tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86768011448110627602024-03-25T23:41:00.939+01:00Songs of TruthAll mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-29438921084139020192024-03-25T22:22:00.005+01:002024-03-25T23:40:30.137+01:00Landscape painting comma wordy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcGD8MAuhe288uR_OhEhYmlwTFQ13GtkLphmZhFHFJPx4AjdxN2ul2zYvks0jq5-nB1w0IBBTEThbf_M8IqMWcam2XXjrBij4eJQstZh-TSKgyRYYrguMwlyZY-xAUCU-ABTXPZL6_TZNWgx0rF9PHCOKWV8pBJh0rvfLM6yAypVSo0a9epYLwRhG6GcF/s2000/bronzegardenweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="2000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcGD8MAuhe288uR_OhEhYmlwTFQ13GtkLphmZhFHFJPx4AjdxN2ul2zYvks0jq5-nB1w0IBBTEThbf_M8IqMWcam2XXjrBij4eJQstZh-TSKgyRYYrguMwlyZY-xAUCU-ABTXPZL6_TZNWgx0rF9PHCOKWV8pBJh0rvfLM6yAypVSo0a9epYLwRhG6GcF/w400-h266/bronzegardenweb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />This is a story where nothing happens and there's barely any characters. It's also very short. Some stories have to be direct, without diversions or ornament, even if it makes it easy on the writer and harder on the reader.<p></p><p>Bronze, if well made, can theoretically be more molecularly stable than pure gold. And it's only made by human hands. As much as there's nothing less natural about things humans make than things that grow in nature because humans are still a part of nature, it feels like that matters.<br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">THE BRONZE GARDEN<br />(Syndetic, symmetric, not synthetic, not cyclic)<br /></p><p><br />Metaphor is the wellspring of human language, stories, abstraction, reflection, self-awareness, everything that makes us people.<br /><br />The valley lies next to the mountain, but never under her shadow. The sun loves to see them together and walks long, lingering loops to give them all its light. The rain also loves them and gives the mountain a rich growth of flora, yet still sparse compared to the valley, when the water runs from the mountain in a flood through the valley and she's drowned with green, hot and wet and filled with deep, loose earth being bound by the deep roots of the trees. Life blooms everywhere.<br /><br />The name of the mountain is Impulse. The name of the valley is Intention.<br /><br />A rainbow appears in the cascades of the waterfall. The human sees the beauty of the rainbow and seeks to depict the beauty, to show it to their brothers and sisters. There is no human here. No hand guiding the growth of hanging moss in the branches of the trees, reaching down the the ground. A forest of curtains with no rooms to close in.<br /><br />In a grand old alder tree, among a hundred shades of green and white, rainwater gathers in an indentation and drips in slow fat drops. A drop falls on a spiderweb, where it sticks. A lone ray of sunshine among the shadows of the leaves reaches the water drop and it glitters like an infinite universe. There is no sun and the stars glitter over the mountain, quiet and lonely in the night. One perfect moment hangs in stillness for all time. There is never enough time. Time marches on and the wounds heal and the vegetation spreads.<br /><br />A wide reach of trees sprawl across the valley and covers much of the river. Standing, glowing, growing, living and dying. And underneath the wondrous green gold they die and rot, turning into black earth that nourishes the life. An ant waits in the dark, after losing the chemical trail it has followed. Without sensory stimuli to respond to it's as good as lifeless. A seed falls in front of the ant, so slightly sweet, and the ant comes to life to feed. A small lizard eats the ant, a fish eats the lizard, a bird eats the fish and the bird, with a broken wing, dies alone. Germs eat the bird and shit fertilizer and the cycle of life goes on. The ant is all things. There is no ant.<br /><br />Summer lasts forever and a day. Winter comes from time to time. Blinding, howling storm covers the mountain. Precarious sheets of ice and snow topple over in avalanches of unstoppable force. The valley is a field. She is shining white in the sun. She is smooth, quiet. She lies still, forever.<br /><br />Life in the valley never goes away. It resumes when the hot rains come down and the snow melts away. It sparks amid the brutal floods and on bare rock washed clean of soil. It grows into a fire that burns all the green to ash. It grows again, nurtured by the fertile ash. Always moving, growing, verdant, angry, irrepressible.<br /><br />The edge of a tart fresh leaf cuts the paw of a lemur picking berries. The lemur, startled or angry, crushes the plant. The sap poisons a small patch of the ground where it falls, killing budding moss, making the soil barren. A termite colony steers away from the dead land. A number of birches grow stronger and taller in the termites' absence. In the birches' shadow an ancient and irreplaceable strain of ferns withers. This violence, this chaos, is part of the order of nature, is balance.<br /><br />And the continents shatter and the mountain tears apart from the valley and the continents smash together and the valley and the mountain form. They are together for one of the planet's heartbeats. They end. They are forever. They are not alive. They live in our minds. The mountain and the valley.