oh lord heal this blog

unnecessary feelings

One of my favourite illustrations of this was in a First Aid class. The instructor was a working paramedic. He asked, “Who here knows the stats on CPR? What percentage of people are saved by CPR outside a hospital?”

I happen to know but I’m trying not to be a TOTAL know it all in this class so I wait. And people guess 50% and he says, “Lower,” and 20% and so forth and eventually I sort of half put up my hand and I guess I had The Face because he eventually looked at me and said, “You know, don’t you.”

“My mom’s a doc,” I said. He gave me a “so say it” gesture and I said, “Four to ten percent depending on your sources.”

Everyone else looked surprised and horrified.

And the paramedic said, “We’re gonna talk a bit about some details of those figures* but first I want to talk about just this: when do you do CPR?”

The class dutifully replies: when someone is unconscious, not breathing, and has no pulse.

“What do we call someone who is unconscious, not breathing, and has no pulse?”

The class tries to figure out what the trick question is so I jump over the long pause and say, “A corpse.”

“Right,” says the paramedic. “Someone who isn’t breathing and has no heartbeat is dead. So what I’m telling you is that with this technique you have a 4-10% chance of raising the dead.”

So no, artists did not stop the Vietnam War from happening with the sheer Power of Art. The forces driving that military intervention were huge, had generations of momentum and are actually pretty damn complicated.

But if you think the mass rejection of the war was as meaningless as a soufflé - well.

Try sitting here for ten seconds and imagining where we’d be if the entire intellectual and artistic drive of the culture had been FOR the war. If everyone thought it was a GREAT IDEA.

What the whole world would look like.

Four-to-ten percent means that ninety to ninety-six percent of the time - more than nine times out of ten - CPR will do nothing, but that one time you’ll be in the company of someone worshipped as an incarnate god.

If you think the artists and performers attacking and showing up people like Donald Trump is meaningless try imagining a version of the world wherein they weren’t there.

Yes, it’s just a pie. Yes, the pie itself doesn’t do much direct damage in the grand scheme of things. But the pie is resistance, and resistance inspires resistance. Resistance inspires survival. Throwing pies sometimes starts a movement. Throwing pies sometimes saves lives.

And of course, we haven’t spoken about the inherent morality of throwing pies at oppressors in a world where oppressors have outlawed pie throwing. At the very least, pie throwing is a reminder to the oppressors that no matter how much money they have, no matter how much power they have, there are still some people, some moments they can’t control.

Imagine sitting in a packed auditorium and some asshole is up front is spouting bullshit about minorites. Like saying they’re filthy and deserve a violent death etc. And there are lots of people nodding along and even cheering and applauding

But no one is saying or doing anything to disagree, so you think that you’re the only one who opposes the speaker. And you don’t want to say anything because you don’t want their ire or violence to be aimed at you

So you go through the entire speech, and possibly your entire life, thinking you’re alone

BUT if just one person has the courage to speak up, to throw a pie, to project art on the screen behind the speaker, then that single act of resistance will inspire others to do the same. It could even inspire you to stand up. Or if you’re the first, then you can inspire others

3.75% of the entire country was in the streets on Saturday. Might not sound like a lot, but those are the kind of numbers that signal a toppling government or a revolution.

Hi! Do check our #aziraphale whump and #crowley whump tags for loads of fics like this. Here are some to add to both collections. Mind the tags and warnings, folks!...

The Sounds Coming Down by Kyndoor (M)

Aziraphale loses his wings.

I've known the warmth of your doorway by spicy_potsticker_bliss (T)

The whole shop reeked of occult blood. For a moment, Aziraphale worried that hell or heaven had sent an ancient being to collect him. Then, he registered the long, scaly tail flicking in distress and the anguished rasping coming from the creature. This was no foreigner, this was the demon Aziraphale would know even in death. From his new vantage point, Aziraphale could see the way dark liquid pooled beneath Crowley’s curled underbelly. He sucked in a gasp, “Oh my.” Or: Crowley reverts to his true form after a battle with a few wayward demons. Aziraphale must find a way to care for him in the aftermath.

and i will always be there, no matter the time by ineffableserpent (T)

The demon is mid-sip of his drink when that gives him pause. He swallows, then glances back to the bartender; or, where the bartender was. There's no longer anyone behind the counter, and the lights above the area have gone off. "Oh, don't worry. He's busy, too." There's a sharp pang of dread that fills Crowley as he looks back to the older man. That only came when other supernatural beings were nearby; specifically, occult beings. The older man smiles, and the majority of his teeth are missing. His skin seems to peel, and Crowley takes a second look at his drink — — and notices a small vial, right next to it, that hadn't been there before. There's a golden cross etched into the glass. OR; Crowley's drink is spiked with a micro dose of Holy Water.

Sinners Gonna Tremble and Cry For Pain by JoyAndOtherStories (T)

That classic trope where the protagonist answers a knock on their door during a storm, and it's their "enemy," gravely wounded and saying "I'm sorry...I didn't know where else to go." The "enemy" passes out and then wakes up fully bandaged.

Guardian Angel-Between care and vengefulness by Tigerphoenix (E)

Despite the promise to be left alone, Crowley gets attacked by demons, dragged to hell and tortured. Upon returning to earth Crowley is in no condition to survive on his own, so he seeks out Aziraphale.

Confusion by FizzyBadger (G)

‘Wait, you’re injured, calm down. Shit Aziraphale, stop struggling, you’ll make it worse.’ Aziraphale stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because moving hurt and he thought if he carried on he might be sick.