ALTBeloved☆
Death of the author: Treating the author’s stated interpretation of their own work as merely one opinion among many, rather than the authoritative Word of God.
Disappearance of the author: Treating the context and circumstances of the work’s authorship as entirely irrelevant with respect to its interpretation, as though the work had popped into existence fully formed just moments ago.
Taxidermy of the author: Working backwards from a particular interpretation of the work to draw conclusions about what the context and circumstances of its authorship must have been.
Undeath of the author: Holding the author personally responsible for every possible reading of their work, even ones they could not reasonably have anticipated at the time of its authorship.
Frankenstein’s Monster of the author: Drawing conclusions about authorial intent based on elements that are present only in subsequent adaptations by other authors.
Weekend at Bernie’s of the author: Insisting that the author would personally endorse your interpretation of the work if they happened to be present.
I thought this was going to be a joke, but these are all very real things you see people do.
I’m never more serious than when I’m joking.
I recently had surgery, and at the time I came home, I had both my cat and one of my grandma's cats staying with me.
- Within hours of surgery, I wake up from a nap to my cat gently sniffing at my incisions with great alarm.
- I was not allowed to shower the first day after surgery, and the cats, seeing that The Large Cat is not observing its cleaning ritual, decided I must be gravely disabled and compensated by licking all the exposed skin on my arms, face, and legs.
- I currently have to sleep with a pillow over my abdomen because my cat insists on climbing on top of me and covering my incisions with her body while I sleep (which is very sweet but not exactly comfortable without the pillow). She also lays across me facing my bedroom door, presumably on guard for attackers who may try to harm me while I'm sleeping and injured.
That's love. 🐈⬛🐈❤️
cats are so very unclear on what is wrong with us but they want to help
On top of that, a lot of (foreign) names for tribal groups or communities boil down to:
"Those Guys Who Aren't Us".
This happened for the same reason, explorers talking with a group they had contact with and asking them about their neighbours. These names are known as exonyms because they've been applied from outside the group.
One famous example is Eskimo - the etymology is disputed but the most accepted meaning is "The Guys Who Wear Snowshoes", as named by tribes who did not wear snowshoes. That's why the word has been phased out for Inuit - lit. "The People" (or, essentially "Us").
Or my favourite one - we don't know what the Celts called themselves. Celt comes from the Greek keltoi, meaning "Foreigner". The Romans referred to the Celtic peoples of modern-day France as gauls, meaning... "Foreigner". The French refer to the Welsh as gallois, meaning... "Foreigner"!
Even "Welsh" essentially means "Foreigner"! It's derived from a generic Old German word for people living in Gaul. But the Welsh call themselves Cymry, which means "fellow countrymen".
In short: scratch the surface and many names mean either "us" or "them", and no one in human history has had any imagination.
You can't complain about people being called 'The People' when you live on a planet called 'The Ground'.
sorry jason sorry nico but my big three trio will always be thalia percy and bianca on the quest to rescue annabeth and artemis
(Hera and Posidon sitting on a balcony)
*silence*
Hera: Wanna form an alliance to overthrow Zeus again as a prank?
Poseidon: Oh, definitely.
something my mum always taught us was to look for the resources we're entitled to, and use them. public land? know your access rights and responsibilities, go there and exercise them. libraries? go there and talk to librarians and read community notice boards, find out what other people are doing around you, ask questions, use the printers. public records offices? go in there, learn what they hold and what you can access, look at old maps, get your full birth certificate copied, check out the census from your neighbourhood a hundred years ago. are you entitled to social support? find out, take it, use it. does the local art college have facilities open to the public? go in, look around, check out their exhibit on ancient looms or whatever, shop in their campus art supply store. it applies online too, there is so much shit in the world that belongs to the public commons that you can access and use if you just take a minute to wonder what might exist!!!
today was my mum's birthday, and I showed her that thousands of people were liking and sharing her advice. she was very moved and pleased, and wanted to add that you shouldn't just feel entitled to be in these spaces. you should feel at home. no matter who you are or what you're going through in any phase of life, public spaces and services belong to you.
I once chatted with a guy from Hawaii, we started talking about languages. I mentioned that while I've heard very little of it and hardly seen more of it written down, the Hawaiian language seems to have extremely similar balance of vocals and consonants as Finnish does, so it's actually pretty likely that there are some words that exist in both languages, but mean one thing in Hawaiian and a completely differen thing in Finnish - much like in Japanese.
He didn't find it plausible, so we agreed to disagree. Later on he mentioned that his name is [firstname] Kalani Kanaele, and when I told him what that translates to in Finnish, I had to spend like 20 more minutes trying to convince him that I'm actually not fucking with him.
Okay so in finnish, "kala" means "fish" - just any fish, fish in general, and "kana" means "chicken". "Ele" is "gesture", as in a physical movement that an animal or human does to nonverbally communicate something. The -ni suffix is a possessive referring to oneself, essentially "my". In finnish, compound words are of the "if it doesn't exist yet, I can make one up on the spot" variety, so almost all nouns can be slapped together to refer to something specific.
So, broken down like this and put back together, this dude's name translates to "the chicken-like gesture that my fish makes."
In some AtLA fandom discussions I often find the most ridiculous argument – namely that Katara is forced to do all the household chores alone, and the Gaang doesn’t help her at all until Zuko shows up and takes on the chores to help her.
And it baffles me to no end.
Like people who claim to be fans of Katara think that the Gaang would force her to do something she didn’t want to do? And, namely, the household chores?
