of scrutiny  began to arise. Dress codes, for example: I used to think that women should cover themselves as to avoid negative attention from the male gaze. I recalled the abuse I dealt with and how I was called a whore, a slut, a skank, you name it, for wearing a skirt, a tight shirt, and eyeliner. When discussing sexual assault or rape, people say things like, “Look how she was dressed! She deserved it!” trying to place blame on the victim as opposed to the perpetrator. I thought of myself, as a victim of rape and assault. I thought of how my abuser tried to make it my fault and how I reflected those actions unto others in the same situation. The fact of the matter is, a lot less rapes would happen if a lot less people would stop raping other people. Period.

My early twenties consisted of working in a largely male-dominated industry. I was often the butt of jokes, the target of blatant sexism, and a victim of harassment. A lot of my male coworkers expected me to balk to this behavior, but I was growing ever tired of the constant barrage of backhanded remarks and unwanted advances. I was accused of working at a video game store to “impress men.” But, I wasn’t. That wasn’t my intention at all. I loved video games. I always had. Yet, now, somehow, I had to PROVE that I loved them and that it wasn’t for attention. I saw myself as the woman in the gym with makeup, the one who wore it just to wear it, but got accused of doing it for someone else. Everything was starting to make sense to me. All of these circumstances were linked. My hatred toward women was more of a coping mechanism than anything else. It let me feel better about myself and provided me with a false sense of security. What I kept forgetting is that *I’m* also a woman, no matter how much I try to set myself apart. I couldn’t justify the disdain.

Ironically, fitness also acted as a significant step in my healing process. I connected with women who power lift and dare to look “masculine” without fear of judgement or ridicule. I learned to eat and treat food and respected my body as a vessel of my mind, as opposed to a temple of temptation. I started lifting weights and doing yoga. It was for me. Not for anyone else. And it felt great. I started wearing compression shorts, not to show off, but to be comfortable in my movement. Each time I would stretch them up my waist and walk out the door, I would recall how I used to see women who would wear them and think to myself, “How wrong was I!?”

What remains constant is that women can (and should) like what they want, but it never comes without ridicule. Ridicule is a reaction that is bred from one of three things: envy, projection, or insecurity. People are so ingrained to automatically have contempt for anything a woman does. Society takes any and every chance it gets to paint women in a negative light and perpetuate the terrible stereotype that has become commonplace. When you start seeing women as people with value, and not as objects, competition, or second class citizens to scorn, you become more satisfied with yourself as a result.

Internalized misogyny is a very real thing. It’s what caused me to see myself as less of a person due to my gender, develop an eating disorder, allow myself to be abused, and convinced me that I should act a certain way just so I could be called “cool.” That’s right, I used bigotry against other women just to gain brownie points with other people. And I’m not proud of it. What’s important is that I admit it, and hopefully my honesty will influence others to understand how easy it is to fall prey to this phenomenon.

Women are wonderful. Women are powerful. And there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you’re a woman.

#feminism #women #empowerment #empoweringwomen #loveyourself #lovewomen #nohate

[worldwidecommonplace-blog]

Body and Soul  October 26, 2017, 9:45 p.m.

There is a fascinating similarity and contrast between Gallant’s “Bone and Tissue” (full lyrics here) and Herbert’s poems “The Windows” and “Easter Wings.” According to Yelena Perlin, while Gallant structures his lyrics like “verses of encoded scripture,” his content subverts the scriptural style. Her April 2016 article on Gallant confirms that “Gallant is clear that his intentions are to ‘try to subvert religion having any place in society.’ Begging for affirmation, he sings, ‘And anytime I bite the hand that feeds, won’t you lie through your teeth and tell me I’m a monument to more than bone + tissue?’” I am particularly struck by the use of the word “monument” in this case with Herbert’s concept of the temple in mind. In Gallant’s song, the implication is that the idea of people being something more than “bone and tissue,” or more than human, is a falsity. The practice of being given the affirmation that we are something greater than human after our failings in order to feel better about ourselves or “catapult [our] value” is criticized by Gallant in his chorus. The idea of being sold something to increase personal value also recalls the sale of indulgences to reduce the time one has to spend being punished for sins, to which Gallant seems to say that you cannot buy your way into improvement. Ironically enough, the anti-religious attitude coincides with that of Martin Luther, one of history’s most well-known religious reformers, on this point. “Monument” in this context is used ironically to highlight the idea of human self-importance and how we can think we are bigger or simply more than we actually are (interestingly enough, Ben Jonson literally has the image of a monument to his self-importance). Moreover, being a monument to bone and tissue rather than being a monument of bone and tissue subverts a religious understanding of the body by making it the subject rather than the object, and manages at the same time to allude to the idea of false idols. The bridge builds on this concept as a contradiction: if I fail, does that mean I’m more than just a body? This view is somewhat compatible with Herbert’s in “The Windows.” There, Herbert admits that we are weak vessels for God, so the answer to Gallant’s question seems to be yes.  However, the failure itself does not make the body a temple. Rather, the natural weakness of the human temple is cause for failure. What is most interesting and indicative of the difference in religious attitude between this modern artist and Herbert is that both want to be better people. Perlin’s article opens with a quote from Gallant: “I want to be a better human.”  Gallant subverts a religious framework of human betterment to say that we are not more than bone and tissue and must take personal responsibility for our failures while Herbert says that though we may be weak and fail, we can become better through effort and God’s grace. To Gallant, becoming a better human is entirely within one’s own hands; we are not a temple, and we cannot think we are greater or more important than we actually are. If we are only bone and tissue, we are a body that lacks a housing for God and the soul part appears to be lacking. From Herbert’s point of view, there is human agency (as seen in “Easter Wings”) but it can only do so much, and we can only flap to a certain height. There is also the need for God’s grace. This is an interesting comparison between the modern, secular attitude towards becoming a better person and the seventeenth century’s religious approach to personal betterment as a matter of spirituality. 

