Spectacle

Jul. 21st, 2017 09:52 pm
capt_facepalm: (Default)
[personal profile] capt_facepalm posting in [community profile] watsons_woes
Title: Spectacle
Author: [personal profile] capt_facepalm
Rating: PG
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight ACD)
Characters: Dr Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Summary: something theatrical as opposed to something dramatic
Warning: (none)
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: July 21st 2017 prompt: The theatre

This way to the drabble...
rfmcdonald: (Default)
[personal profile] rfmcdonald

  • In The Globe and Mail, Ian Brown and Nam Phi Dang's photo essay tracking the adventures of a bus of Chinese tourists who went from Toronto to the Island and back is insightful and amusing.
  • Alex Ballingall's account in the Toronto Star of his week-long trek along the Trans-Canada Trail from Niagara to Toronto is enlightening. Would I could do this ...

  • Mark Milke in MacLean's argues that, regrettable excesses aside, Canadians should be proud of our British heritage.

  • The Montreal Gazette's Brendan Kelly wonders why a supposedly Canadian music compilation does not include any French-language songs.

  • In the Toronto Star, Emma Teitel points out that visibility, including corporate visibility, is hugely important in Pride.

RIP Chester Bennington

Jul. 21st, 2017 10:04 pm
rhoda_rants: (gerard)
[personal profile] rhoda_rants
This one knocked the wind out of me. I tried to write something eloquent and insightful and came up empty. I never saw Linkin Park live. Despite going to Projekt Revolution in 2007. (We left before their set. Not getting into why because it's not the time, and yes, I'm kicking myself.) Which means although I wouldn't call myself a "fan" on the same level as their actual fanbase, they did give me the best damn summer of my life and I cannot thank them enough.

That said, this is my favorite song:



Please, please, take care of yourselves. All of you.

Friday's Photos

Jul. 21st, 2017 09:20 pm
fadedwings: (alice we all mad here)
[personal profile] fadedwings
It's been too hot this week. In the 90s and humid. Not a great mix. So my mood is starting to drop, a lot, especially when combined with other issues. So, I ended up taking a lot of pictures today because it tends to cheer me up, or at least calm me down a bit.

The squirrels were not loving the afternoon heat from what I could tell and I managed to snap several pics of a few lounging in the trees. I even stepped off of the porch and took some of the pics from the ground under the trees. I also snapped several pics of sparrows and one of a robin. Oh, also a dragonfly up at the top of the dead tree.

I think this is my favorite picture of the day:

Squirrel snug in a tree.

The rest of the pictures (11 of them) are under the cut...Read more... )
yatima: (Default)
[personal profile] yatima posting in [community profile] 50books_poc
(Hi! I'm new here. Let's jump in.)

Kel Cheris is a gifted mathematician underemployed as an infantry officer. Shuos Jedao is the technological ghost of a genocidal general. Together, they fight crime, where "crime" is defined as heresy against the calendar. In Yoon Ha Lee's brilliant device, a calendar is a social contract from which physics - and hence, weaponry - flow. Calendrical heresy disables these weapons and thus undermines the power of the state.

If you love bold, original world-building, reflections on colonialism, and complicated relationships between clever protagonists who have every reason to distrust one another, you'll eat up the Machineries of Empire series as avidly as I did. If military SF and n-dimensional chess sound like a bit of a slog, see if you can stick with it anyway. The language and imagery are utterly gorgeous, and these very timely stories have a great deal to say about complicity, responsibility, and the mechanisms of societal control.

Challenge 62 Winners!!

Jul. 22nd, 2017 12:56 pm
timetobegin: (b99 [ queen ])
[personal profile] timetobegin posting in [community profile] iconthat


First Place: [personal profile] luminousdaze
Second Place: [personal profile] fueschgast
Third Place: [personal profile] lifeistoobrevis
Fourth Place: [personal profile] colls
Fifth Place (tie): [personal profile] naushika
Fifth Place (tie): [personal profile] green
Best Crop (tie): [personal profile] naushika
Best Crop (tie): [personal profile] timetobegin

CONGRATS EVERYONE!!!!

[Check-In]

Jul. 21st, 2017 08:55 pm
kalloway: Kaoru from Rurouni Kenshin tinted purple (RuroKen Kaoru Purple)
[personal profile] kalloway posting in [community profile] onedeadplotbunny
It looks like summer is trying to sneak by~ Sorry about that!

This is a weekly check-in! You do not have to check in, of course, but if you would like to comment on the last week, feel free!


If you have a deadline coming up, you can do it! If you need a deadline, feel free to ask!

things. of a thinglike nature.

Jul. 21st, 2017 07:44 pm
lireavue: A pair of bare legs kicking into the air; the person lies on a bed draped in sheets above. (daughter of a lost country)
[personal profile] lireavue
1. It has been, not quite so much unbearably hot? But unbearably humid on TOP of the hot, leading to me spending a day in microsleep stage of sleep deprived, plus finally going NO HONEY WE ARE GETTING A WINDOW AC FOR THE BEDROOM. It came today. It has been installed. It is fucking glorious and can be AIMED and I LOVE IT and I'm going SLEEP SO MUCH TONIGHT.

