failed metaphors

PSA

y’all

need

to

read

Shimanami Tasogare

It is an amazing manga with an almost entirely LGBT+ cast and talks a lot about gender identity, sexuality and troubles faced by those within the LGBT+ community (especially for younger members). Also it is fucking BEAUTIFUL.

Kamatani Yuuki’s use of imagery and visual metaphors never fails to take my breath away.

Please just read the damn manga.

Daiya no Ace Act II Chapter 78: The Note

Whoa, this chapter is such a goldmine for analysis. I take great care and pleasure looking at every single panel. It’s very revealing and enlightening.

While the cover is good (Kawakami is in it!), admittedly the chapter title is better.

Two of our best first year pitchers, with determined look on their faces and ominous accompanying words. We’re counting down the days, everyone! For better or worse.

Now, let’s start analyzing. *cracks fingers*

Seidou players in class.

Second years: Toujou, Haruichi and Kariba are in the same class, and they seem like the chillest group of second years.Eijun has his own groupie *snorts*. Fortunately good and sane kind, which also happens to be Haruno’s closest friends in class (and Eijun’s shoujou manga fellow readers). Kanemaru is jealous. (Is it just me or Kanemaru and Haruno have potential together?) …Furuya is alone, despite being in class with three others… ●︿●

Third years: Kawakami is alone (but not lonely?). Shirasu is in the same class with Yui and Sachiko. Ono and Seki are in the same class with Maezono who are fighting with Asou… when the usual suspects, are surprisingly, is grinning at each other in amiable exchange. OMG, look how genuine the look on their faces.

The ship has sailed for Kuramiyu~! (whatever ship you choose, platonic, queerplatonic, romantic, the potential is rightthere) O(≧▽≦)O

First years: Yui and Yuuki are in the same class. They even sit close to each other. Yuuki has quick metabolism that his stomach already rumbles in second period. Okumura… has quite a mood swing that his classmates have come to get used to and pay attention to (which I find hilarious).

Character Development.

Haruno. Being a senpai really does wonders. This is the same Haruno who trips on air. She is able to encourage her kouhai and becomes a reliable manager in the absence of other managers. Looking at the reaction of the boys right there, she looks like on her way following Takako’s example (idol manager).

Okumura. He starts to treat Eijun with less hostility and in exchange, Eijun feels more comfortable to talk with him. Eijun deal well with criticism, so Okumura’s blunt style is not really a problem, but it’s the hostility that he cannot deal well with. Although he still holds unfavorable image of Miyuki hahaha, honestly, I can imagine Miyuki genuinely complimenting Okumura, only for Okumura to take it wrong, as it is noted above. It’s just he seems to put Miyuki in so much regard that he kinda forgets that Seidou has amazing pitchers to offer and to learn from. Though it’s not wrong for him to focus on improving himself first, like what he’s currently doing. It’s a similar approach with Eijun actually.

THE NOTES.

The notes deserves its own section. It’s really deep and insightful from Coach Kataoka.

Keep reading

skypalacearchitect  asked:

I've seen that you've talkrd about the appalling way Rowling has depicted disability rep (or lack of it)&i just wanna add: squibs. As in, squibs are basically ~Magically Disabled~, yet despite her series being about prejudice BASED on magical ability&background, she never once seriously addresses how squibs could be discriminated against,&even uses the Bitter Jealous Disabled Person trope. Rowling is so bad she even fails in her /metaphoric/ representation.

The squib stuff always pissed me off. Like, from a representation pov, it’s freaking terrible and you pretty much highlighted all the reasons why, but also from a writing pov??

Like how are squibs so unimportant? One of the big things in the series is how the magical and muggle world are segregated as much as possible and how muggleborns pretty much break that separation and all of the prejudice against them, but we get nothing on squibs? They are the reverse of muggleborns, from magical families but having to live without magic and more often than not ending up living in the muggle world because the wizarding world doesn’t accommodate them at all. They should have been a central part of the story if you ask me. 

Goodbye

(A thing I wrote about Logan and Jay based on my RP with @fakesurprise. So it’s basically a fanfic of a fanfic. Don’t anyone tag Jay, he’d get all sad. :( )

It’s a nice spring day, and I am sitting in my chair on the porch reading a book when he appears as if stepping through a door that isn’t there. The book falls forgotten from my hands as I stand and say his name.