[jamesfestini]

Nothing will ever be the same again

I dreamt last night that Donald Trump came to my door to discuss the polar ice caps. Perhaps it was because I found myself yesterday playing google earth looking for the most north and south ends of the earth. In the dream a consultant approached him On my porch and was pointing out that the North Pole and south pole were almost gone. As I was watching a time lapse of the event on thier tablet I began to worry. Moments later I was sitting with my wife describing the event and how screwed we were. I was leaning over a slab of slushy ice in my pool swirling it with a stick knowing this very cluster was the last of it. Like I was God and it was my job to keep it cold knowing it was not going to happen. She was continuing a normal conversation about work and I kept insisting that it did not matter and that in our lifetime we were going to see the earth's end. I was not afraid more than I was upset that I did not create enough great works. That I was not legendary for my existence on this earth. As I battled with this raging in my mind I was also torn realizing that none of the human race mattered after the extinction. Regardless of our contributions. It was a strange and curious clash between use and uselessness. That I would spend a lifetime trying to be a great person of good will and minor contribution to the art world and creativity and that I was no more valued than a serial killer locked up in a prison for life..or what was life of life on earth. Which was not long at all. I thought about the love I made and the love I shared were emotions that I shared with others and that if there was nothing left to feel after death then what would be there? I have a theory of what the afterlife is like and how our efforts may matter here but then again maybe they won't. I compare it to an experience I had once in the dentist chair during a root canal. Funny right? Life after death epiphany from laughing gas. There I was deep into what could only be described as the most intense introspective journey into the selfless mind with no concern for pain or pleasure. Just thoughts filled with emotions that had no sensations that the body and the elements could affect. Like a waking dream that I was able to control. A stark contrast from the dreams we have that allow anything to happen unless we practice lucid dreaming. Which I do, most often unsuccessful. A thought enter my mind. "The dentist could take out a saw right now and cut off my arm and I would not even care. I do not need it in the world I am in." Immediately a rush of panic flowed through my body. I was have a full blown panic attack with a drill in my mouth and I was convinced that I was going to die and that they had given me way too much gas. That my heart was going to explode. As I lay there paralyzed with fear I knew I had to calm myself back down and enjoy the high. I was indeed a very bad trip and I did not have a guide to talk me out of it. My body was tense and the fear was crushing. Yet somehow I was staring into they eyes of the dental crew knowing they had no clue what psychosis I was enduring. To them they were at work performing a routine procedure on a patient. They would clean up and bill me only to repeat the process with someone else in the very same chair. I believed that this experience had to be unique. I have grown up inside the mind of a high functioning autistic genius. The HFA is self diagnosed and the genius is well documented in legend. As my body began to relax once again I was able to immediately reflect on the fear that gripped me just moments ago. The calming effect was so serene that it took on a whole new revelation on the relationship with my mind, this body, and its surroundings. I began to understand that the vessel I was living in was built to suit one purpose. To train for wisdom that I can has in the afterlife or the after. Having the ability to feel physical pain and pleasure was a way to teach and enlighten the spirit that existed a a form of quanta. Or can I say non form of quanta. It was the seperation of the elemental and the mental. There was a dissolving effect that became a part of the universe that intertwined with everything that ever was in the form of an echo. Just like the ripples of a pond after a pebble is tossed in, I was the pond. And so was everything else. I was the center of the vibration feeling only one wavelength. It was only pleasure and absolutely no pain. As I pondered the possibility of the worst things that could happen in this physiscal realm I was observing and I could not incite any feelings of fear or hate or regret or remorse. There was no way for me to imagine loss or gain, pleasure or pain. Just bliss. A bliss in knowing that once I was in this space that the pain of any moment in the elemental realm would not be remembered and if it was it would not be felt. It would only be known. It was an infinite wisdom of all things from how the birds fly to how the bees pollinate. I was the pollen that grew the flowers and it was the sun that warmed the petals. I was the wind and the rain. I was the hurricane and I was the eye of the storm. I had a distinct and intuitive perception that this was not only the best possible world and that this was the best possible life but that there was also another. I understood that everything I was doing here on earth would manifest itself in a reflections that