2. Instead of doing the half dozen things I wanted to today as part of slowly making the apartment less of a disaster area (per, you know, not having slept much this week), I ended up with a combination of cramps + migraine + massive fuckoff storms which resulted in curling up for the afternoon and not moving. I continue to blame Daniel Jackson for my inability to Ascend past this stupid embodied plane of existence. Fucker stole them all.

3. Water bottle holders may have been my most useful knitting project ever and considering I love my lap blankets a LOT that's saying something. And the yarn stretches just about as much as the pattern indicated, I might add another inch or so of knitting to the next one so that I can sling it cross-body between my boobs without any problem at all? But I took the test project along to lesson/rehearsal yesterday and it's definitely adequate as-is.

4. Next week is Restaurant Week and frankly given the week I've just had I can't fucking wait. I need a week where I can subsist off leftovers in between paying incredibly reasonable prices for really good food. And my leftovers are getting made this weekend.

5. ...I forget what 5 was going to be but let it be noted for the record that it is really fucking nice to be able to exchange money for lack of spoons and mostly not worry about it. Oh, no, I remembered: apparently this weekend will consist of Editrixing at some truly old drafts. Expect a lot of yelping that WOW I AM OLD although it may end up staying in chat. Who knows. >.>

6. Iiii am going to go tackle Mt Laundry now, I think. Honestly once THAT gets out of the way I'm down to batch cooking and cleaning the bathrooms for the weekend chores, assuming of course I don't immediately discover I need to run more laundry. But hey. If I fold all the bins I get the really GOOD popcorn for dessert. XD
elf: Petalwing, singing (Petalwing Singing)
[personal profile] elf
Oh good. Back to song topics that don't make me want to rip my hair out.

Had to stop and think about this one, because "love the voice" is not high on my priority lists for songs I enjoy most. But for a long time, I listed my favorite type of music as "anything with a baritone voice and acoustic guitar."

What You Need | Dance Magic | I'm on Fire | Love Is Chemical | Holly Holy | Wherefore and Why | Stay Young | The Warrior | Rainy Days & Mondays | Delta Dawn | It's So Easy

And one where the vocals are so pretty, I almost forget that I love the lyrics, too )

Meme list

Y e a h so

Jul. 21st, 2017 08:00 pm
nanslice: (Default)
[personal profile] nanslice
........I bought Dream Daddy.

:D :D :D

:'D

I'm ready for the most wholesome dating sim I've ever played.

In my shoes, a walking sleep

Jul. 21st, 2017 04:55 pm
kore: (Brain fail)
[personal profile] kore
My memory has been even more blitzed since the news of Bennington's suicide (sorry, everyone I was commenting with) so today, I apparently double-dosed every single med I take. There are quite a few. (Two antidepressants, one mood stabilizer, two acid reducers, baby aspirin, an NSAID, blah, fucking blah....)

A WINNER IS ME.

I guess in a couple of hours, I'll be hypomanic/super-stable, all chronic pain will be totally gone and my sinuses will be extra SUPER clean! XDDDDDDD

(if brains are so fucking important you'd think they'd work right)
elaineofshalott: Violet from the Lemony Snicket stories, tying her dark hair back with a ribbon. (ribbon)
[personal profile] elaineofshalott
(I wrote this post in a Word doc awhile ago; I think it's still relevant.)

I’ve been thinking about excessive empathy lately, and whether it might be leveraged as an asset, rather than smothered for being a liability. What can one do, what progress can one make, when one is incapacitated by compassion? When one’s only capacity is for grief, of what use can one be?

Related passages from fiction occurred to me, of course. Upon reviewing them I realize they have to do with empathy for one’s specially beloved human, rather than empathy for humanity in general--humanity in the abstract and then frighteningly in the no-longer-abstract. One hears news headlines. One watches a movie character and knows that real people have similarly suffered. So the following passages perhaps only glancingly apply to my own struggles, since I am unespoused. But often a glancing relation is still a telling one.

BBC Sherlock’s John, after a drug overdose:

John holds a hand out, pointedly. And then Sherlock is up and they are leaving. Sherlock is too thin, he's too cold, he's a tower of strength drained completely empty. It could make a grown man cry, this sort of waste, this level of senselessness. Why should a priceless work of art dash itself against the concrete purposefully? The whole story is a tragedy. It could break John's heart if he let it.

But he isn't going to.

wordstrings, Entirely Covered in Your Invisible Name


Original-canon Holmes, during World War I:
It was a calculated war waged against my own mind. My mind was my bitterest foe. My soaringly imaginative, tactically brilliant, ever-practical mind. Had I been able to exchange my brain with that of a half-witted factory girl, during the four years Watson was in France, I should have done so. I should have traded it for a Dorset cow's in an instant. Could I have slipped into a coma entirely, I should have chosen that, save that then I would not have been working every waking moment to end the War quickly.

