Adrift in the abyss.

Keep fighting

This is my favourite thing

my american lit professor went to this poe conference. like to be clear this is a man who has a doctorate in being a book nerd. he reads moby dick to his four-year-old son. and poe is one of the cornerstones of american literature, right, so this should be right up his alley?

wrong. apparently poe scholars are like, advanced. there is a branch of edgar allen poe scholarship that specifically looks for coded messages based on the number of words per line and letters per word poe uses. my professor, who has a phd in american literature, realizes he is totally out of his depth. but he already committed his day to this so he thinks fuck it! and goes to a panel on racism in poe’s works, because that’s relevant to his interests.

background info: edgar allen poe was a broke white alcoholic from virginia who wrote horror in the first half of the 19th century. rule 1 of Horror Academia is that horror reflects the cultural anxieties of its time (see: my other professor’s sermon abt how zombie stories are popular when people are scared of immigrants, or that purge movie that was literally abt the election). since poe’s shit is a product of 1800s white southern culture, you can safely assume it’s at least a little about race. but the racial subtext is very open to interpretation, and scholars believe all kinds of different things about what poe says about race (if he says anything), and the poe stans get extremely tense about it.

so my professor sits down to watch this panel and within like five minutes a bunch of crusty academics get super heated about poe’s theoretical racism. because it’s academia, though, this is limited to poorly concealed passive aggression and forceful tones of inside voice. one professor is like “this isn’t even about race!” and another professor is like “this proves he’s a racist!” people are interrupting each other. tensions are rising. a panelist starts saying that poe is like writing a critique of how racist society was, and the racist stuff is there to prove that racism is stupid, and that on a metaphorical level the racist philosophy always loses—

then my professor, perhaps in a bid to prove that he too is a smart literature person, loudly calls: “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE ORANGUTAN?”

some more background: in poe’s well-known short story “the murder in the rue morgue,” two single ladies—a lovely old woman and her lovely daughter who takes care of her, aka super vulnerable and respectable people—are violently killed. the murderer turns out to be not a person, but an orangutan brought back by a sailor who went to like burma or something. and it’s pretty goddamn racially coded, like they reeeeally focus on all this stuff about coarse hairs and big hands and superhuman strength and chattering that sounds like people talking but isn’t actually. if that’s intentional, then he’s literally written an analogy about how black people are a threat to vulnerable white women, which is classic white supremacist shit. BUT if he really only meant for it to be an orangutan, then it’s a whole other metaphor about how colonialism pillages other countries and brings their wealth back to europe and that’s REALLY gonna bite them in the ass one day. klansman or komrade? it all hangs on this.

much later, when my professor told this story to a poe nerd friend, the guy said the orangutan thing was a one of the biggest landmines in their field. he said it was a reliable discussion ruiner that had started so many shouting matches that some conferences had an actual ban on bringing it up.

so the place goes dead fucking silent as every giant ass poe stan in the room is immediately thrust into a series of war flashbacks: the orangutan argument, violently carried out over seminar tables, in literary journals, at graduate student house parties, the spittle flying, the wine and coffee spilled, the friendships torn—the red faces and bulging veins—curses thrown and teaching posts abandoned—panels just like this one fallen into chaos—distant sirens, skies falling, the dog-eared norton critical editions slicing through the air like sabres—the textual support! o, the quotes! they gaze at this madman in numb disbelief, but he could not have known. nay, he was a literary theorist, a 17th-century man, only a visitor to their haunted land. he had never heard the whistle of the mortars overhead. he had never felt the cold earth under his cheek as he prayed for god’s deliverance. and yet he would have broken their fragile peace and brought them all back into the trenches.

my professor sits there for a second, still totally clueless. the panel moderator suddenly stands up in his tweed jacket and yells, with the raw panic of a once-broken man:

No situation is made worse with puns

Here’s my little thank you to my followers! I know it’s been a long time coming, but it’s finally here! In celebration of hitting a follower milestone and another year of being a witch, I cobbled this together.

250ml bottle of raw Myrh Resin

Porcupine quil for candle carving

Eggshell, salt and bone chalk

Palo santo

Burlap sachet with: Goldsheen Obsidian, Kyanite Shards, Pyrite, and Amethyst Chunk.

