Punching up

Nov. 26th, 2015 06:35 pm
liv: cast iron sign showing etiolated couple drinking tea together (argument)
[personal profile] liv
A locked discussion on my reading page reminded me that I've been meaning to talk about this: I basically hate the framing of "punching up versus punching down" as ways of analysing interactions. [twitter.com profile] lollardfish expressed my views rather well:
First of all - I don't like punching. Second, I think the simple verticality of power spectra is almost never clear [...] Instead, I recommend thinking about whether a given situation undermines hierarchies and stereotypes or replicates them.
. In fact I think Perry's entire piece on public shaming is worth reading.

I don't like punching )

What I did today, by a bored person

Nov. 26th, 2015 04:31 pm
hunningham: Linocut man on bus (man on bus)
[personal profile] hunningham
I'm trying to upgrade parallels desktop. Now my virtual windows won't start. This is going to take a very long time. Never upgrade anything which works.

Took friend Janet to the doctors, and then to the pharmacy. While she was waiting for the pharmacist I went to supermarket to buy loorolls, and saw a woman buy a pint of milk and thirty packs of butter. I counted all the butter packs as they slid past the till and there were exactly thirty.

Thinking about Christmas presents and somehow got completely waylaid by wildlife posters online. Trying to work out who in my life would be thrilled to get a poster of British Bats. (This is while waiting for various things to install, restore, uninstall, reboot and generally fail to do what they should be doing.)

I'm going out tonight to have a drink with someone from my last job. I'm apprehensive about this; there will be awkward pause-filled conversation and fascinating facts about bats will not help.

I have realised that the strange and wacky calendar I got for my birthday last week is a calendar for the year 2015. I'm a little bemused.

I have decided that my strange dream from last night means "Posessions are meaningless. Life goes in a circle. You will fight and struggle and then fail to restore windows from the earlier backups."

I haven't done a lot of work today.
[syndicated profile] speculumannorum_feed

Christmas came early! Christmas got unpacked and put on the bed early, because the weather has just taken a sharp turn to cold and I do not have enough bedding. At last - for the first time since leaving Aus - I have a full blanket tucked tight with hospital corners!


Nov. 26th, 2015 02:11 pm
hunningham: Confused cat looks confused (Confused)
[personal profile] hunningham
Such strange and vivid dreams last night.

We had travelled to Mars (as people do) and then went exploring (as people do). While we were out someone (Martians?) had carefully stripped the space craft bare of all its contents and furnishings, so it was just an empty shell. Later we found all our possessions laid out in a very large circle.

Is this a message from my subconscious, the dream lord, the martians? And if so, what are they trying to tell me?

For the record, Dream Mars is flat barren heathland and doesn't look like the film at all at all.
saunteringfiend: (roses: red)
[personal profile] saunteringfiend posting in [community profile] poetry
Nobody hurt you. Nobody turned off the light and argued
with somebody else all night. The bad man on the moors
was only a movie you saw. Nobody locked the door.
Your questions were answered fully. No. That didn't occur.
You couldn't sing anyway, cared less. The moment's a blur, a Film Fun
laughing itself to death in the coal fire. Anyone's guess.
Nobody forced you. You wanted to go that day. Begged. You chose
the dress. Here are the pictures, look at you. Look at us all,
smiling and waving, younger. The whole thing is inside your head.
What you recall are impressions; we have the facts. We called the tune.
The secret police of your childhood were older and wiser than you, bigger
than you. Call back the sound of their voices. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Nobody sent you away. That was an extra holiday, with people
you seemed to like. They were firm, there was nothing to fear.
There was none but yourself to blame if it ended in tears.
What does it matter now? No, no, nobody left the skidmarks of sin
on your soul and laid you wide open for Hell. You were loved.
Always. We did what was best. We remember your childhood well.

hope I never improve my game

Nov. 26th, 2015 02:26 am
lotesse: (afrofuturism)
[personal profile] lotesse
Late-night hypothesis (i had a hard day i'm not thinking about it): might the weird misdirectedness of "sj shipping" and whatnot be a possible aftereffect of the hardcore fannish embrace of the death of the author?

Instead of accepting all fannish responses while questioning the motives/credentials of directors, movie studios, and various financiers, we seem to be ignoring the latter classes of being almost entirely to instead police fannish response.

I am pretty sure that a substantial chunk of this is "women can be easily made to feel badly about libidinal desires," but also think it's interesting that, after having gloriously launched myself into the arms of Barthes during the Harry Potter years, I now find myself endlessly wanting to remind fellow fen about who gets paid for these stories, who has control, and who exactly doesn't (hint: it's us).

Thinking about books ... and money

Nov. 25th, 2015 07:06 pm
hunningham: Linocut man on bus (man on bus)
[personal profile] hunningham
Just a little post as I try to ease myself back into posting more often ...

I've been looking at all the comic books I've bought this year, and there are quite a lot of them, and some of them which I didn't like very much and which will eventually end up at Oxfam. (I hope the nice people at the Oxfam charity bookshop appreciate Sex Criminals - One Weird Trick)

Once upon a time this would have been a problem. I would have been so upset at having spent money on a book (and graphic novels / comic books are not the cheapest books you can buy) that I didn't like and which wasn't worth the shelf space.

