whys and wherefores

………..I can’t believe that an expanded universe novel legitimately throws it’s hat into the whole hutt humanoid fetish discourse and yet here we are:


“It was as if he wanted to show the rest of the galaxy how powerful he was in terms that other species could understand. Dooku didn’t despise that. He felt the faintest pang of pity. It explained the Hutts’ need to flaunt Twi’lek dancers and other glamorous humanoids, so radically, physically different that no Hutt could possibly have found them attractive. They collected them because humanoids coveted them, and so it sent the message clearly: I possess everything you lust after, so I have power over you. It all came from fear. Hutts felt threatened at a subliminal level.”


So here we are folks. Count Dooku and the Hutt Human Fetish Discourse. Thank you and goodnight.

DAY 3583

Jalsa, Mumbai                Jan 15,  2018               Mon 11:49 AM





Often times when I visit a visited dream or settlement or location and wonder on its consequences, its creation and struggle with the whys and wherefores, I often tend to also wonder what the consequences would be were I to find myself in the position of one that looks at what I look at in the same magnification strength and tenor .. 

And visiting my own DAY of yesterday night and morn, I have realisation of what that means .. 

It means there is little room for understanding the context and the varied topics that have been covered by this idle mind who runs this Blog ..

I shall not regret its presence .. I shall not run away from its acknowledgement .. I shall not disown it .. I shall not give it explanation ..

There is however - I will admit to this - substance .. 

If it emanated from the writer and thinkers mind, it emanated after having traversed the intricate algorithms of the matter ; covered protected and secure within natures self devised security cell - the cranium !

I am of firm opinion that we contain within us intricate and unending gigabytes of matter .. matter of sense and sensibility, learning and ability, enduring physicality, intricate unexplained and undiscovered potentiality, which when faced or challenged, springs forth in unannounced presence, to persist in its potential and challenge every conceivable complex situation ..

Disable a part of us .. handicap the completed form .. damage the utensils of reason and thought .. and ye shall find that the form still has ability to find an alternative - 

I was and am most tempted to justify the written with personal example .. but that would be vain .. that would be seeking attention and liberal, conducive, self aggrandised commiseration .. that, I may not be inclined to delve into .. for now at least .. or perhaps never ; it reeks of autobiographical indulgence ..

But .. may it be known, that it does exist. My own embarrassment, apprehension and my unqualified intelligence, coerces me to preclude you from such ‘extravagance’ … 

Nature - and may the creators of language ever be celebrated for creating word and letters signifying creation - went through an incredible, unknown, inexplainable, complex experimentation to design the human, or indeed any living form .. the making and its relevance of which, being so mammoth and colossal, that the human it created, was compelled to create an explanation of its own creation - it created the creator and gave it nomenclature .. called it the Almighty - whatever else could it have called it ? .. and designed its entire existence upon its self created rituals of belief .. 

There can never have been a greater dichotomy than this  !!

It would be safe to say then that the human survives and exists in a dichotomy of unparalleled complexity and proportion .. !

Having reached this conclusion through relative and desired argumentative debate, does it really need one to give explication and analysis ..   

Does it really and sincerely need one to give credence or explanation, to the many that seek it, of the Blog of DAY 3582 !!!!

Ingenious do you not think, of the creator of the Ef, to reach this complicated yet reasonable substantiated defence .. ??!!

Hahahahahaha .. nothing like self praise .. hahahahaha .. it always ‘reeks of garlic from every pore - IT STINKS  !!’

…. and that is the best self deprecation that yours truly could ever attempt .. 


Forgive me Lord for I really do not know what I do  .. !!


BUT .. this I do know .. and know well - referring to a matter in the Blog of the night before ..