only I could see once I had passed out of the body. This awareness was silent a beautiful. Like sitting on a cliff on a warm summer day overlooking the ocean. It was snatching a yellow flower from the grass and not necessarily looking at it but rather holding it between your thumb and forefinger and allowing it to rest delicately in place. Then rolling the stem along the your fingertips. The soft yet firm fuzzy follicles that coat the green shaft filling the valleys of your fingerprints. Contemplating the moments that have passed and the beauty of this one. I was living in the afterlife and yet I was alive. I was standing in the doorway looking at only what could be described as the boundaries of imagination. It was bliss. I believe that in the life after death there is only bliss. I believe that although the in this life we can be punished and rewarded by our actions in the form pain and pleasure we will not be punished or rewarded in the afterlife. There is no afterlife just after thought. Only a transition to blissfullness. We will exist in the universe in a formless matter or non matter that has only one "feeling". Joy. It is love. Those who have disregarded the opportunity to capture more moments in this life will not be penalized. They will just not be able to understand this energy that is far more vibrant then they are. Or are not. Because this element is not it is also. Those who perpetuate evil or hatred will not have in this realm. They will only have not. There existence will one day be forgotten but there forever bliss will be that of a cheap flashlight with old batteries that requires a smack on its side to work rather than that of the energy of a thousand suns. Forced to exist in the shadows and an echo of what they do remember was thier only chance at laying a foundation for forever. It will not be a cry but a sigh. Once we leave the earth we will be able to see and sense the world we left behind but it will be without the sensation that we know as hurt or regret. It will be the ability to stand in the a fire and feel the warmth but not get burned. Those blessed in the after will be blessed in this life. Not because we are special but because we specialize in actively being special. Not that we dedicate our lives in the relentless pursuit to end war and cure the world of disease or end hunger. Some of us are not built like that. This is what makes us unique. We are able to experience our own form of satisfaction and share our interpretation of love with others as we see best suited to provide glimpses of bliss. We cannot fear and we should not hate. We cannot worry about the polar ice caps but we can try to do something about it if that is what matters to you. The degrees of how this affect relates to your interest in experiencing and perpetuating bliss is different for everyone. Some have less interest in contribution. This is not bad or good. It is only that you ignorantly exist in this life not knowing that there will be great pleasure in the after. Unlike a dream there will be no nightmare or torment. There will only be varying degrees of love and bliss. We will be able to look at the creation and understand the lack thereof. It will not hurt it will just not seem better. There will be no high or low but only varying degrees of comfort. We will seek the opportunity to capture higher higher states of joy but it will be unfulfilled and yet not empty. This is why we feel a sense of loss when we lose a loved one. We know they existed and yet they are non existent. Still the echo of thier spirit lives on in our hearts as if we are holding a candle in the window preparing thier return. When in fact it is they that hold a light guiding us to live this life in memory of theirs. Not only honoring the friendship but paying respects by injecting the energy in our cells to stand up and live more because we are dying too soon. And soon enough we will basque side by side and as one in the after. We just have to wait. Trust me your on the waiting list. Your number will be called. Be patient. Be ready. Be diligent in the pursuit of all things great for greatness awaits. Similar to this life in that we seek out forms of pleasure and avoid that which causes pain. Some of us can find satisfaction in complacency and feel comfort in mediocrity. While others are never satisfied with the moment. There are those who seek thrills in the form of a drug or a or a deal. There are those who find it with lack of and others by giving. There are those who starve and there are those who fast. Each one of us has a chance to experience the 6th sense. Intuition by knowing the 5 senses. That which only exists in constant grasping at connecting the element and the elemental while feeling both pleasure and satisfaction. If we are able to experience this joy and discover how we can enhance it by sharing this experience in real time with those who matter is the purpose of life and the reason to live. Regardless of you past and the moment that continues to creating a non existent future we have a choice to make now. Although the polar ice caps are likely to melt by no fault of our own other than speeding it up a bit we cannot avoid knowing that we are all screwed. Life's a bitch and then you die so fuck the world and let's get high. Not in the sense of rolling a joint and sitting on the couch but more like rolling out of bed and creating a moment worth remembering in the afterlife.