<br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-46306569393160702522023-12-30T15:31:00.005+01:002023-12-31T01:10:24.923+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 7<p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_25.html"> Link to previous post</a></p><p>Blah blah preamble <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com"><i>Strong Female Protagonist</i></a> by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag referenced throughout except and unless otherwise noted (i.e. reference to pages of <i><a href="https://www.gunnerkrigg.com">Gunnerkrigg Court</a> </i>by Tom Siddell), you know the drill, moving on.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-42-4/">Chapter 5 page 42</a></p><p>These mercs could invest in a bus, using three huge trucks just to go from A to B screams of fragile masculinity to me. Well, it's not the only thing that does.</p><p>43</p><p>They're at least acting pretty professional. You know how many stories I've heard of gun shops where they have jars of mixed bullets on the counter just to point at and say "these were all taken from guns their owners handed to us that they swore were unloaded"? Okay, two stories. But you really can't be careful enough with guns you think are empty. And that probably goes double if you think they're loaded with blanks.</p><p>44, 45<br /></p><p>There's supposed to be eight of these guys, they look like about four, whatever, three trucks is still at <i>least</i> one too many. Get styled on, babies! And also prepare to die for your crimes.<br /></p><p>46, 47, 48, 49<br /></p><p>The thing I find odd about this is Mary mixing her workout and murder spree. Maybe it's hard to find any non-horrible private army boys to do this exercise with, or she's just obsessed enough to want to test her skills under the influence of an endorphin rush.</p><p>Which, I guess it doesn't have any noticeable effects on her aside from trying to be funny.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-50-4/">50</a></p><p>"I don't matter," "You matter to me," such an uplifting argument for killing a person!</p><p>51</p><p>I hope Ken there was happy with his name and likeness being used for this wacky fun side character. Nah the guidance counselor is not really at fault for looking at the news as just a story providing ten seconds of shared amusement. Thoughtless, sure, but is it harming anyone? Is consuming news media for shallow mindless entertainment worse than doing it order to feel bad, or not following news at all?</p><p>Just trying to keep in mind how all the characters have their own stuff going on that makes their decisions make sense to themselves.</p><p>52</p><p>Then again, Ken might just be completely unhinged and probably full of shit. Well, we know from Patrick's later revelations mind control is <i>possible</i>, but what are the odds this rando "Puppetmaster" took over a whole city when the world's most singularly powerful telepath doesn't know anything about mind control, and describes it as a purely hypothetical possibility? Compared to the odds of people blaming mind control for bad decisions, psychotic episodes or anything else?</p><p>The alt text doesn't even have anything to say on this page. I think it's loudly voicing Alison's thoughts.</p><p>53</p><p>Ken's definitely at least somewhat loopy, wow, he's the one whose response to a student who's <i>completely lost for a direction to take her studies</i> is "you could design your own course and study anything you want any way you want." But that could just as well be a lingering confusion cause by mind control or even a statement of beliefs relating to personal freedom <i>I guess</i>.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-54/">54</a>, 55<br /></p><p>I love the joking robots. The idea of AI developing a running joke, from an actual internalized understanding of humor programmed into them by a supergenius, resulting in wonky-ass random word replacement "jokes" that could have been algorithmically generated by real world computers. Ah, this was a simpler time, before the ongoing techbro scam evolved into capitalizing on investments in algorithmic generation technology which soiled the term "artificial intelligence."</p><p>56</p><p>Mostly a bunch of introductions here, and yet what I want to know more about is the story of the wall painting.</p><p>57</p><p>I think what Taylor needs is more micromanagement and fewer robots. Mainly more micromanagement. Perhaps Lisa has left the crew a list of devices and where they should go with names that tell them nothing, perhaps they're just super paranoid about anything being a death ray. </p><p>58</p><p>Always love a casual, practical use of impossibly superhuman strength.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-59-2/">59</a></p><p>Aww, the little guys are bad at jokes, they're small.</p><p>60</p><p>I'm not frightened by the concept of a thinking machine getting smarter or wiser than any human or just thinking in ways we can't understand, so I don't have much interest in discussing the possibilities of robocalypse arising here. It's mostly cool to learn about Lisa's anomaly to be able to create anything she can imagine.</p><p>61</p><p>Judging by this grand introduction and the forthcoming illustrious presentation of Lisa's thesis, "No glory save honor," I suspect it may be what the authors think is the most important of all the comic's important lessons. Or maybe it's just a helpful way of presenting it cause it's a moderately difficult one to fully grasp.