“You look…well,” he says softly as he climbs the steps. From anyone else, that would be a lie, but I know he doesn’t just mean my old wrinkled body. He, of course, still looks almost as young as the day we met, over half a century before.

“You’re still too skinny,” I say with a grin as he hugs me carefully, as if I might break. I return the hug. I don’t dare more; despite everything we’ve shared, the neighbors wouldn’t understand.

He waits for me to sit again before taking the chair next to mine. “Want some pizza?” he asks with a smile, recalling echoes of long ago. Though he gives no sign, something in his voice tells me that he’s hiding something. I pretend not to notice; if age has taught me nothing else, it is patience.

“My doctor says I shouldn’t,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But he’s an ass. No bananas or weird things though.” I grin as he makes a pepperoni pizza appear with a flourish. I take a slice and lean back in my chair, chewing contentedly. “It’s been too long,” I say, hoping it doesn’t sound like an accusation. I resigned myself long ago to the fact that he has many other concerns, most of which I wouldn’t understand even if I knew about them.

An expression flickers across his face and is gone before I can tell what it was. “Yes. It has.” He has already finished his first slice and started on another. I frown, wondering what’s wrong, but he’s already talking again. “I should…remedy that in the future.”

We talk then of the past, as we do every time he visits. He knows I miss the days before they started calling me a hero, when I could still travel among the stars instead of having to look at them through a telescope. They called me me a pirate and a traitor at the time, and every day I feared for the lives of my crew. But looking back on it, it was also the time when I made the closest friends, who would stick by me through anything. Until they started dying, at least.

By now, most of the pizza is gone; he’s eaten most of it himself, but has saved me the last slice. I’m not really hungry anymore, but I take it anyway. I tell him of my husband’s death a few years ago, and he expresses sympathy. He tells me about some shenanigans involving, of all things, a leprechaun. I laugh; during the rare occasions when he speaks of his own life, I never know what’s going to come out of his mouth.

I am just beginning to tell him about the last time our surviving friends had visited when pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before explodes through my chest, taking my breath away. I had thought there were supposed to be warning signs, but apparently my body has its own ideas. The world tilts as I topple from my chair, the crust of my pizza dropping unheeded onto the porch.

His body is a blur as he moves to catch me with reflexes more than human. I look up at his face, emotions visible between the cracks of his armor. “You knew, didn’t you?” I whisper, realizing there was a reason he’d chosen this day to visit.

“I needed to,” he says, his voice almost steady as he brushes wisps of hair from my forehead. “How else could I say goodbye?”

I try to smile; the pain has other ideas. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice pinched with the clenching of my body. It hurts to leave him, knowing what it will do to him. Once, he had offered me immortality; if I’d known then what I know now, I might’ve accepted.

He touches my cheek, his eyes showing he’d heard more than I’d said. “Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t have been you anymore. I’ll manage. I’ve done it before.” Unspoken the fact that he still bears wounds from it.

But I can do nothing about that. My time for doing anything about anything is growing short. A red and black haze surrounds his face. While I can still see, I gasp out a question. “Will you show me…what you really are?”

He blinks, and somehow I know that he’s wondering how I can be curious about such things at a time like this. Then he seems to unfold somehow, and even metaphors fail to describe the experience that is more than sight, more than sound, verging into realms that have no names.

I smile, and between one moment and the next he’s himself again. “You still aren’t scared,” he says in something like amazement.

“Not of you,” I manage. There are plenty of things that scare me as they would scare any human this near to death, but I don’t mention them. “Never of you.”

A new wave of agony overwhelms me then, and I am aware of nothing else for a while. When it recedes, I find myself clutching his hand with enough force to hurt anyone else, but he makes no sign that he even feels it. His face is devoid of expression, which is perhaps the most telling expression of all.

“I love you,” I whisper, the words I’d never intended to say, but somehow it seems imperative that I say them while I still can. I guess death does strange things to you.

He says nothing; there are far too many things to say and not enough words to say them. But the look of pain in his eyes and the way he grips my hand tells me everything.

