the gulf between

You know what’s wild?

If you asked me to rate my work performance over the past year I’d probably give myself a solid 6/10. And I would follow that up with: “I’m so young, I’m so inexperienced, I work hard but I’m overwhelmed a lot.”

When I asked my supervisors yesterday to do the same, they said they couldn’t rate me high enough. 11/10. I’m doing a great job.

I’m not saying this to brag, I’m really not. I’m saying this because I’ve read about and acknowledged the existence of imposter syndrome before and I even thought “I’m pretty hard on myself so I should keep this in mind”, but I literally didn’t think the gulf between my perception of my work and the perception of my supervisors could possibly be that wide. 

But it is.

I’m not sure what my point is here, other than….give yourself a break. If you’re working your ass off, the work you’re producing is probably better than you’re giving yourself credit for. Acknowledge your badassery, celebrate your wins. You’re doing fine.

The McDonald’s french fry is unbelievable. When you bite into it, you think: It’s so tasty, it can’t be real. As soon as it gets cold, it turns to lard and flubble. I mean, have you ever tried to eat a McDonald’s french fry that’s gone cold? That’s one of the circles of hell. The gulf between the warm, fresh, lightly salted McDonald’s french fry and the cold McDonald’s french fry is as great a gulf as any I know. - Viggo Mortensen, Esquire magazine (x)

You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw - but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of - something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clapclap of water against the boat’s side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it - tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.
—  C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
why is the gulf between official art Red and the fandom’s perception of Red so wide??

I’ve been aware of this for years but never properly talked about it, but it just seems like the pokémon fandom has this collective idea about what red looks like despite the fact that he’s never once looked like that in any official art

official Red:

the very first. look at this dork. does he look cool to you?? I think not

but then:

what about this guy?? this brooding, pensive man with his red eyes and swoopy hair. surely it’s just one artist exercising their right to age up game protagonists and make them badass?

or is it? let’s do another comparison

manga red. it’s not canon canon exactly, but it still counts as an official incarnation. but this red is a go-get-em chap. he’s pumped. he’s smiling.

this guy is NOT smiling. he’s looking into your god damn soul. he is not a man to be trifled with. 

origins red. an awkward kid with short arms and a wide mouth. not your typical bamf

this guy looks like the sexy crossroads demon from an ancient episode of supernatural. he’s got eyes that stare into your soul. they’re so powerful that they can see through the giant wisps of hair hanging in his face. fear him

it says a lot that leaf green red probably looks closest to what we see in fan art. he’s not smiling. he’s got a somewhat badass pose going on. but his eyes and hair are brown and he’s not rocking the lank emo fringe that we’ve come to expect

again. the boy is caught in a permanent wind tunnel. he needs a haircut. someone help him.

sun and moon red. he’s older, he’s not smiling, so that ticks two boxes. but he hasn’t got a fringe, he hasn’t got red eyes, he hasn’t got black hair, and it’s too fluffy in any case. he is A Different Red.

he’s back again. who is he?? not official red, that’s for sure

but here’s the thing: I’m not surprised that people are adapting characters from the official art. people do that with all pokémon characters, in varying ways. what I find so bizarre is that the pokémon fandom has converged on a shared perception of what Red looks like, and a lot of his traits can’t be traced back to anything official. sure, the brooding look goes with his silent game personality and reputation as a powerhouse trainer, but very little official art shows him with red eyes - it’s only in the manga that he has them, and I don’t think that could account for such a strong trend. and whilst the black hair is understandable (nobody ever accepted brown haired Red, myself included) the style is not - he’s never had the flat emo hairdo except in fan art.

I have no answers for it. but I think about it a lot  

anonymous asked:

Them being connected as cousins is just not a compelling storyline, especially when we already have Luke and Leia who are twins, and Luke and Vader who were father and son. Also, Rey didn't feel this connection described about her and Kylo with anybody else. Not with Leia nor with Luke. She thinks Luke was a myth. And why would Kylo only feel this type of connection described with Rey than with his own Uncle Luke and his parents? Why do they have no pull on him the way Rey does? So cousins? No.