Large pink rock salt

Handmade beeswax Eclipse Candle

Large black and red candle

Wild White sage and California Sunflower herb bundle (made by hand from sustainable sources from a local Native American group)

Resin Palmistry Hand

Protective Corn Doll

Spirit Halloween Tarot got it in a raffle, unused, cloth not included

Flying ointment

Barber’s Almanac

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The Rules:

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Follow the blog! That’s where updates and any changes will be posted!

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Contest ends November 30, 2018 and winner will be chosen by random number generator!

Winner must respond within 24 hours with full name, and address after I message them.

This is the Adulting Frog. 

Seeing this image will aide all of your hardships involving growing up, learning how to adult, and dealing with big kid problems. They will be resolved in Divine Timing. You are protected, safe, and sound. You don’t need to reblog for her magic to work for you! 

the day after actual tony stark saw them hanging out in frony of the Tower, some of the kids were reluctant to go back there but God they had to finish their homework and the tower was on their way from school so they go back there and

theres a separate room that surely mustve been some important part of the lobby yesterday but now had a “Free WiFi Zone” plate on the door. Inside were huge sofas and armchairs and beanbags, fridges stocked with various drinks, a coffee maker and 20ish iron man mugs, a couple of laptops on the desk near the wall and a note for them to read:

It started with Wi-fi. Wi-fi of all things. Tony found out by accident.

“What’s going on out here?” Tony asked, sliding his sunglasses down a bit to look at the group of teenagers sitting in front of the Tower.

All the teens looked up at once, eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. They looked at each other, then back at Tony.

“Um, well…” A brunet spoke up, closing his laptop. “The Avengers Tower has great Wi-fi, sir. And it’s free. We all… some of us don’t have access to Wi-fi at home, and we need it for school projects.”

Tony blinked. “Oh. Okay. Study hard, then.” He adjusted his sunglasses again and walked into the Tower without a second thought.

But later that day, Tony keeps thinking about it. Can’t get it out of his head, until he goes so far to have FRIDAY pull up security camera footage from in front of the Tower over the past few weeks.

There are kids there, always, Tony finds. Anywhere from ten to nearly fifty, all crowded around the Tower, sitting on the grass. Even at night or in shitty weather, there were at least a few.

And sure, Tony was fine with it. More than fine with it, even. If kids wanted to use Tony’s Wi-fi, he on board with it. Tony was completely with the idea of accessible technology.

So it hung out in the back of Tony’s mind, and he smiled at the group of the teens he saw every time he walked in and it the Tower. He made sure security didn’t bother them, and left them to their devices.

But the thoughts of it wouldn’t leave Tony’s brain. A part of him ached a little at the idea of the kids who were so needing of a damned Wi-fi connection they would sit in the rain for it. It got to the point that Tony was lying awake in bed, thinking about it.

“FRIDAY, are there any vacant floors in the Tower?” Tony asked, staring at the ceiling.

“There are three vacant floors,” FRIDAY answered in a chipper voice.

Tony sat up. “FRIDAY, order a shit ton of junk food and furniture. We have work to do.”

And so it began. Within a week, Tony had a large room on its own floor completely dedicated to being an expansive lounge. It had all sorts of furniture, shelves stocked with every food Tony could think of, a fridge full of drinks, an espresso machine, and over a dozen outlets. It was close to the bottom floor, easily accessible by the elevator. Tony talked to Happy and reorganized his entire security so that anyone could walk into the Tower and go straight to the lounge.

The first day, there were already over twenty teens milling around, laptops plugged in and noses in books. It made Tony smile and feel warm in ways he couldn’t describe, seeing the tranquil environment of kids studying. The numbers grew over time, and Tony made sure it was kept accessible 24/7.

So it started with Wi-fi. But after that, things got more… complicated.

Tony was in the lounge, taking an inventory of what needed to be restocked. Sure, he had people for that, but it was nice to show his face every so often, remind the kids he existed.

Tony finished writing down how many bags of Doritos were on the shelf and spun around, crashing right into someone.

“Oh fuck,” Tony stumbled, catching the person by their elbows. A pair of startled green eyes stared up at him in horror. “Hey. Hi.” Tony smiled. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t looking where I was going. My fault.”