Everything begins to fade, then, like sidewalk art washed away by the rain. The pain has gone, replaced by a strange sensation of floating. Somehow I still see his face though, as if it’s the only thing that’s real.

And then even that is gone. Sheer panic overtakes me as I wonder if my faith will do me any good, if there’s even anything to have faith in. But somehow I feel his lips brush against my own. “Everything will be ok,” he says softly.

Somehow it helps. After all, this is just another adventure. Cradled in his arms, I drift off into whatever lies beyond.

that big iron ball you’re carrying around that embodies your life stresses?  it’s gonna get heavy, and guess what you’re going to drop the ball.  that’s fine; let it roll, give yourself a breather and then when you’re ready pick it back up.  you don’t have to be strong all the time, so don’t try to be.

mangal sri guru gobind singh

dhan guru gobind singh.
this is one of the most moving pieces of literature I have ever come across..this kabit by mahakavi santokh singh on the 10th guru really shows the kind of love sikhs have for their guru. the poem describes maharaj’s physical appearance in such an enchanting way, the english translation doesn’t do it justice at all, for some of the braj motifs and metaphors just fail to translate over…

ਕਟਿ ਸੋਂ ਪਟ ਤੇਗ ਨਿਖੰਗ ਕਸੇ,
ਮੁਖ ਮੰਦ ਹਸੇ ਚਮਕੇ ਕਿ ਛਟਾਹੀ॥
ਮੁਕਤਾ ਗਰਿ ਮਾਲ ਬਿਸਾਲ ਬਨੀ
ਸ੍ਰਮ ਆਨਨ ਸ਼ਿਆਮ ਭਲੀ ਉਪਮਾਹੀ॥
ਹਿਤ ਸੋਂ ਤਮ ਸੋਮ ਕੇ ਪਾਸ ਬਸਿਉ
ਮੁਖ ਪੰਕਜ ਪੈ ਮਧੁ ਪੁੰਜ ਸੁਹਾਹੀ॥
ਅਬ ਆਨ ਕੀ ਆਸ ਨਿਰਾਸ ਭਈ
ਕਲਗੀਧਰ ਬਾਸ ਕੀਉ ਮਨ ਮਾਂਹੀ॥
- ਕ੍ਰਿਤ: ਭਾਈ ਸੰਤੋਖ ਸਿੰਘ, ਸ੍ਰੀ ਸੂਰਜ ਪ੍ਰਕਾਸ਼ ਗ੍ਰੰਥ

with a sheath tied to his waist,
he wears a smile as bright as lightening.
he wears a necklace of pearls,
the dark of his beard is beyond comparison; it rests on his face as if a group of bees are gathered on a lotus, or as if darkness has gathered around the moon.
when such a guru has made his abode in my heart, who else can I long for?
- bhai santokh singh, sri suraj prakash granth

the signs as lines from the fault in our stars
  • aries: the marks humans leave are too often scars.
  • taurus: much of my life had been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me, so i knew what augustus was doing. you clench your teeth. you look up. you tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.
  • gemini: you are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are.
  • cancer: you don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have some say in who hurts you.
  • leo: i believe the universe wants to be noticed. i think the universe is inprobably biased toward the consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. and who am i, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it- or my observation of it- is temporary?
  • virgo: without pain, how could we know joy? this is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.
  • libra: you realize that trying to keep your distance from me will not lessen my affection for you? all efforts to save me from you will fail.
  • scorpio: it's a metaphor, see? you put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing.
  • sagittarius: i'm on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend.
  • capricorn: but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was shakespeare more wrong than when he has cassius note, 'the fault, dear brutus, is not in our stars...but in ourselves.'
  • aquarius: we’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
  • pisces: my thoughts are stars i cannot fathom into constellations.

arom-com-the-first  asked:

Hi! I was wondering if you have a list of greek mythological people (preferably female) who were/sometimes portrayed as/turn into animals? I've been looking but so far I've only found Amalthea and Arachne. I love your retellings btw

Hello hello hi!! 

There are so very many great figures to choose from! I have selected my four personal faves, which honestly probably says terrible things about me as a person, but there we go.