When Avatar the Last Airbender spent two episode discussing the division of labor, and Katara’s indignation when she perceived the existing situation to be unfair. She didn’t hide her anger to tell Sokka that he is sexist for letting her do all the housework because she was the girl. She didn’t mince words to tell Toph about accepting the way they all do the chores and participating in the chores in the group.
We don’t see her being angry at Aang in regards to doing chores. And I don’t believe she had her anger suppressed, or afraid of telling Aang off, or thinking he was a baby. I use my analytical skill to infer that he must have been doing all the necessary work without being told. After all, as an Air Nomad, he spent a lot of time traveling alone or in a small group, so I assumed he knew basic survival skills and could take care of himself.
True we don’t see the Gaang cleaning and cooking. But do we need to see them doing it every day to believe that they were doing it every time? We see them settling into some comfortable traveling routine when nobody complained of the rest not doing their share - and we know that Katara would not have hesitated to raise the issues again and again if she perceived unfairness.
Then Zuko joins the Gaang and we see him making tea for everyone. Does that mean he is now doing everything?
No, we are meant to understand that he is trying his best to be a part of the group and showing his best and most useful for the group ability – which is making tea.
Remember, until very recently, Zuko, even in exile, didn’t have to deal with household chores. Yes, he spent three years on a tiny ship, but on the ship there were other people who obtained food, cooked, cleaned, and let the prince do important things, like training, sulking, and looking for the Avatar. We have seen how pathetic his attempts at fishing were in the beginning of book 2. And sure, he had three months of life as a refugee where he had to learn how to live without servants. But I can hardly believe he learned more than Aang, Sokka, or even Toph, for whom secretly being able to take care of herself was a matter of pride.
Now, being able to make good tea was much more important to Zuko now, as part of him trying to show that he learned his Uncle Iroh’s lessons, both in tea and life. So it is important for us to see him making tea and bad jokes for the Gaang, as a part of his efforts to prove himself to be worthy.
On the other hand we don’t really need to see Aang sweeping the floors, and Toph cooking dinner to believe that they share household chores equally with everyone else. Just like we don’t see them eating and sleeping every day.
A fae forms a genuine bond of friendship with a human. As a prank another fae decides to kill their friend. Their ruler decides the murder did not violate any fae laws and issues no punishment, so the first fae dedicates their life to getting revenge by teaching humans all the rules of the fae.
The Court of The-King-Who-Would-Be-Crowned has never seen such uproar. His daughter has never been so loud, so furious, has never filled a space with screams and feathers and the blast of a winter storm. And all over a mortal? She is bid to be silent, and she refuses.
“There has been no crime,” the King insists, the pressure of his authority coming down like a hammer. “Behave yourself in my presence.”
“No crime?!” Her voice has never been so loud. The air crystalises around her. “They were mine and my own, and stolen from me!”
“Were they?” The King asks. “I saw no brand upon them. They had not eaten or drunk of your table. They were mortal. Therefore, I am not bound to answer your call for vengeance.” His voice softens, as though in appeal to the one he calls his daughter. ‘It was just one mortal, dearest. You can find another.“
Agony at his description of a friend unbound to law turns again to fury at the idea that such a person could be replaced. “Never. Never will I. And there must be justice for this!”
“You defy your father’s judgement?” The Honoured Dealer smirks.
Other members of court are not as bold as he, and hide their smiles behind fluttering fans or raised hands or carefully-maintained glamour. There has not been such entertainment had in centuries, to see the polished and poised Winter Swan raving and weeping and defying an open order from her sovereign.
The Swan rounds on the Dealer, hissing, teeth bared, an inch from his face. He flinches, but holds his ground. His confidence is not shaken when she whispers her promise: you shall bear the blame for what is to come. Then she twists herself into feathers, and in swan form she leaves. The whole countryside - fae territory and mortal scope alike - ring with her agonised and mournful howls all night.
Things move too quickly, then, for the Courts to understand. For them, who have centuries of seasons, a week should be less than a blink. Yet in a week, the territory of the Dealer and his kin is laid bare. Mortals come in their greedy droves, with picks of iron shattering the border stones and axes of iron to cut down the ancient oaks. When the Sisters of the Petal went down with song and seduction to call mortals to their doom, these greedy men threw handfuls of salt, and bound each woman to a name, and burned them at stakes of yew wood. A week, and the ancient untouched forest became a logging camp, and all ancient mystery was stripped from this part of the world.
The-King-Who-Would-Be-Crowned sought out his daughter, where she stood upon her frozen pond. He scolded her for her vengeance, for stripping the Courts of one of their own. The Winter Swan looked on her father like she would look on a hated stranger, and told him to go drown himself.
Mortals continued to learn about the sacred mysteries that kept the Courts safe. Rivers were dammed, lakes were dredged, standing stones were defaced and toppled; salt was scattered, names were used like lassos. The Summer season was stripped and shrivelled. Autumn and Spring soon felt their territories likewise invaded, and could do nothing. They were named, and they were burned, and they were lost.
The-King-Who-Would-Be-Crowned sought out his daughter again, and told her she had gone too far. If this continues, there will be no court left. The Winter Swan arched her neck proudly, nodded, and told her father to go drown himself.
Songs full of salt and iron and binding names were sung by children, taught by the wailing bird that circled overhead. Axe and shovel and poker and spear press and push and dig into the territory of the fae. The Courts are broken. All will become fable, or forgotten.
The-King-Who-Would-Be-Crowned sought out his daughter, one last time. “All this for one mortal? Our world ends, our lives end, because of one mortal? You cannot follow him if you die! You will be unmade, and for what?”
“For one mortal,” she said, with a cold smile. “For one dear friend.”