मैं अपने संस्कारों का उल्लेख किस प्रकार करूँ , उसकी शिक्षा मुझे मत दीजिए … मेरे संस्कारों की परिभाषा मेरे पूर्वजों की दीक्षा है , उनकी नियुक्ति , उनका विधान है ।। उनपर अपने अनौपचारिक बादलों की बौछार से मुझे संचित ना कीजिए ।। मेरे पूर्वजों ने मुझे अपनी शैली से सींचा-भिगोया हुआ है , तृप्त हूँ मैं ।। आपके नीरस अशुभ वर्षा से मैं  वंचित हूँ - धन्य हूँ  !!


Do not tell me how I should execute or guide my ethics, my ‘sanskaar’, my meliorations .. my ethics are the blessings of my ancestral heritage .. do not shower me with the polluted clouds of rain that you inhabit .. my heritage has doused and drenched me with its words, teachings and care .. I have been satiated .. I am devoid, happily, from the impurity of your rain shower .. and blessed so ..


Amitabh Bachchan  

BLOODY

FINALLY

GET NOTIFICATION THAT MY ASHLESHA ORDER HAS SHIPPED

CHECK ORDER
2 BOOKS

WAIT…………………………

I ORDERED 5!

(obviously they are shipping the hardcover and softcover separately - i ordered 3 hardcovers and 2 softcover pg13 versions)

considering I ordered them on the 6th of December I’m pretty pissed that it’s going to be delivered on the 8th of January (or thereabouts)

and longer still for my glorious hardcover D:  (i want my hardcover baby so bad)

in other news I’ve mowed half the front lawn, put on a load of dishes, hung up the washing and tidied the study a bit more.  also swept the floors.

progress.

eastofelaine  asked:

Hi! Which Shakespearean character is your favorite? Or at least a top three? #thehardquestions

First of all, I AM SO SORRY, THIS HAS BEEN ROTTING IN MY DRAFT BOX FOR MONTHS. I started writing it, then it got away from me and turned into a rant, and I never finished it. So I’m going to do it in parts. Keep an eye out for the others. (I’ll tag you, eastofelaine.)

Without any further ado, top three favorite characters: #thehardquestions or rather, #theBardquestions. In no particular order:

  • Edmund (King Lear)
  • Margaret (Henry VI)
  • Benvolio (Romeo and Juliet)

That’s a lie they’re totally in order. Sort of. That’s also a lie, Edmund is definitely Number 1 but I’m ambivalent on the other two. Anyway. 

Part 1: Edmund. I have ranted about this character a lot but always in like little bits and pieces and never one concise rant, so: Edmund is hands fucking down the most interesting, complex character in King Lear or possibly ever (fight me). Edmund is the illegitimate son of the Earl of Gloucester, and we first meet him during a brief stint at court. In the first scene he stands by while his dad talks about him like he’s not even there, saying all kinds of shit like, “The whoreson must be acknowledged.” Like it’s not your own fucking fault you got a prostitute pregnant you absolute rocknut. And this is the root of Edmund’s character: the fact that he’s been forever at a disadvantage because of something he can’t control–i.e., the fact that he was born out of wedlock. He has this wonderful monologue where he expresses his consternation that he is in every way as admirable as his brother, but still treated like scum: “Why bastard? wherefore base? / When my dimensions are as well compact, / My mind as generous, and my shape as true, / As honest madam’s issue?” 

But what makes him such a great character is that instead of moping around about his lot in life, he decides to fucking do something about it. And his plan is wicked brilliant. He frames his gullible elder brother for murder and takes his place as foremost in their father’s love and as heir apparent to the Earldom. But he’s not done, oh my sweet shiny soap bubble, no, he’s nowhere near done. He denounces his father as a traitor, gets on the good side of the Duke of Cornwall to get that taken care of, takes the title and then starts flirting aggressively with both elder Lear sisters. And frayaaaandssss, your boy Edmund is hot stuff. (Almost everyone who meets him makes some sort of comment about how ‘well-made’ he is, which is basically the Shakespearean version of saying, “That’s a fine piece of ass.”) Such hot stuff, in fact, THAT GONERIL PLOTS TO MURDER HER HUSBAND, POISONS HER SISTER, AND THEN COMMITS SUICIDE WHEN IT DOESN’T WORK OUT. SHE DOESN’T EVEN CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING WAR. ALL SHE WANTS IS A PIECE OF EDMUND. (But like honestly, who can blame her?)

