about as edgy as a bowl of custard

Nearly all of my friends favourite characters tend to be the villains of a story, and I just…I’m almost never a villain sympathiser — except for this boy here, but “sympathiser” isn’t really the right word…he was a very naughty boy, and deserved everything he got, but I still love him. Go figure. XD I always gravitate towards the heroes, and I know it’s silly, but recently I’ve kind of started to wonder…is there…something wrong with me in that respect?

It isn’t that I don’t find their stories compelling, or that I think they have no place in a narrative (?!?! I’m actually bewildered there are people who actually think this kind of thing…there again, I’m also bewildered that there are people who think that writing about a taboo subject means that the author advocates for and approves of said taboo subject in real life…). A good villain is vital to a story, imho. But I never really bond with any of them. My love always goes to the heroes and I’m always far more invested in their struggles.

It speaks of my general naivete and Pollyanna syndrome, I suppose…or maybe that I’m just so sick of my own darkness, I want to bathe in the light wherever I can find it. I don’t know, really.

bingo bingo bingo…

What a surprise! Not.

(I mean, I don’t think I’m edgy, though I do have edgelord moments…and genuinely edgy moments, too. But I personally don’t think I’m all that edgy. I’m pretty boring, at the end of the day.)

Ah, well. That’s okay. There are some awesome INFPs in the world. And Frodo and Arwen are both INFPs, too, which delights me. ♥

he of the star-dome

I…actually just had a weird revelation (for lack of a better word) about The Rings of Power.

I’m absolutely fascinated by Elrond Tarantino* — weirdly enough, it was seeing Robert Aramayo in action that solidified that; the man is poetry in motion and perfect for Elrond, even if the costume department keeps dragging its ass! And that voice, oh goodness — and am so looking forward to seeing his character really, really dug into. We only got glimpses of that in PJ’s Middle-earth movies, which is totally understandable, because he was such a minor character in those. And it’s a testament to how powerful an actor Hugo Weaving is that his movie depiction pretty much became the depiction of Elrond that I saw when I read the literature, but.

So. I got into a relationship that lead to engagement a few months after FotR’s release, and my then (now extremely ex) fiancée was completely obsessed with Elrond — well, really, she was obsessed with Hugo Weaving, and thus Elrond followed (and six months later when she had her brain eaten by Harry frickin’ Potter of all things, said “obsessions” were dropped like hot po-tay-toes, but hey, that’s what she does). I always wanted to like, dig into his character from a fandom perspective, you know? Like fic, art, opinion pieces, research, all that kinda stuff. But…I never really did, because the image of Elrond was always slightly tainted by this toxic waste spill pretending to be a person.

(Look, she lied about have cancer in order to passive-aggressively get me to be the one to break up with her. Then cheated on me, twice. And then had the fucking gall to email me several years later wailing about how I was her “greatest love story”. I do not have to spare her feelings whatsoever.)

But now…what with Elrond Tarantino…it’s like…not like a new Elrond, because I think Aramayo really captures that same essence that Weaving did, but like…it’s like the bad associations have been removed from him? So it’s like I can dive into fangirling without the bad memories (or just the exasperating ones). And I absolutely love that idea. Maybe I’ll make that Elrond fansite after all.



* yes, this was mocking, originally. now it’s pure hopeful fondness! ♥ (yup, I’m one of those annoyances that mocks the things she likes, with no mercy. y’all know how much I adore Nicky Wire from the sheer amount of times I’ve made fun of his dramatic cranky gorgeous ass.)

two suns in the sunset

I’m watching the UN General Assembly right now, not because I think the UN will be remotely helpful in this situation (or ANY situation…“shall I call the United Nations?”), and the screen suddenly went blank, and then switched to the test pattern and that horrendous constant beep that comes with it — and my first reaction was, fuck, he’s done it, that mad bastard’s done it, he’s dropped the bomb, I need to– just instantly, without even thinking about it.

Of course, it was just a brief interruption in the broadcast (satellite issues, or something), but just…that panic that gripped me…it just fell around me with a silent clanging of an iron curtain, and…

Nothing ever really changes, does it? It’s the same tune, really, just played on new instruments…or, if it is a new tune, there’s always throwbacks to certain refrains, always.

Baby, baby, baby…light my way…

this meandered

I finished Ogawa Yoko-sensei’s “Revenge” last night, and aaaaahhh. AAAAAAHH. So good. God, I wish I could write short stories like that. (Let’s be honest; I just wish I could write short stories.) I won’t say anything about it, plotwise, because that might spoil your enjoyment of it and YOU’RE GONNA READ IT. Or, like, I think you should (^_~)

Next up on my list is “All The Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr, which was recommended to me by my neighbour. I…am hesitant. Not for any other reason than WW2 novels make me feel…it’s kinda like someone’s put hooks into my collarbones and is dragging me downwards slowly? I don’t know why, but anything that touches on the Holocaust is painful for me to deal with. I have no familial or blood connections to anyone who was hurt by it; the literal closest I get to it is that the jeweller who designed my mother’s engagement ring and my parents’ wedding rings was a Polish Jewish survivor of one of the concentration camps. Mum said she noticed his tattoo when he was working on her ring, and asked if he’d been…in the war. He smiled very softly and said “yes, it’s a little souvenir of my time in the camp,” and never spoke of it again. She didn’t have to ask “which camp”, because…well.

It’s odd, but every time I look at my mother’s wedding ring, now, I think of him. I wish I knew more about him. His surname was, apparently, “Polmar”, but that’s not terribly helpful, really, given that it’s not a typical Polish surname, and that it could have been a chosen surname, as many Polish Jewish immigrants to Australia changed their surnames when they settled here, for myriad reasons.

But yeah. Even a tenuous link like that weighs heavy…I cannot imagine what survivors and relatives and all Jewish people must feel, especially in the world’s current state.
(I feel like I need to fall to my knees and apologise over and over, I’m so sorry we let these bastards sneak back into the world, I’m so sorry we weren’t strong enough to keep them away…not that that would be remotely helpful, but emotions are weird and don’t make any sense. All I can do is tear down their posters when I see them, because not in my city, you fucks. Not my people, not my city. It still doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but I suppose nothing ever will be.)