The girl stared at him, breathing hard. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Hey, no. My fault, remember?” Tony soothed. “I’m responsible for at least fifty per cent of the accidents in this Tower.”

“Actually, you’re responsible for sixty-seven point nine per cent.” FRIDAY chirped.

Tony frowned. “Is that counting the incident on Thursday?”

“You did hold fifty per cent of the blame.” FRIDAY reminded him.

“Twelve per cent, at most,” Tony argued. He looked back at the girl. “Thor tried to put a raw egg in the toaster, it’s a long story.”

The girl gave a confused, shy smile. Tony counted that as some kind of victory.

Tony went to let go of the girl’s elbows when his gaze brushed over her forearm. “Hey.” Tony’s voice was softer. “Are you okay?”

The girl froze again, biting her lip. “No- it’s fine, I don’t-” Her face turned red. But not as red as the angry lines cut into her wrist.

“You wanna talk?” Tony asked, eyebrows knit together.

“You-you’re busy I shouldn’t-”

“FRIDAY, cancel the afternoon meeting. Or tell them I’m not coming,” Tony said without hesitation. “There, I’m free.”

The girl frowned. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s fine, really.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Come on, kid. Let’s talk, okay?” He sighed at her hesitance. “Hey, what’s the worst I can do? I’m just some rich guy.”

With a begrudging smile, the girl took Tony’s hand and Tony lead them to an empty storage room, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.

“What’s your name?” Tony asked.

“Cecilia,” The girl mumbled.

“Hi, I’m Tony.” Tony introduced with a bright smile. Cecilia laughed. “So you wanna talk about this?” He pointed to her wrist.

“I…” Cecilia cleared her throat. “It’s hard, you know? School is hard, and I’m not good enough to do anything right, and…” She swallowed. Cecilia covered her face, choking on a sob.

Tony scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You wanna know something, kid?”

Cecilia looked up.

“I am one of the richest men alive, have been named Sexiest Man Alive three times, have my last name attached to a fortune five hundred company, have been called one of the leading minds of the 21st century, am a member of the goddamned Avengers and…” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “And I feel the same way. All the time. I wake up worried that someday everyone’s gonna see through me, see the fraud I really am.” Tony cleared his throat. “I have anxiety attacks. I wake up screaming from nightmares. I avoid mirrors. And some days I don’t want to wake up at all.

“But I do. Because there are people who need me to. And maybe it’s more for me than you. But it’s not about numbers. Quantity holds no value the quality. As long as there’s one person who cares, you’ve got a reason to wake up in the morning.” Tony thought a moment. “And if you’ve got no one else, then I count, right?”

There was a long stretch of awkward silence, but the shy smile Tony got made it all worth it.

After that, Tony invested in having free, confidential, no strings attached therapists at the Tower for the kids who came to study. He started with five, but by the end of the month, Tony had seven full time and three part-time working at the Tower. Tony did briefly see Cecilia’s face every now and then, and she seemed happier. That made it all worth it.

After that, everything was a downward spiral. Someone put a suggestion box on the door, and the teens who stayed wrote their ideas down. Tony read every single one. Even the stupid ones. And he listened.

First, there were showers installed in the bathrooms. Tony noticed there were certain faces that showed up more than others, so often it was almost concerning. So Tony figured they might as well freshen up while there. The showers were equipped with towels, soap, and all other necessities.

After the showers came the storage room filled with other living supplies. Blankets, food items, clothing, some basic tech, gift cards for local supermarkets, toiletries. Anything Tony could think of required for living. Like everything else, anyone could take anything, no questions asked.

Then came the library. There were suggestions for a supply of the review books and textbooks for the classes students were taking, and Tony decided to go in all or nothing. The library was filled wall to wall with every modern textbook and review book in the curriculum, as well as an expansive amount of leisure reads as well. Tony stocked it with comfortable seating, computers and tablets as well. There were no late fees, Tony refused to make any of the kids pay a damned dime for things they should have basic access to.

And then there were physical doctors as well. Ones who could give flu shots and prescribe at least the most basic of medications and advice.

After that, the gym just seemed to be common sense. As the recommendations in the box pointed out, public gyms were expensive. So Tony set up a gym. Granted it wasn’t Avengers level, but it was a damned nice gym.

Tutors came next. Private tutors, as well as ones that would teach entire groups. Tony managed to wrestle with the local schools to even get the kids credit for some of the tutorings.