And God, how desperately I needed to end that bloody War.

At the beginning, I could see everything. Too much. And there the information was, all at my disposal on my brother's desk. Guns. Troops movements. Chemical weaponry. Mustard gas. God in Heaven, it drew and quartered me daily. At the beginning, when I was less strict with myself and allowing flights of vividly pictured deductions, anything could tip my heart into a blind panic. I glimpsed a wire in concert with a coded list, a grain manifest, a series of numerals, and a map on my brother's oak desk and nearly sent myself to the hospital. I knew generally, within thirty miles, perhaps, where my friend was at any given time. My brother saw to that. And according to those seemingly innocuous papers in 1914, he would be dead in a week. The odds were for a simple gunshot wound, but exploding debris was also possible.

Looking up from the mad scratches in his commonplace war journal, Mycroft frowned at me from across the length of his entire office.

"Stop."

I made no answer.

"Sherlock," he said clearly, "I have seen what you have seen, but you have not seen all that I have. In addition, I do not allow myself to actually see it. Stop your mind's eye, and at once."

"How can I help but see it? I've always seen it. All my life," I answered miserably, leaning back against his bookshelves and shoving my hands in my pockets.

"Well, you are through now," my brother commanded, tidying papers. "This is not you staring at carriage tracks in our drive and predicting the events of the next six hours verbatim. I can allow you to know things, to employ your tireless energies on our behalf, but not to see them. Do you mark me? I will retrain your mind myself if I have to. You are Sherlock Holmes, not Cassandra of ancient myth. We shall unravel the work of sixty years."

"I can't. My mind doesn't work that way," I whispered in despair.

"It's going to have to." Rising, my brother approached me and placed a hand on my shoulder. He left it there until I looked back at him, seeing my own eyes in a huge, sagging face of sixty-seven years.

"He should not have done it," I said through a clenched jaw. It was the only time I said it. Ever.

"No, but now he has," Mycroft said softly. "Be logical. You are not getting him back for a period of months or possibly even years. You are thus presented with exactly two options. Either stay as you are and see how long you can live like this before you break--I give it three months, myself, and if the War grows worse as swiftly as I think it will, no longer than two and a half--or stop seeing things. Think them in the abstract, for I need you, but do not see them, petit frère. Please stop seeing them. Try for me."

"All right," I gasped. I had not been aware of how shallowly I was breathing, for I was watching him perish over and over again in a spray of gore and crossfire. The moment I agreed, my brother slid back into his usual distant inertia.

"Good man," he said absently, going back to his desk.

Katie Forsythe, The Presbury Letters


These passages speak of the necessity of closing one’s heart, fortifying the doors against the onslaught of an unrelentingly brutal world, and the immense, hardly bearable anxiety and sorrow that would be engendered in the collision of that brutality with one’s own empathy. No human metaphor-heart can take in all the suffering of humanity, and continue to function.

Or can it?

What if Katie--my trusted pet favorite author, my guru of the ugly sides of love--is not entirely right on this count? What if this metaphor is faulty, or at least does not encompass all possibilities? That is the weakness of all metaphors, of course. Each one is only a lens, and not the thing itself. And the human brain, which is what we are really talking about here, is complex beyond our feeble attempts at description and measurement. So: what if the alternative to closing the door to empathy, and carrying on with trying to fix the mess, is also a viable possibility? What would that look like?

Using “we” to mean “I, and others with a seeming excess of compassion”: we could be in a waiting room where they have the tv news on, and not frantically try to divert our own attention.

What if a significant part of the horror of a horrific thought lies in our own panicked urge to look away, to not let it affect us?

What if we just sat with the reality that the world is brutal and merciless, that many many people are in unbearable pain at any given minute? And that we’re partly to blame? What if we just sat and let that be true? What if that didn’t have to mean us curling up in too much shame and rage and sorrow even to suicide ourselves out of this train wreck?

Would that lead to us taking less, and less effective, action to fix the world? Or more?

Consider: you can see the horrible thing in your mind’s eye, but you don’t have to be in the scene. You can just watch and be still. That’s all you can do in that moment, since it’s your mind’s eye; you’re not really there, able to throw your body in front of the cannon or whatever. And when the mind’s cinema screen flickers to darkness for the time being--perhaps, sometimes, even while it’s still running, if you can get the knack--you can plot ways to make it better.

It also strikes me that the rationally plotted, stiff-upper-lip approach is tied to toxic masculinity. What if I consult some female and/or non-Western heroes? How do they deal with their unbearable feelings? What does "Cassandra of ancient myth" have to say on the matter?

I do recall some tale of Theseus with lamenting women kneeling in the road before his procession, begging him to stop some deadly action. And, in the story, he did. Maybe the mere display of the full force of our distress, in front of the right persons, would be a force for good?

What can one do while in profound distress, other than displaying it? What action, in that moment, can be taken, that might be useful to the hemorrhaging world? Or must one wait until the moment passes, and act while in a calmer state?

Thoughts and fiction recs welcome.

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