</p><p>62, 63, 64</p><p></p><p>I wonder if the bottleneck in developing better "actual" batteries is because of this conceptual limitation, cause we do really take Lisa's batteries for granted. Lighter, cheaper, slower degradation of materials, slower degradation of stored charge, most of all lighter batteries have been badly lacking since like the 1700s and I don't think it's because of some limitation of physical laws. Learning to value the heavy work, the dull, slow, dirty march of progress, would help with a lot of things I think.</p><p>Anyway now picture Hector going "but science is hard and boring". ..</p><p>65</p><p>Imagine if these doofuses did start a class with this whole premise! Hemmin' 'n' hawin' 101 indeed.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-66-2/">66</a></p><p>Mystery solved!</p><p>67</p><p>I think Lisa's saying more about how her biases and presumptions inform how she thinks Patrick's powers work than offering any relevant psychoanalysis, but still, it's a mystery Patrick doesn't give a good, not-lying answer to.</p><p>68, 69<br /></p><p>There's so much I could say about the hypothetical conversations I'd like to have with a creation of mine that I think about when reading this, but I'm saving it for a story I'm writing. I think all I an say is this is rather good for two pages of comic. Maybe could have mentioned something about "well that's the origin of the word robot but here it's only meant to describe your origin as an artificial being."</p><p>70</p><p>Oh no, Lisa walked right into that one!</p><p> 71</p><p>"But wouldn't she have backups of those months of coding work?" Not if there's a chance she could produce something that doesn't want to die, wants to inhabit an autonomous body and/or wants to kill everyone, I don't think. Even the bare source code? Well, if it turned out code would compile into that it would be useless, and at that point cutting and pasting bits of it to another project to try and stop it from wanting the things you don't want it to want would probably feel a bit like doing eugenics <i>and</i> Frankensteinian experimental surgery on your own fetuses. Easier to just start fresh.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-72-2/">72</a></p><p>Being a particularly bad teacher myself, I can only imagine the frustration of trying to teach someone something that was totally, superhumanly intuitive for you to learn yourself. Many, many "I just thought it was sort of obvious"es.</p><p>73</p><p>Don't worry Alison, punching the sun is just a metaphor. Unless. . .?</p><p>No it's a metaphor for rejecting the superstition of hubris, which belonged in a time when we actually lived in fear of angering divine forces. If you worry about going too far, it's time for a reasonable risk-benefit analysis, not time to remember the lesson of Icarus. Another practical little lesson of the comic.</p><p>74</p><p>Now that I think of it, there's a certain logic to Ali's wild conspiracy fantasy that because she's saved the world enough times she gets to do what she wants. If you saved someone's life, at least in a way where they really feel they were about to die, almost anyone would say "Imposing on my time? Asking favors? My skills and resources can be helpful to you? <i>Yes please</i>!" Even if they can only give fifteen minutes of their time on average, to riff on Andy Warhol a bit, if you save just one million people you're set for company for over 40 years. More realistically a significant portion of those million become your loyal army. Maybe not a lot of the world's population feel particularly personally saved by Alison's various actions to prevent doomsday scenarios (seven times over), but if just a small percentage do. . .</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-75-2/">75</a></p><p>I love that simple expression of love in panel 2. Miight even be some pastel paint marauder's coincidental graffiti on the window. And not that I'm not sad about Ali being vigorously heterosexual, but it's still important to recognize platonic and familial love and all that as playing equally important and meaningful parts of a person's life as the overly romanticized sexy kind of love.</p><p>And that's it for the good news on this page I guess!</p><p>76</p><p>Tandry is such an unlikely name. In my mind I keep correcting it to "Tawdry" and I'm sure I'm not the only one.</p><p>And of course here's Furnace, the biggest asshole of them all. I talked before about his infuriating pattern of twisting words and I'm sure it's going to come up again in this chapter where the news just love to report his sensationalized narrative without any reflection or fact checks or contradicting stories, it's just perfectly designed to wind me up.</p><p>77</p><p>Aah, perfect moment to touch some grass. The grass around here at this moment is covered by about 150 cm of snow, but I'm doing it vicariously through Alison.</p><p>78</p><p>Alison tried Diplomacy! It was a little too late.</p><p>79</p><p>Another sort of frightening display of Ali's combat training: <br /></p><p>Priority 1: Fight the invisible killer, with any means at hand.<br />Priority 2: Protect the cute boy's sanity.