pllblllbllumbum

when i wake up remind me to make a post about the lack of blood in utena and what it means to have a world where suffering can only be beautiful or hidden

oh i guess i should also add in contrast to the performative, beautiful violence of watching roses blow away on the breeze is the very real violence hidden at the center of the story: anthy, trapped by hundreds of swords piercing her, rendering her unable to move. violence against anthy is the mechanism that keeps the whole performance spinning, so that duels can be about flowers

I think Shirley Jackson delves so well into the horror of self-consciousness. To be so aware of yourself, whether due to loneliness or not belonging or abuse, can be a monstrous experience that reduces your experience of the world to a series of mechanical processes. I will get up. I will cross the room in front of everyone. I will get a cup of water. I must drink the cup of water before I return in case it is odd to have it on the couch. They must not think I'm odd. Instead of swinging into the kitchen for a drink while laughing with friends. Mechanical processes are based on cause and effect, and if you are so used to thinking in terms of cause and effect, you can start applying that framework nonsensically out of a self-defensive need for control--which begs the question of what happens when defense becomes offense