I haven’t even gotten to the best part of all this, though, due to the man-of-supreme-hotness detour. Remember when I was talking about how, at the start of the play, Edmund is every bit as noble/honorable/fuckable/whatever as his brother, but he’s always seen as inferior because he’s technically a bastard? Right. Well, here’s where Edmund becomes the most interesting character in the play. Almost everyone else rattles on and on about fate and the stars and how everything that happens was destined to happen that way. But Edmund, who has perhaps more reason than anyone to blame his shitty station in life on planetary movements or whatever, calls bullshit on everyone else. Check this out–this is possibly my favorite monologue from the entire Shakespearean canon: 

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforc’d obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s Tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.

He says FUCK. THAT. I am what I am and the stars I was born under have nothing to do with it. He refuses to passively accept the fate that the unfortunate circumstances of his birth have assigned to him, and instead decides to take matters into his own hands and make a fucking change. 

“But wait,” you say. “He is kind of a dick about it, though.” True. Edmund’s dickery is of epic proportions and I will be the first to admit it (honestly that’s kind of half the reason I love him.) But SLOW YOUR ROLL, O YE ICKLE DOUBTING MARSHWIGGLES,  because my boy Edmund is chock full of surprises. At the beginning of the play he’s the only character willing to take full responsibility for his own (terrible) actions, and the only character to say ‘fuck you,’ to fate, but at the end he defies all this cosmic dogma YET A-FUCKIN-GAIN. He himself has said that he should have been rough and lecherous, whatever star he was born under, but at the end of the play, when everything’s going to absolute shit and he’s dying at his brother’s feet, when he should be bitter and furious because life has kicked him in the teeth one last time, what does he do? HE HAS A FUCKING CHANGE OF HEART AND TRIES TO TURN IT AROUND: “I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, / Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send / (Be brief in’t) to the castle; for my writ / Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia.” 

Edmund literally uses his dying breath to try to save Lear and Cordelia. It doesn’t work, but isn’t that part of the tragedy? That this man, who has been abused and tormented his whole life, and who has snarled back at the world in reply, flies in the face of his terrible fate and tries to do one good thing before he dies–and it’s too late. 

That. This play and this character rip me the fuck up every single time. You cannot write a more tragic story than this. Edmund, my love, you deserved so much better.

Duke out.

I swear this probably happens in everyone's english class
  • English Class: Watching Romeo and Juliet
  • Juliet: Wherefore art thou Romeo?
  • Girl sitting behind me: He's right there, you idiot!
  • Me: THAT'S NOT WHAT IT FUCKING MEANS! *knocks over desk and spontaneously combusts*

jedimastersansa  asked:

What do you think would motivate Lana to rescue a Bounty Hunter or a Smuggler PC? The BH isn't really loyal to any faction except possibly the Mandalorians, and a Smuggler used to work for the Republic.

honestly i kinda struggle with the whys and wherefores when it comes to any class that’s not a sith she knows how to (relatively) safely manipulate (whether that’s an sw or a quiz). like, yeah, a jedi would be easy enough to point at zakuul and talk into smushing, especially given that it’s as much vitiate’s legacy as the sith empire is - but the jedi pose a serious danger to the sith, and are incredibly unlikely to cooperate with one who they should by all rights know full well is a card-carrying DSer.

but yeah the BH and the smuggler are… essentially mercenaries, even if they’ve primarily worked for one faction or the other, and may have more sympathies to one. that, and- not being funny, the smuggler is the least combat-renowned of the eight classes - their class story comes down to guile and charm and fast talking and turning voidy’s own resources against him, not the raw stopping power of the sith or the jedi, never mind the tactical skill and accomplishment of the bh or trooper. even the agent’s role is less behind-the-scenes, storywise, than the smuggler’s.

but i mean. this all comes back to my theory that kotfetet was written primarily for an LS JK (and a very particular kind of LS JK), and while it also works with an LS SW (and to a lesser extent, an LS Quiz or LS Consular), after you run out of Force users its suspenders of disbelief rapidly run out of stretch room.

Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to th’ creating a whole tribe of fops
Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
As to th’ legitimate. Fine word- 'legitimate’!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top th’ legitimate. I grow; I prosper.
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
— 

Edmund, from “King Lear”

This might be very favorite Shakespeare monologue. Edmund is a cold character with a distrust of tradition that makes him a compelling villain for times like ours.

For thebestpersonherelovesbucky (happy birthday!), ithewhimsyviper-seven, myhandsarenotmyown, and everyone else who thinks T.J Hammond deserved better.

- There will be a few different pairings.
- ✩ for my personal favorites.
- New additions and updates will be marked with ϟ.
- As always, heed the tags and warnings before reading the fics.

Updated 15.02.2016

Keep reading

When we come to see that Thought is a force—a manifestation of energy having a magnet- like power of attraction, we will begin to understand the why and wherefore of many things that have heretofore seemed dark to us. There is no study that will so well repay the student for his time and trouble as the study of the workings of this mighty law of the world of Though

—the Law of Attraction.

Day 8: Magic

The spell you got on me, it’s like magic~
Got me feeling like falling in love~

Morning spellbuilders and worldbuilders, today is a fun prompt. It’s a Prompt that you can work for a really long time with. In a lot of universes Magic is treated like the inexplicable laws of the world, just as you would handle the physics of the world. It can be simple, it can be complex, it can be rare and powerful, or subtle and mundane.

Magic takes many forms and can have a major influence on your world, just as our grasp on the sciences has changed our world. It can be a force to be utilized, or may even represent a will of the world itself.

If you are struggling with getting too deep into the whys and wherefores, here’s a handy TVtropes called Magic A is Magic A, which pretty much means as long as it’s consistent, then the audience will accept it. So write those laws and as long as you stick to them, you’ll be good.

Warm the cauldrons, polish your wands, crack open the necronomicon and…

GET BUILDING!

SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester’s castle.

   Enter EDMUND, with a letter

EDMUND

   Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law
   My services are bound. Wherefore should I
   Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
   The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
   For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
   Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
   When my dimensions are as well compact,
   My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
   As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us
   With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
   Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
   More composition and fierce quality
   Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
   Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
   Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
   Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
   Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
   As to the legitimate: fine word,–legitimate!
   Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
   And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
   Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
   Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

—  Shakespeare, King Lear

Dear Neville,

I wonder sometimes if we treat our young gently, as though the world would break them, because we are afraid ourselves of what the truth means. There is something to be said, I think, for the cruel nature of trust and faith. If we had not trusted that you were indeed one of us, I think, dear Algie would never have tried holding you out of the window to force your hand, so to speak. We would have treated you with much more care, as though you were fragile and as though you were not your father or your mother’s son.

But I run ahead of myself.

You ask me if this is indeed true. It is. I see no reason to lie now when the tides of war have so turned against us. They might find me and torture me, but I would not care if I could rest satisfied knowing that you know the truth. That you have learnt wisdom, which is a rare gift in these days of rash bravery and deeds of derring do. In these troubled times we need every friend we can find; even those enemies of ours who finally find their consciences. You must ask yourself which is the greater evil – and fight it first.