</p><p>80</p><p>Speaking of cool creative superpowered fightin' stuff it's a pity we don't see what Mary's doing for the most part. All we can tell t is that she knows when to stay still and when to deploy distracting illusions (or a distracting dropping of illusion here, possibly) and when to move unexpectedly. <i>How </i>she moves to like, reliably dodge automatic fire, is a mystery, but that she's able to tells us she's really thinking with invisibility and for the most part that's the kind of thing the comic takes pride in showing us the authors have thought about.</p><p>81</p><p>Well, she certainly thinks with knives as well. Which is pretty grim come to think of it. There's any number of science fictional gadgets she could deploy for invisible combat that would be as least as quiet and reliable as knives, but from what we see she only ever practiced at stabbing. "I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times" and that.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/2308/">82</a></p><p>Setting up how Mary only targets men who she definitely knows for a fact have raped and got away with it is pretty important but suddenly all I can think of is if the "defense" part of the Department for Biodynamic Research and Defense refers to making war with or against biodynamics.</p><p>83, 84</p><p>This seems to be just a huge sidetrack Alison gets pushed into in order to get an independent, unbiased opinion about if it could have been Mary in the room. But it has some fun bits of worldbuilding and medical procedure at least.</p><p>85</p><p>"Noted" is probably my favorite line in the whole comic.</p><p>The worst thing about the unknowable is that it just shows up as blank spaces under advanced examination. The area around Alison's scar may be the most indestructible thing in existence and, just like <a href="https://www.gunnerkrigg.com/?p=1119">Jones</a>, in practice that just means that the material doesn't interact with its surroundings in any meaningful way.</p><p>It would be curious to know if Ali's anomaly progresses as much as it does (she will presently learn to fly) because of this reaction to getting hurt or if progressing is just how anomalies tend to work. These people's chromosomes are "unstable" and all.</p><p>86</p><p>Hmm why couldn't they just launch Alison into space? At least at this point (uh-oh) she can be completely disabled by even a low end telekinetic as long as they aren't going to lose their shit from a shoe in the face; strength and durability doesn't help her without leverage.</p><p>But maybe Doctor R is just kidding. Ha ha cough.</p><p>87, 88<br /></p><p>Somewhere there's a whole bunch of guys who are angry at and refuse to masturbate to the fictional character Alison because they'll have figured out she can't remove her body hair and looks like a fuzzy adult human without clothes, and that makes me smile.</p><p>Okay the funniest part of this scene is still how much Rosenblum is enjoying it.</p><p>And what a tremendous line to tell us Ali is proud and happy of her little sister and their fraught relationship may be growing and healing. "Jennifer's stepped up."</p><p>89, 90</p><p>I think what's interesting here is the conflict between Ali's personally involved perspective and Rosenblum's looking at the bright side of serial murder one, namely, there isn't one. They have this frank exchange of views and nobody has to be right or wrong. Of course Ali is invested in finding the killer after someone gets his throat cut basically in front of her and basically in her name, and of course Rosenblum cares more about the bigger picture she (and Mary) are seeing with a whole different scale of violence happening in the other direction.</p><p>My opinion of Mary is the same one I have of Hamas, to delve into current events: It's easy to understand how someone may be radicalized in the face of a world led by people who so aggressively do not want to have to stop profiting from its brutal injustices. As a strategy for forcing people to acknowledge if not address the problem, it may be the only one they have.</p><p>And the risk they run is the same: That perpetrating even one tenth of the same reckless, careless violence, the depravity or the cruelty that their enemies who enjoy the favor of society's established power structures do can turn public support against their cause. The resistance has to use proportional force as their oppressor, and "proportional" does literally mean they can only do about 10% as much violence, they can't do any violence of a kind the oppressor doesn't do, and they probably can't get away with doing even half of the kinds of violence they do. If you're the villain, one murder is worse than ten murders and one murder is worse than ten thousand rapes.</p><p>And the solution to such kinds of radical movements and individuals existing is to offer more people better choices. Fighting the radicals themselves can only perpetuate or intensify the conditions that foster radicalism. Maybe Alison <i>is </i>wrong in her impulse to simply stop the killer, as noble as that impulse is, but it's hard to imagine how she in her position could realistically consider doing nothing, without even trying to find the killer and trying to talk to her.</p><p>91</p><p>Just gotta process things.</p><p>92</p><p>Finding a problem you can punch until it goes away is not a healthy or sustainable way to feel like you're in charge of your life, Alison. Well, she knows that. The implication here is that they have talked a lot about precisely that in therapy. Aah, all this rich backstory we only get to see in evidence after the fact.