Yes, exactly. Having cousins whose destinies are intertwined is a strange and weirdly flat direction to go in, since ‘cousin’ hardly represents a close and vital familial relationship, especially given the ones we’ve had before in Star Wars. An epic romance where characters on either side of the light/dark divide overcome the massive gulf between them to achieve balance simply makes for a much more exciting story.


“The gulf between them closes like a wave receding from the shore.

Hanzo moves. Three steps take him into Jesse’s room. He slides the door shut, where it locks.”

Hang the Fool by @arcanebarrage 

I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don’t have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn’t play any parts or make wrong gestures.

Persona (1966)
Ingmar Bergman

I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don’t have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn’t play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn’t watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you’re forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you’re genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don’t speak, why you don’t move, why you’ve created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you’ve left your other parts one by one.

- Persona, Ingmar Bergman

anonymous asked:

What do you think about Patrick Chan and how do you think he compares to Yuzuru in terms of things like skating skills and interpretation? I admit I haven't seen an extensive number of his programs but as for the ones I have seen they didn't really grab me? Idk, his skating is super smooth and lovely to watch but sometimes it feels like that's it?

Umh :)

In terms of skating skills I’d say they are different sides of same coin. In his programs Patrick shows deeper edges, Yuzu more quirkness and complexity. They are differently equally good. There is nothing better to have the chance to watch them side by side, when they are just stroking during a practice session. You can see the huge gulf that there is between them and all others.

Patrick is a very good interpreter - not as good as Yuzu, imo, which is way more versatile, but very good anyway - his weak point is as performer, tho.

I usually say he and Javi are two opposites. Javi is a great performer but a relatively weak interpreter. Patrick is a great interpreter but a relatively weak performer.

I think he improved hugely on projection since his come back (probably that year doing only shows helped him a lot here), but I can see why you say his programs don’t really grab you. For me it’s kinda the same: I really like watching Patrick skating, I have a huge appreciation for his skills and his quality, but I do rarely go and rewatch him.


Tumblr ate your ask about how I arrived at my National Socialist views. I always appreciate genuine asks so here’s my longwinded answer.

Had a fairly normal childhood, grew up as a base brat in the Canadian military, loved animals, nature, reading and everything related to WW2. First big thing that led to me becoming a National Socialist was going from a Lilly-white middle school to a half black highschool. I didn’t really have any hard political opinions before hand, just basically parroted whatever my family/TV said because it sounded good to me at the time. 

In very short order, I realized that there was a vast gulf of difference between the behaviour of blacks and whites in my school. I’m sure anyone with a similar school in their days can echo my experiences of daily fistfights over nothing, constant class disruptions, blaring unintelligible rap music all hours of the day, and a complete and utter apathy to basic school rules or schoolwork. 

The school also took an obviously biased stance in favour of their stupidity and shit behaviour in order to avoid being called racist. Time and time again I saw black students get slaps on the wrists for things that would have gotten a white student suspended or expelled.

From there I basically found my way onto 4chan’s /pol/ board, I had already browsed the site for gaming discussion/humour but the absolute hilarious racism of the place pulled me in. And if you start hanging around there you learn things, I never even gave a second thought about Jews before going on there. I learned of their hand in the creation and propagation of Marxism that so rotted my society, their infiltration and eventual control of media and world finance, quotes aplenty from them about their real attitude towards the goyim. 

And that was when I decided to give Adolf Hitler a good, solid and sober look. It struck a fire in me like nothing I had ever felt. Here was a man and a belief that not only stood against the things that disturbed my soul and I saw to be false, but also for the first time, showed me the beauty that National Socialism viewed the world with, and the deep, selfless, profound love that Adolf Hitler had for his people. It was a worldview that took the lifelong love and awe I had for nature and applied it’s iron laws to man in the most thorough and complete way in history. 

