Another beautiful volume cover of the most beautiful girl in the world! Only this time it's from the official doujinshi of Kaguya-sama. Which... I'm not the biggest fan of but it's decent! Just a little too fan-servicey in the beginning. (Granted I haven't read it in years.)
It's pouring down rain here today and it doesn't seem like it's going to let up. I'm not a big fan of the rain/stormy weather, especially when it's already so humid here. I'm going to try to stay inside as much as I can today. If I had to go outside though, I wish I could share an umbrella with Chika. Her happiness is so infectious that I wouldn't mind getting soaked in the rain if I'm with her! In fact I'd give her the coat off my back to keep her dry. She deserves that, and more.
For me it’s: “Chronic cannabis use during adolescence impairs emotional development in adulthood” “Over achievement in crisis situations is an indicator of ADHD” Both of which provoke “Hmm, ya probably, and fuck you too”
(Primary Sources by Corrine Manning, Continued part 3, CW: mentions of assault):’
A journal entry for the same date with two sentences: “He turned out to be creepy.” And, “He wouldn’t let me sleep.”
The morning after the assault I left his flat and began to head towards school. It didn’t seem so bad. It was cold outside. My chin, where he hit me, felt chapped and swollen. I walked past a man in a business suit and he looked at my chin, looked at me. I felt filthy. I wrapped my scarf higher so that it covered my chin. At a crosswalk I pulled ginger from my bag (I don’t remember buying this). I peeled back a part of the brown skin and took a bite. It was supposed to be good for indigestion, and I felt nauseous. It was supposed to be good for breath. When I arrived at King’s Cross there were twenty or thirty men in business suits staring at the tube map. I joined them. The train wasn’t running. I don’t remember this. I have constructed this, pieced it together; an effort even to use the word assault. In my primary resource, the Word document, I wrote “we all looked at the map to try to figure the way to go.” The station was closed. I remember I walked to school. I hid in the library for two hours before class started. I didn’t want anything to eat. I don’t remember class or if anyone commented on my face. Susan! Look at Susan!
Dr. Herman is gentle in her approach of dissociation. She makes it clear that it would be surprising if people didn’t use similar techniques to reduce their perception of trauma. “This altered state of consciousness,” she says, “might be one of nature’s small mercies. Protection against unbearable pain.” It’s really beautiful. Lots of times I don’t want to come back. When I’ve thought about the assault too much, on days when it’s the only thing on my mind, the moment of disengagement isn’t noticed but welcome. My muscles become loose and heavy. Whatever enables emotion breaks away and drops somewhere toward the bottom of my body. I feel calm and blank. Thoughts are slippery and don’t stay for long. Whatever was upsetting or reminding me is deflected and I can drift easily into a warm and sudden sleep. The downside that Dr. Herman has found is that the more powerful these altered states become, the more difficult it is to process the event preventing the integration necessary for healing. To heal is to bring into words what once existed as non-verbal. Superheroes can’t heal, but can they dissociate? Every day they use the power they have to remember what happened to them. The use of their power alone keeps them present, pushes them back, back, back to that traumatic event. The Thing’s physical form is representative of his trauma, his difference, his extraordinary separation from society. Every time he uses his strength, every time the Human Torch converts himself into flame, every time Mr. Fantastic loosens his body, stretches, shrinks, they are reminded of the atomic rays and the crash. Despite the rage the Thing feels, he will still be the Thing. My brother was forced to confront his attack because of the public nature of it. There is a scar on the back of his head where hair won’t grow that everyone asks about. When he walks down the street in a way that assures no one will mess with him, he is reminded of the event. Every time he contorts his face, he does not forget why. What is painful to associate we dissociate. We restrict our ability to interpret the experience, thereby limiting the experiences we even allow ourselves to have.
Because when it happens, an uppercut, you apologize for the sound your teeth make against each other, for the fact that you only knew the term uppercut and didn’t know this, that it felt; that you can say the word without mentioning chin, jaw, friction, quiet. And that he thinks your breath is shallow, and so does not let you slip away anymore (Of course you can remember his voice “Your breath is getting shallow”), and wakes you whenever you so blissfully do because he does not want you to die, even though you have decided, just moments ago that it might be preferable. Not self pity, just a simple stirring inside that accepts “I’d rather not” like cheese on top of pasta, a trip to the pool. I’d rather not. Just as when walking down the street afterwards everyone who looks at you can see through the knitting of the scarf and can run their tongues along that bruise, that swelling. Every man you see knows what has happened and every man you see is suddenly more likely to do it, quicker than before because you are nothing, you are rotting and spoiled. And like that, you are gone. As if time and space were broken and she went off somewhere else. The first moment of leaving the body comes fast as it always will, but soon you will come to depend on it like water in the glass, your mouth to the tap. Lots of times I don’t want to come back. I said, “I’m sorry.” I went to sleep. I waited until he left the room to dress. I waited until he came back to leave. I did not fight. You made your point, take my wallet. I walked to the university, I waited in the library for class to start. I went to class. I do not remember class. I apparently wrote a document on my computer and saved it as “It.” I remember getting into bed and sleeping for a long time.
“Sue! You’ve Done it! You created a shield of invisible energy! The radiation from my nuclear measuring device must have increased your power, Sue! But your shield is still too thin! Try to create a stronger one, hon! A thicker shield of invisible energy! Concentrate! That’s right!! You’re getting it!” “Oh, Reed… This is Wonderful! Your theory was right! My invisibility is a form of energy, and once I learn to control it, I can turn it into a protective screen!” Fantastic Four (Issue #33)
If I were a hero I might approach this differently. If I were a hero, this would be the story, the way a Fanboy might tell it: After her assault her mind began functioning in strange and fantastic ways! Not only were most physical moments of the event concealed to her, but she suddenly had the ability to leave her body whenever something threatened her. These bits of information fueled her on a quest for the truth! She used her ability to move deeply, in and out of situations most humans don’t have the courage to go. If I were a hero, that might be how the story would go. The closer I get to the truth, hauling the rock toward the surface, the more I want to pull away from it, drop it. The closer I get to the truth the less I believe it. It’s not so bad, I tell myself. It really isn’t so bad. There is a difference between the ability and the hero. I am not a hero. There are questions I will refuse to answer. I have a document entitled “It” that I don’t remember writing. I remember a fist against my jaw. I remember him waking me, just as I would fall asleep. I don’t know how many times. I don’t know what time it was. I don’t know how long it lasted. It is unclear what I can believe— if I am the manifestation of that experience. Dissociation is a passive thing, one of nature’s small mercies. As if time and space were broken. Like a girl in a trance. Prevents the integration necessary for healing. Feeling her plight is helpless, Sue Storm becomes visible again.
Locus Feb 2024 issue cover, featuring a shiny alien robot head
The Deadlands #33 cover, featuring a hairless undead-looking person half in shadow overlooking a night landscape with wooden posts
Clarkesworld #209 cover, featuring a space-suited person and a big robot in a red stone desert
"Fabricated" by Evan Greene feels physical and palpable (I love the way the materials are rendered), yet the virtual sculptures' compositions appear to be about to tip over any time or sometimes just couldn't exist that way.
A great exploration of what we expect our world to be like.
TRUMP GUILTY ON ALL 34 COUNTS (www.bbc.com)
What psycholgy research finding hit a little too close for you?
For me it’s: “Chronic cannabis use during adolescence impairs emotional development in adulthood” “Over achievement in crisis situations is an indicator of ADHD” Both of which provoke “Hmm, ya probably, and fuck you too”