  • Procne and Philomela are two that come to mind immediately. In a disturbing and quite complicated story, Philomela is raped by Tereus, the king of Thrace and the husband of her sister, Procne. Tereus also mutilates Philomela, cutting out her tongue so that she can’t tell anyone what happened. However, Philomela weaves a tapestry which depicts the events, because presumably writing it down would have been too easy, and Procne learns the truth. Enraged, Procne kills her son, Itys, and serves him in a meal to his father. When Tereus discovers that he has just eaten his own son in a mystery meat ragù, he tries to kill the sisters, but they are transformed into birds before he can do so. Procne becomes a swallow, Philomela becomes a nightingale (noteworthy because nightingales are famous for their songs, which means Philomela is given her voice back - although actually it’s only the male nightingale which can do this, so the metaphor fails a bit) and Tereus into a hoopoe, who chases them for eternity, because he’s awful and a lot of these myths are misogynistic.
    There are a few variations on this myth, and some of the earlier incarnations of it have the birds switched around a bit, but the general narrative is pretty consistent. And yes, Shakespeare did adapt this myth for his gory play Titus Andronicus. It’s gross. 
  • Io - transformed into a cow after being raped (or seduced - sources differ) by Zeus in order to avoid detection by Hera. As punishment, Hera tricks Zeus into giving her Io as a present, and orders Io to be guarded by the monster Argus so that she can’t escape and regain her human form. What happens thereafter is very complicated, but unusually, Io is ultimately transformed back into a human (after being followed around for years by a fly who constantly stings her at Hera’s request… I did say that it was complicated)
  • Callisto - a nymph and part of Artemis’ cohort (and thus a sworn virgin, because that was the price of joining Artemis’ posse), who is transformed into a bear after being raped by Zeus (are we starting to see a theme here?) and Artemis becomes enraged at her subsequent pregnancy. Callisto has a son, Arcas. In Ovid’s version, Hera takes revenge on Callisto by tricking the grown Arcas into almost killing his mother, now a bear, but Zeus saves her and places Callisto and Arcas in the sky as constellations. Variants on the myth change the manner of her near-death - sometimes, Artemis tries to hunt and kill Callisto herself - but the transformation is consistent. Merida would never.
  • the Pierides - the nine daughters of the king of Emathia, who challenge the Muses to a musical contest, which is a bit like Katy Perry challenging Adele to a sing-off. The Pierides lose, obviously, and the Muses transform them into magpies. Hubris is a huge theme in Greek myth, and this is a pretty good example of it.

I’m rue to recommend Wikipedia as a source for this, but it actually has a fairly decent list of transformations in Greek myth. They’re not all animal in nature, but you can probably sift through it pretty easily! Otherwise, if you can find any book synopses for Metamorphoses, you can pick out the relevant transformations in there. 

Hope something in there was useful! 

A Temple Is (Not) A Body

“Would you color on the temple?”

It’s a question we all heard as children and/or teenagers in the church. And the answer was always a clear and obvious “no.”

But whether it follows that I should clearly and obviously not get a tattoo is, well, much less clear and certainly not obvious.

No, I wouldn’t color on the temple, but the temple has plenty of embellishments (dare I say even unnecessary ones?) and dozens of paintings hanging on its walls. And as long as we’re being metaphorical, I can equate something like a tattoo with a stained glass window.

Unlike my body, a temple is not a biological entity that can be “altered” from its “natural” form.

Now, like most metaphors, “your body is a temple” does not work both ways: “a temple is a body” does not mean the same thing, and yet it—not “your body is a temple”—is the basis for the original question above.

To illustrate how well this reversed metaphor doesn’t work, I offer the following. Would you…

…poke holes in the temple?

No, but a single set of piercings in one’s ears (if one is female) is perfectly acceptable, according to President Hinckley.

…put clothes on the temple?

No. The closest you can get here metaphorically is…carpet? Maybe?

…high five the temple?

Illogical.

…kiss the temple?

Heavens no—that would be idol worship, right?

…hold hands with the temple?

Now you’re just getting ridiculous.

…feed the temple?

Well, no, but…care for?

…have sex with the temple?

Of course not. And yet sex is something you’re supposed to do with your body (after you’ve been married…in the temple…).

So, shockingly enough, you can’t determine the morality of an action relating to your body based on whether or not you would perform said action on a temple.

Because that would be nonsense.