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-93/">93</a></p><p>It might make sense to ask Brad if he can let Mary know Ali is trying to reach her, buut maybe that's a little much to ask. Still, Ali doesn't want Brad to know she doesn't want Mary to know she's coming. . .</p><p>94</p><p>Yeah, you do the math. You figure out why Alison would publicly attack Miles (and why she'd do it "near-fatally") and why then arrange to have him killed and why then get on the news as the one who found the body, cause there's no possible way Furnace can make that make sense himself. Does this speech mean anything besides "please ignore that the guy turned out actually was a rapist and that's why the rapist serial killer targeted him"? So full of shit, at this point I think Alison thinks getting interviewed herself and try to get the facts straight would only legitimize his increasingly openly pro-rape tirades.</p><p>95</p><p>Yes, Ms Reporter, he is in fact threatening to murder any woman who reports a rape. On television. <i>Promising </i>to murder them, in fact. Somebody's enjoying being above the law a bit too much.</p><p>In my headcanon everyone can plainly see that Furnace is an idiot who hates women and immigrants but is actually just all talk and doesn't have the gumption to go on a like, organized hate crime campaign and will only ever hurt people by being bad at using his powers.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page/">96</a></p><p>Such intrigue.</p><p>97</p><p>Dr Evil at this point would grow out his hair to be able to tear it out and lament how Patrick has failed at being a villain so bad even his old murder-happy perfect psychopath mom would be disappointed. NOT sitting in the big chair looking out the window as he receives the hero in his skyscraper lair? Nope, it doesn't occur to him to do these things even as ironic jokes. He just doesn't think like a villain anymore. Apparently.</p><p>98</p><p>See it's funny cause Lisa said the same thing, actually I think he's being snarky because he doesn't like that Ali trusts Lisa's ethics more than his.</p><p>99, 100<br /></p><p>You wouldn't download a brain car dot jpg</p><p>Given what we see later on of the structure of Patrick's mind, I wonder if he's as good at copying other people's knowledge, skills, ways of thinking that he thinks he is. He can't read his own mind, he doesn't have the same kind of full picture of himself as he does of others, maybe creating these models he's talking about is like building a car from a memorized blueprint by hand while you're driving it, using pieces of itself. He wouldn't have any way of knowing how accurate he is.</p><p>101</p><p>My plan if I had a time machine is going back 60,000 years to around present day Uganda (some more precise time and place would probably be useful to figure out first) and try and teach the first humans that we need to figure out how to get along with each other. If we can do that, if we can decide we're all in this together (to take yet another of the comic's lessons) <i>before </i>we start spreading out all over the world, and if we've got satellite internet to keep in touch and enough food and medicine that we don't need to fight over resources, maybe we can avoid the petty factionalism that has divided our species since, well, at least since they built the Great Wall of China.</p><p>Fixing the mistakes of history by killing the right people seems like a very limited way of thinking. Ali is of course distracted and, more key to the scene, everything Patrick is doing here is designed to make Alison stop liking him.</p><p>102</p><p>What did I just say about fixing the world by killing people. . .</p><p>103</p><p>Sure, Pat might have a point that unshackling Lisa could make her a threat to him, though it sounds more like general worry about an unpredictable factor messing with his plans. And to tie back to what I was thinking about his ability to replicate other people's abilities in his own brain, especially when we're considering a superhuman genius, I wonder if Patrick can even <i>understand </i>Lisa, and if maybe he still <i>thinks </i>he can because he's blind to those blank spaces where his senses can't penetrate. Well, I'd like for her to be better than he thinks she is so maybe I'm pulling all this out of my butt.</p><p>104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109<br /></p><p>Overdoing it a bit with the evil monologue, Patrick. That's how you give yourself away after all.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-110/">110</a></p><p>Damn but <i>Hancock </i>was a useless movie. More precisely, two wildly different movies - a fairly creative comedy movie about a superhero alcoholic and a pretty intriguing epic fantasy romance - canceling each other out by occupying the same narrative location. But it has some good moments. I'm thinking of the scenes where Hancock gets angry and sort of makes the ground shake without visibly moving a muscle. Maybe just tapping his toe in his shoe.</p><p>Anyway Alison isn't that comically strong but it's still pretty great to send Patrick flying with the sheer force of her rejection.<br /></p><p>111</p><p>Or, I guess, the force of her violently surging personal autonomic telekinetic field. But it seems to be triggered by how angry she is so I still count it.</p><p>112</p><p>Yeah she figured it out. She figured it out several pages before I did, I was just using the power of rereading.