After that, things finally seemed to mellow out. Tony drew up a list of rules, but most of the teens were pretty decent about keeping things civil. Tony was damned proud to average only one incident a month.

The Avengers found out about the Student’s Lounge as it’d be dubbed, and they frequented it more than Tony expected. He found Clint down there telling stories that were probably classified, Natasha showing a group of girls ballet moves, Thor showing off trinkets from Asgard, Steve drawing with a group of art kids, Sam giving serious talks on mental health, and so on. It was nice.

And it worked. Kids were happy and studying, but also had a place to relax and unwind. Tony did have to get an ungodly number of permits and licenses to do what he did, but it was all beyond worth it to see the kids smiling and being safe.

It was a year later when Tony was working in his workshop with jeans and a tank top and FRIDAY caught his attention.

“Mr Stark, your presence has been requested in the Student’s Lounge,” FRIDAY said, cutting into the silence.

Tony frowned. “Is it an emergency?”

There was a pause. “No, but the students are rather insistent.”

“Fine.” Tony stood up with a sigh. “Tell them I’ll be down there in a minute.”

Tony took the elevator down to the floor that was now entirely monopolized by the Student’s Lounge. As soon as the doors opened he found himself standing in front of a few dozen teens, all crowded around and waiting.

“Is this some club meeting or a cult initiation?” Tony asked, sliding his grease-covered hands into his pockets.

A teen stepped forward, a blond boy with bright eyes and a nervous smile. “Uh, hi. We… we had something we wanted to share with you.” He was holding note cards, absently tapping them.

Tony glanced around. “Well then, shoot.” He spread his hands.

The blond cleared his throat, looking down at the cards. “We hear the saying a lot,” He read, “that it’s impossible to shop for a man who has everything. And with you, that couldn’t be more true. A genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and an amazing person all around. You truly have everything, Mister Stark.

“And yet, you give. You give, and you give. You gave us a place to study that became so much more. Beyond the material items, this place has become a home for all of us. For those of us who don’t have food to eat at home, books to read, clothes to wear, a family to come home to. All because you wanted to give some kids a good Wi-fi connection. You created a family. This year alone, the graduation rate grew ten per cent from last year, and we don’t think it’s a coincidence. And we’re all confident with your help, that number will grow more and more.

“You created jobs for the community. We did the math and figured at least fifty new jobs were created through the Student’s Lounge. And you pay for all of it out of pocket. You don’t need to. You’ve already saved the world more than enough times, given millions of dollars to charity. And yet you did this for a group of kids sitting on your front lawn just to get a decent Wi-fi connection.

“There are no words to describe the kindness that takes. The amount of time you’ve put towards this proves it’s so much more than a publicity stunt. Not only do you personally oversee everything, but you stop by weekly, even if just to say hi. You listen to what we have to say. In a world that makes it so easy to ignore teenagers, you put every ounce of effort into doing the complete opposite. And your effort didn’t go unnoticed.” The blond stepped aside and let a redhead girl stand in the middle instead.

“My name is Miranda.” The girl spoke up. “A year ago, I was addicted to heroin and struggling in all of my classes. I was… I was ready to drop out of school altogether, even considered selling my own body just for drug money. But a friend dragged me here and… and I got therapy. A doctor. Food. All things my family struggled to afford. My recovery is still slow going, but thanks to you, I can say I’m in recovery, to begin with. Thank you.” Miranda stepped to the side and a black haired boy took her place.

“I’m Ian. My parents abused me, and I had nowhere to go. Even after coming here to spend my afternoons, I was hesitant to overstay my welcome. But I wasn’t ever judged, and always felt safe here. I was able to work up enough courage to run away and start spending nights here. Eventually, I met a friend here who let me stay with them, but not once did I have to know how it felt to be homeless. This place was my home, the entire time, even now that I sleep somewhere else. You gave me a home. Thank you.”

And so it went on, each kid telling their own version, and Tony wasn’t even ashamed to admit he was openly crying before they even got through ten. And he listened. To every single one. Tried to remember names and important details, make mental notes for future reference. Tony watched and listened, entranced by every story.

