The Alpacalypse

And I want to emphasize this point, this rebuttal of Sauron's divide and conquer tactics: The Fellowship gets weakened. It suffers losses. It becomes scattered across the larger battlefield. But its members remain true to each other, and to their shared mission, even when they find themselves parting ways to accomplish it. At the end of the first film, Aragorn tells Frodo, “I would have gone with you to the end. To the very fires of Mordor.” And where is Aragorn, at the end of the last film?? The gates of Mordor, with the remaining members of the Fellowship (and some new friends, too), exactly where Frodo needs them to be at that moment. No one expects to survive, no one can guarantee victory, and no one but the audience sees the tiny bud on the Tree of Gondor, hope blooming in response to faithfulness even while the sky remains overcast and the city lies in ruins around it.

To repeat my previous tags: #I've said this before and I'll say it again #the devil WANTS you to feel overwhelmed and already defeated and like the small acts of everyday love and faithfulness aren't enough #but in fact each one is chipping another stone out of the foundation of his dark tower #and from your vantage point you may not see the people chipping stones on the other side (but they are there!) #you don't need an extensive understanding of architecture to bring it down #just the willing hands of a hobbit

Don Balke (American, b. 1933). Fox, 1978. Gouache and watercolor on board.

which is why you get all these books that embrace hyper violence but flinch away from any -phobias and -isms, because that would be uncomfortable.

what makes the dissonance especially jarring is that viewing violence as abstract is a privilege. in Canada and the States, we get to sit comfortably in our homes while our governments fund weapons and send troops to inflict violence overseas. and sure, we can watch a genocide live-streamed on social media, but it still feels distant.

Great Gray Owl - Autumn in Alberta foothills 🍁 🍂

Still in pursuit, we followed the ball toward a small lake in Motor World that had been earmarked for a fleet of tiny bumper boats for children. The area wasn’t open yet, but the empty boats were being tested and floated on the surface. The ball soared over the grass and smashed into several of them, scattering the others with rippling waves from the impact, which launched some of the boats several feet in the air.

Charlie and Ken waded into the water looking for the hatch. After some difficulty, they got it open. Charlie pulled Frank out by grabbing him under his armpits like a baby. Frank crawled up the bank, coughing and sputtering. He splayed across the grass as we all stared at the ball, which bobbed in the water like it was attached to a fishing lure.

We did not ask for the inspector’s report, nor did we ever hear of one being filed. Ken Bailey returned to Canada. The snow-makers cleared away the PVC. Told to dispose of the Bailey Ball, they rolled it into the woods, where it remained for many years."