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-113/">113</a></p><p>Why is it so believable that the plot that probably will determine the future of the world turns on a guy's inability to be even a little bit honest and vulnerable at the wrong moment? That is of course not just a moment of weakness, it's what makes Ali realize she's wasting time and lady boners and are giving Patrick more chances than he deserves just for lady boner-related reasons.</p><p>Good for her dot jpg lol</p><p>114</p><p>Wasn't this what you wanted? To be left alone and not having to open up? Good job on that villainous plan eh.</p><p>115</p><p>Patrick in panel 3 is thinking "Because it was rabbit season" and mentally laughing and crying at the same time.</p><p>116</p><p>Anyway, to infinity and beyond!</p><p>117</p><p>The power of flight is very rare. I don't know if we see anyone do it other than a certain fiery asshole. So given how strange and precious it is it makes the family's reactions that much funnier. From "That's wonderful" to "pff <i>more </i>powers?" to "you gotta hear about these possums in the back yard" in the space of <i>one </i>panel.</p><p>That's some quality family-ing.</p><p>Also I think Mom knows there's more than the wind in her eyes and happy tears going on. . .</p><p>118</p><p>From sad to happy to asshole, what a rollercoaster. Yes, Furnace showing up makes me feel the emotion "asshole."</p><p>119</p><p>I mean, now he's pretending to be the casual mass murdering Door Gunner character from <i>Full Metal Jacket</i>, come on.</p><p>120, 121</p><p>"Don't be a superhero." Lidia got it in one.</p><p>Like, I'm trying to be upset at him sterilizing this whole villa, but it was an honest accident caused by rampant insecurity which has kept him from dealing with his increasingly uncontrollable anomaly. I don't think it's as actively malicious as what he said on TV before.</p><p>122</p><p>Ah yes, Chris, I keep forgetting Furnace's real person name. It's because I don't care about him. Haha, "perplexing" (aka Libertarian "full Anarchy except with cops to protect me from my slaves" grade) politics, suck it Chris.</p><p>By the way, basically every white supremacist is a man with a shitty relationship with his dad. Chris's story is very sad and very believable. (Still, suck it.)</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-123/">123</a></p><p>Donald Glover has a bit about all the craaazy ex-girlfriends in the world. (Note: "Crazy" in this context should not be seen as a term for mental illness
but rather (admittedly lazily) describing inappropriate interpersonal behavior, bad boundaries, bad
impulse control, not keeping promises, etc.) Basically, every guy has a story about a crazy ex-girlfriend, right? So are women just more crazy than men? Why else don't women have equal amounts of stories about crazy ex-boyfriends? Because if you're a woman with a crazy ex-boyfiend <i>he's going to murder you</i>.</p><p>Anyway, back to the Furnace suck-fest. Of course it's all the girls who are just too messed up, it can't be you who's ill equipped for intimate relationships right?</p><p>And with a dose of "Everyone wants me to disappear from the public, says man appearing on national television for three days straight."</p><p>124</p><p>Yay, back to our beautiful hero going about her ugly business. Well, the discussion on her powers is pretty neat but the action is getting ominous.</p><p>The comments here touch on the ethics of the government tracking a whole, specific population of many thousands of individuals. Which, it could certainly be abused, we have seen the gub'mint having an unhealthy interest in their sex lives, but also, we have seen DBRD doctors treating their patients as their patients above all else. At this point in the story it may be well to remember biodynamic people (in the US) are considered victims of a health and humanitarian crisis, and while they have some stricter legal responsibilities than the baseline citizen, they do get free and constant healthcare built around their unique personal circumstances. That's probably the incentive almost everyone needs to elect to keep in touch with the DBRD, concerns about having their anomalies exploited be damned.</p><p>Cause, what might be the best part, they seem to have every right to leave the program and come and go as they please. Nobody has been dragged to the doctors as far as we know, even when they were fourteen and no one knew what was going on and it was heavily suggested that parents drag them there there were still kids who never "made themselves known" to the department, as Rosenblum has suggested.</p><p>Oops there I go having utopian fantasies again. The comic is just so nice and reasonable.</p><p>125, 126, 127<br /></p><p>The story of the baboon troop's feminist revolution is of course real, and very symbolic for Mary. If you just kill enough of the worst dudes in the world everything will get better for everyone forever, very possibly. Of course there are some problems with that even beyond the part where when we kill people it makes the policemen flustered and stern (thank you, <i>Queen of Wands</i>) or the difficulty of making some disease or disaster or something target just the right 25% of the population.