The first boy stepped back up. “And I’m Ben. I don’t really have a sob story, but I do know that this place is a home for every single person here. We’re a family of brothers and sisters, and you’re, for lack of better wording, the cool dad. So thank you. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you. So much. We hope our family can grow, and this home will only get better with each day. So while we don’t have any gift, we hope this can stand as one. Our stories are something that you gave us, and we hope by sharing them you can understand how much you mean to all of us.” The boy, Ben, lowered his notecards and smiled. “Thank you.”

Tony stared at them, wiping tears away from his eyes. “You’re all assholes.” He decided. “I am supposed to be a suave billionaire, and here you’ve got me crying like a dumbass.”

The teens all laughed.

“You know what?” Tony clapped his hands together. “This deserves a pizza party. Domino’s is about to hate me. Does anyone have any dietary restrictions? Start writing up a list while I find a phone number.”

“Don’t you have stuff to do?” A brunette girl who Tony remembered to be Cassie asked.

Tony shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Miss Potts has asked for the schematics to be uploaded by midnight,” FRIDAY spoke up.

“Pepper has been working for me long enough to know ‘by midnight’ means by noon the next day. It’s fine.” Tony waved off. “Come on, start writing a list. If I don’t see at least one gluten-free pizza, I’m making you do it again.”

A friend of a friend won a free consultation with Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear, and she was very excited, because she has a plus-size body, and wanted some tips on how to make the most of her wardrobe in a fashion culture which deliberately puts her body at a disadvantage.

Her first question for him was this: how do celebrities make a plain white t-shirt and a pair of weekend jeans look chic?  She always assumed it was because so many celebrities have, by nature or by design, very slender frames, and because they can afford very expensive clothing.  But when she watched What Not To Wear, she noticed that women of all sizes ended up in cute clothes that really fit their bodies and looked great.  She had tried to apply some guidelines from the show into her own wardrobe, but with only mixed success.  So - what gives?

His answer was that everything you will ever see on a celebrity’s body, including their outfits when they’re out and about and they just get caught by a paparazzo, has been tailored, and the same goes for everything on What Not To Wear.  Jeans, blazers, dresses - everything right down to plain t-shirts and camisoles.  He pointed out that historically, up until the last few generations, the vast majority of people either made their own clothing or had their clothing made by tailors and seamstresses.  You had your clothing made to accommodate the measurements of your individual body, and then you moved the fuck on.  Nothing on the show or in People magazine is off the rack and unaltered.  He said that what they do is ignore the actual size numbers on the tags, find something that fits an individual’s widest place, and then have it completely altered to fit.  That’s how celebrities have jeans that magically fit them all over, and the rest of us chumps can’t ever find a pair that doesn’t gape here or ride up or slouch down or have about four yards of extra fabric here and there.

I knew that having dresses and blazers altered was probably something they were doing, but to me, having alterations done generally means having my jeans hemmed and then simply living with the fact that I will always be adjusting my clothing while I’m wearing it because I have curves from here to ya-ya, some things don’t fit right, and the world is just unfair that way.  I didn’t think that having everything tailored was something that people did. 

It’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t know this.  But no one ever told me.  I was told about bikini season and dieting and targeting your “problem areas” and avoiding horizontal stripes.  No one told me that Jennifer Aniston is out there wearing a bigger size of Ralph Lauren t-shirt and having it altered to fit her.

I sat there after I was told this story, and I really thought about how hard I have worked not to care about the number or the letter on the tag of my clothes, how hard I have tried to just love my body the way it is, and where I’ve succeeded and failed.  I thought about all the times I’ve stood in a fitting room and stared up at the lights and bit my lip so hard it bled, just to keep myself from crying about how nothing fits the way it’s supposed to.  No one told me that it wasn’t supposed to.  I guess I just didn’t know.  I was too busy thinking that I was the one that didn’t fit.

I thought about that, and about all the other girls and women out there whose proportions are “wrong,” who can’t find a good pair of work trousers, who can’t fill a sweater, who feel excluded and freakish and sad and frustrated because they have to go up a size, when really the size doesn’t mean anything and it never, ever did, and this is just another bullshit thing thrown in your path to make you feel shitty about yourself.

I thought about all of that, and then I thought that in elementary school, there should be a class for girls where they sit you down and tell you this stuff before you waste years of your life feeling like someone put you together wrong.