If you have any questions about National Socialism or me, feel free to ask. 

You're Almost There!

I remember when I’d been writing and submitting seriously for about 2 years, I started to get a lot of personalized rejections. From agents, from editors, from magazine editors. I felt like I was so close to getting published I could taste it. And yet, it was still two more years before I got an offer for my first book, and two years after that before it came out and I could say I was a published author. What was going on there?

Well, I was close enough that I was doing some interesting things. I was close enough that I showed I had some skills and people wanted to encourage me, which really was a kind and wonderful thing in the cruel publishing world. The problem is that there is a huge gulf between “promising” and “I’m willing to put my reputation on the line and pay cold, hard cash for this.” At least, there was for me.

What were those differences? I had to be doing more than just interesting things. I had to be doing something that was new and innovative and that worked on every level. I had to show that I had not only skills, but that I was a master. And yes, even at that level, there were things that needed to be improved on through editing. But an editor had to believe that I knew enough as a foundation that I was going to be able to learn from that editing process.

You can’t be making rookie mistakes in the publishing world. And 200 pages of a novel is a lot of space for rookie mistakes. You may not be able to see them. Presumably, you can’t see them or you’d fix them. At this stage, I recommend doing a LOT of reading, both of classics (for YA Newbery, for sff Nebulas and Hugos) and of the best of the books written this year. The classics teach you about the history of a genre and about skills. The new books teach you about what works these days.

Going to conferences can also be useful. Rejections are painful, but they are also a learning process. You see what you’re doing right and what you’re doing wrong. A writing group can also help move you to the next level if you commit to writing as much as you can and to really listening to criticism and not reacting defensively.

In a lot of ways, I think this is the most difficult stage of the profession. I’ve seen a lot of writers opt out at this point. And yes, that’s allowed. There’s nothing morally wrong about realizing that this isn’t for you. There are no guarantees about being published if you stick with it, either. There are never any guarantees with art.

One last promise I have is that as impossibly high as this next plateau appears to be, and as difficult as it is for anyone to explain how to level up to it, this is just the first of many, many similar experiences you will have as a writer. Your second book will be another leap of faith. Your whole career will be dotted with these kinds of baffling stretches of figuring out how to reinvent yourself, how to reinvent your art, how to get to a place no one knows how to get to for you. And we’re all in it together!

florida gothic
  • three sides of the state are bordered by water, water that seeps into the ground throughout. you will never run out of it, but remember you cannot dig down too far.
  • the groves seem to go on and on forever, and you try not to wonder why oranges have skin, have flesh as the juices run down your face. the taste is just too sweet.
  • st augustine, they say, is the oldest city in the country, but it is far from the only city here that is full of ghosts and covered in blood.
  • there is the east coast and the ocean and there is the west coast and the gulf and between them it is a three-hour drive. you think you can make it across the state and back in a day, racing the sunset, but the road just gets longer and the air just gets thicker and as you pass the hand-painted roadsign warning of STRAWBERRIES, TOMATOES, and GATOR JERKY for the ninth time you begin to wonder if this was a bad idea.
  • in the summertime, there is a thunderstorm every day at 3 o’clock sharp. the noise from the sky is so loud it rattles the walls of your home. soon the storm is gone, but it will be back again. it always is.
  • the wind from any direction carries a faint, sweet metallic scent that is surely the sea, and surely not blood. the air is humid, sticky and hot like breath, but just whose breath you cannot say.
  • you just can’t find your grandparents’ house in the subdivision, cookie-cutter house after house in neat rows on either side of your car in an endless, uncurving line. you have passed the same old man in khaki shorts, standing in his yard, watering his grass, at least four times. he waves without recognition as you pass by again.
  • every town has a hospital district, populated with tired graying people whose bodies are giving up. “this place is god’s waiting room,” the healthy ones joke, but there is fear in their eyes: this place is just hungry.

like there really is a gulf between liking homoeroticism wherever you can get it and discovering that many, many iconic stories actually contain two distinct narratives