</p><p>For a start, losing that many people will definitely have unpredictable, uncontrollable destabilizing effects on society that will spiral until we lose more of people we wanted to save. The peaceful healthy realigning of social norms would be somewhat lost without a <i>society </i>to have them in. </p><p>But maybe if it happened over a few generations. . .no, wait, murder is still bad.</p><p>128</p><p>There's something appealing with the idea of having a totally secret room like this, where Mary can get away with having a whole secret life right under the eye of surveillance. Well, if you're like me, who grew about three cm and gained 25 kg of muscle in under a year just by moving away from home at age 22. My family was never bad to me, maybe neglecting more than anything, but I never could relax for one moment in my entire life until the moment I first locked myself in my own apartment alone.</p><p>So, looking at the bright side of the serial murder room.</p><p>129, 130<br /></p><p>Oh yeah there's a plot happening.</p><p>131</p><p>Dislocating a shoulder hurts soo much, and then imagine you've basically never been hurt for the last seven years. Ah but such a credible way to make Alison disempowered and phone-less at just the right time.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-132/">132</a>, 133<br /></p><p>How observant I am: Figured out now for the first time Alison turned her shirt into a sling. Even with the alt text talking about her wardrobe I'm like "hurr what's clothes?"</p><p>134</p><p>The mindgames begin!</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-135/">135</a></p><p>Yeah I think if you have to use dehumanizing metaphors for the people you're killing it might not be super cool and positive to kill them. We've already covered the ethics, but I'm more thinking about what Mary is doing to her own soul.</p><p>136</p><p>This is the most I've liked Chris in any of his appearances. It's because he's not talking.</p><p>137, 138, 139</p><p>Whyy must we fight? Okay this is a pretty cool dramatic buildup to get to the line "I came here to save you!"</p><p>140, 141<br /></p><p>Pity Mary doesn't hear it. Too busy making speeches about her weird presumptions and gender essentialism. Aw but we know her real problem is just being scared all the time, it's hardly worth picking her arguments apart.</p><p>142, 143, 144, 145<br /></p><p>Have I mentioned that Chris is the worst? Head empty, nothing but self-important indignation. I wonder if his power fluctuation is tied to his anger? And that's why his fire has gotten stronger and more uncontrollable in the last years, as he desperately shrieking has been fighting to stay relevant? There's a good kind of anger that's the emotional response to injustice, and there's the kind of anger that's just covering for fear. . .</p><p>Well, now he's killed himself by getting angry instead of trying to figure out what's going on, like where he is for instance. Like what kind of precautions do you think people might have taken to kidnap a person of mass destruction to ensure that he doesn't just blow them up as soon as he wakes up? No? We're just gonna try it and assume they are complete idiots? <br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-146/">146</a></p><p>This is kind of sweet. The pause to share a little guilt and sadness, maybe even happy that there's nothing more to fight over. And then straight to beginning the disaster response cause they are veteran superheroes.</p><p>147</p><p>Justifying doing bad things because "other people do those things too" never works, Mary. Most people go through their whole life without killing another person, and no we don't need to rehash the <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-74/">bold moral choice</a> of doing that, I'm just saying it's better for your mental health. Did you know that out of the American soldiers drafted in World War 2, 50% refused to fire their guns at any Nazis? That was the, you know, <i>Nazis</i>. Turns out killing people is really hard.</p><p>148</p><p>Welp, the comic already made some of the same points I did and some of them even better than I did. I probably remember more from previous readings than I think I do.</p><p><a href="the desire to pass through the world causing as little suffering as possible and the desire to give everything I have to change things right now even if it's not perfect">149</a></p><p>Could this be the central conflict of the comic? I know it's the central conflict of my life. Torn between the desire to pass through the world causing as little suffering as
possible and the desire to give everything I have to change things right
now even if it's not perfect.</p><p>150</p><p>Nice to have some disaster relief to put your hands into to stop thinking about hate and fear and murder am I right.</p><p>151</p><p>I feel like we skipped over a few paragraphs earlier in the chapter. So, Violet moved out of the dorm, I can't imagine because she got any kind of publicity backlash from the Miles affair so I guess just because she felt uncomfortable. Uncomfortable about her roomie being complicit in a rapist getting murdered or getting outed as a rapist? Okay, okay, if we're being charitable maybe it was just the proximity to violence that bothered her. And then she decided she shouldn't have to move since Alison is the one who sucks and passive-aggressived Alison out of the dorm while she was busy being on the news?