I still, thirty-five years on, remember The White Dragon by Anne McCaffrey with some bitterness of spirit. And as for Get Off the Unicorn* - I took that one back to the bookshop and told stupid lies about how I bought the wrong book by accident. (Dear Mr. Bookseller, I would like to apologise for this bad behaviour. I appreciated your bookshop and your patience, and thank-you for letting me read the books in your shop without ever dropping hints about buying them.)

And even when I got my first full-time salaried job and could afford a paperback most weeks, I was still cautious. A book had to be one which I'd read before, or where I felt the author or the collection was a sure thing.

But now - I can afford to buy piles of books and not feel like a thriftless wasteful person. (I might think that the book money should have gone to charity, but that's a horse of a different guilt and I'm not riding it tonight.)

I shall be crass and materialistic, and say that having this much money is really nice.

* Also Anne McCaffrey. Title was a publisher error. It was supposed to be "Get of the Unicorn"

So there's this thing

Nov. 25th, 2015 05:46 pm
kaberett: Clyde the tortoise from Elementary, crawling across a map, with a red tape cross on his back. (elementary-emergency-clyde)
[personal profile] kaberett
where I will abruptly realise that one of the men I love simply does not know something that so thoroughly permeates my experiences of the world that I barely even think to mention it.

Content notes for misogyny and gender policing and violence and all that good stuff.

Read more... )

The Conductor, Jacqueline Berger

Nov. 25th, 2015 08:32 am
saunteringfiend: (DoctorWho)
[personal profile] saunteringfiend posting in [community profile] poetry
There's no mention, of course, in the program
that the conductor has Parkinson's.
He enters the stage, stands for a moment
facing the audience,
his hands by his sides, tapping air.
Then he holds them together, an act of gratitude
—we are gathered, we can do this—
and of firmness, each hand forcing
the other to be still.
His expression, darkly bemused,
the good news/bad news:
I've lived long enough to lose so much.
Or maybe he's staving off our sympathy,
don't clap because of this.
Then he turns his back to us, begins his work.
Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony.
No baton, and from behind
his body is jerky as a boy's,
jumpy with excitement.
His hands shake when they scoop
the sections of the orchestra,
as though pulling a weighted net
from the sea. Still, I wonder if this work
is easier than taking on the ordinary
objects of a day—
buttons, keys, and pens.
I am an old man
he must think when he looks
in the mirror,
briefly naked before trading
the bathrobe for the tie and tails.
And when he turns to us again
after the last movement, he looks both
old and young, his face washed
of the expression in the program photograph,
clearly taken years before,
one eyebrow slightly raised,
his smile more satisfied than happy.
Now he shows us his innocence,
if innocence is what the face
unconstructed can be called.
What else can he do,
while his fingers tap their useless code,
while the audience, in rows, rises from their seats,
still clapping, what can he do
but show us who he is,
a man standing too close to the edge,
edge no one can call him back from.

(no subject)

Nov. 25th, 2015 12:37 am

baby I'm a witch

Nov. 24th, 2015 10:09 pm
lotesse: (open)
[personal profile] lotesse
Watching Hannibal 1.08.

(I've been feeling frustration and dissatisfaction with my family; I do not know if it is legitimate. I feel as though I am not seen. But I'm less interested in proving the reality than I am in simply noticing the presence of my emotions.)

A (potential, theorized) central tragedy of human life, artfully demonstrated by Bryan Fuller: no one can save you but yourself. Even when it is not reasonable to expect anyone else to save you, help always seems to come with strings. Hannibal wants to Save Will Graham; Alana wants to Save Will Graham; Jack wants Will Graham To Already Have Been Saved so that he can remain useful and able to work. But each of these outside agents have agendas for Will, agendas that are their own and not his.

This is inevitable; how could they not? Only Will can have his own interests at heart purely. But ... he doesn't, I don't think he does. He makes gestures toward survival - he clearly knows where he needs to go vs. where he shouldn't, he tells people things like he's trying to remain accountable for his own well-being - but he doesn't follow through. (and yet, it's his self-sacrificing aspects that I find admirable. what does that say about me?)

I don't know - this all seems quite clear to me, but I've been trying to convince myself that "you've got to cross that lonesome valley, you've got to cross it by yourself" is no kind of a life-philosophy.

I wonder if it's good for me, to live within reach of my parents. I dunno that it really is.

Haiku: "Wishes"

Nov. 24th, 2015 05:34 pm
jjhunter: Closeup of monarch butterfly (butterfly closeup)
[personal profile] jjhunter
For K-; for anyone who needs them.

I hope you sleep safe
have words come when you need them
and joys repeated


World affairs linkspam

Nov. 23rd, 2015 09:19 pm
liv: cast iron sign showing etiolated couple drinking tea together (argument)
[personal profile] liv
I don't often talk about news events; I don't particularly need to participate in the social media circus of uninformed opinions about headlines. I haven't suddenly become an expert on terrorism and international security, but I do have pretty strong opinions about blaming Muslims, or even worse, refugees, for terrorist attacks.

Anyway, several of my circle have said really wise things about terrorism and xenophobia and I wanted to draw attention to them. links and commentary )


highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)

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