But you want to know, as I suppose is inevitable, the whys and the wherefores. I trust you are old enough to understand what I write now. I did what I supposed was wise and good. I do not know if it was because I thought to protect you, or if it was because I did not trust myself enough to make sense of it and impart the sense of it and not merely the details of history. History is as much about interpretation as it is about the imparting of facts and you, so young and so naïve, might never have known what to do. You were at an age where answers in clear black and white were all that you desired. You would have taken the questions I posed to you, in lieu of concrete answers, and twisted them into answers that I did not intend at all. Or perhaps, it is simply that I thought more of myself than you. I do not know. That is a question, I suspect, you will answer for yourself when you read this.

You wish to know my chief reason for having concealed the truth about your father’s youth. Consider this, Neville, if I had told you that in his younger days, your father had run with those whom he had fought, who had tortured him, would you not have been hasty to draw conclusions about your own father? Might you not have hated him? I did not want you to hate him.

You must remember that those were trying times for us all. We went for the trials. Others saw criminals. We, mothers and grandmothers and aunts, we all saw boys who had spent their summers playing Quidditch with our sons. Now, of course, they were on trial for murdering and torturing our sons. War is most peculiar. I could hardly make sense of it myself. Such needless violence for some false cause. I wondered, sometimes, if my own Frank had ever shown such defects of character, in some private life of his I knew nothing of. Nine months out of twelve he spent at Hogwarts, far from me, before he became an Auror and they work such long hours at the Ministry. I knew him, and I did not. Every mother experiences that, I think. Knowing, but never knowing. I suppose, if I must, that I do not know you either. By the time this war is over I certainly won’t.

Now you were a peculiar child. Extraordinarily ordinary for all that your mother and father had once been the toast of all the wizarding world. Defied Voldemort three times. With such pedigree you should have shown some kind of extraordinariness, but no you remained stubbornly ordinary.  Were you really your father’s son? I saw so very little of him in you. Frank was sanguine and friendly and so very comfortable in his skin. Perhaps it was my fault that you grew up with his weight on your shoulders. Neville Longbottom, son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, heroes who defied Voldemort not once, or twice but thrice. You knew, I think, the way all children do, that we expected so much from you.

You are still a peculiar child, but more comfortable, I believe, in your own skin. Enough to understand that your father could have been a good man and still been friends with murderers – and even more, to understand that even murderers may find their consciences in times like these. I had my own dreams and desires – I never dreamt that my son would ever become a symbol for our world, or a hero. A great man, maybe, but not a hero. But Frank far surpassed the greatest dreams I had for him. He became a hero, the symbol of our times and still a tragedy. I raised you, navigating these new waters - fame and tragedy together - and perhaps, if I am entirely honest, I wished that you would live up to the fine figure your father cut – too hard, too hard. We all wish too hard for those we care for the most.

Once, I suppose, I must have dreamt and wished for things that had nothing to do with sons and families. Those days were long gone by the time they brought you to me. Red-faced and ugly and squalling. I cannot say I lament it. I cannot lament what ifs and buts, it is a complete waste of time.

So you see, I had my reasons - good or bad, that is for you to judge - for keeping your father’s childhood from you, fearing as I did, that you would come to hate him for being a hypocrite. Now, of course, you are old enough to understand that the world is not that simple and that your father could have been many things all at once. Some of it was entirely my own fear, that if I could acknowledge that history, then I would have to ask myself if I could bring myself to show forgiveness. That burden mercifully - or unfortunately - now falls to you.  I hope you will forgive me. I hope you will be brave. I hope, above all, that you will be wise.

I remain in all things,
Your grandmother.

(For bookhoor)

An Excerpt from Nick Frost’s Autobiography: ‘Truths, Half Truths, & Little White Lies’

Nick Frost may be known as Simon Pegg’s hilarious companion, but do not be mistaken – he has led one hell of a rocky life. As revealed in his upcoming autobiography Truths, Half Truths, & Little White Lies, the funny man is no stranger to the dark side of life.

Publisher Hodder & Stoughton has supplied us with an excerpt from the forthcoming memoir, which you can read below.

Keep reading