</p><p>With Chris being dead I guess Violet had to step up her being the worst game. Like, there could be ways to have this be a reasonable conversation, but she's just sitting there being too ashamed to speak or look at Alison but insisting that she gets out on the street at this very moment, without borrowing a phone or computer so she can make any arrangements, and take all her stuff so she'll never have to come back, at the end of a very long day, in the rain.<br /></p><p>152, 153<br /></p><p>But at least, Ali's getting a significant upgrade in roommates. Massive. Astronomic.</p><p>154</p><p>There's probably some boring explanation why Lisa can't just release her delightful inventions in the wild without patenting them, so let's just take it as read and be sad that Patrick has a complete chokehold on Lisa's genius and frustrated that Ali can't tell her what's up.</p><p>155</p><p>Speaking of sad, owie.</p><p>156</p><p>Alright, one point for Violet, she did not specifically set up her ambush after seeing Ali on the news. Now, laying it all out in words, it sounds like the worst day ever. I like how at the end she can hardly get any words out. So damn heavy.</p><p>(Don't make a "dam" pun, don't do it.)</p><p>157</p><p>Okay this is getting almost too real. Time for cake.</p><p>Seriously that epitaph would be the most hateful thing to ever put on a gravestone.</p><p>158</p><p>Of all the cool action stuff in the comic's past we never get to see, I feel like the biggest loss is never seeing Lisa wearing her armor.</p><p>159</p><p>Yaay, they're bonding. And important emails. And I cannot get over Geoff Green's ridiculous email avatar and AOL speak and horrible jokes. Reminds me, I learned today the US government has a <a href="https://fatherhood.gov/for-dads/dad-jokes">strategic reserve of dad jokes</a>.</p><p>160</p><p>Lisa is not having any more than one (1) page of your self-pity, maximum. How I love her.</p><p>And there's an idea. A lightbulb moment, if you will. It's so easy to get blown away by that one glorious moment when everything changes, that one spark of light where before there was only darkness. It's so beautiful. </p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-161/">161</a></p><p>But ideas are easy. Now begins the work.</p><p>162, 163</p><p>Okay, a little burst fevered rush of actually getting the idea out first.</p><p>164</p><p>They tell you making something is 1% having ideas and 99% having discipline to follow through and do the work, but having connections is also a a huge part of it. . .</p><p>165</p><p>Yeah, Valkyrie is not a revolutionary idea. You could even say it's mundane. Just a reasonable, measured step up from women's shelters, using biodynamic powers since they are available. The real strength is just the scope of the organization, that's possible just because Alison is the most famous person in the world; only indirectly leveraging her anomaly. A brilliant first step towards making a difference.</p><p>166</p><p>"Ideas are cheap," where have I heard that before? Okay it's a pretty common sentiment, I swear I didn't take that from the comic to put it in my own mouth five pages before. For once.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-167/">167</a></p><p>I've had a pretty long painting of dogs playing poker myself, writing this post. Maybe I'm not saying anything valuable. Certainly I'm not reaching a lot of people. But I'm having fun. On with chapter 6!</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-25291640733896736972023-12-25T13:34:00.005+01:002023-12-30T15:32:03.560+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 6<p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist.html">Link to the first post in this series </a><br /></p><p>Going into chapter 5, we gotta know it's the longest one. Probably going to split my reread of it into three posts, at least two. But anyway, let's get the formalities out of the way.</p><p>Strong Female Protagonist, a deceptively named, sadly unfinished (as of December 2023) webcomic by Molly Ostertag and Brennan Lee Mulligan. Here we are rereading it, trying to decipher it and discuss it but basically just fangirling out over it. Unless otherwise noted, the links contained in this post are related to it, freely available as it is on <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/">SFP </a>dot com.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/chapter-5-cover/">Chapter 5 cover</a></p><p>Okay there's Ali running and the shadow of Mary "Moonshadow" Kim floating upside down. Not sure if this is a metaphor or a symbol or anything, but I guess riffing on the poster for <i>Catch Me if You Can </i>is in theme with Mary's cat and mouse game.</p><p>Page 1</p><p>It was not, in fact, too late to turn back. There's several levels of people pretending they don't have a choice going on in this chapter.</p><p>2</p><p>Like right now, Kaylee is obviously not into this. I doubt she's just going around crying all the time; I think she's sad because she more or less knows she's about to get her rapists killed, and (like any healthy person) she doesn't like doing murder, so she's letting herself believe her dad is forcing her to go through with it.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/newspaper/">News update</a></p><p> Well, this describes Ali's unmasking scene we have already seen in great detail. I think the only thing to say about this page is that the paper shows a remarkable clarity and even-handedness. Pretty neat for what was apparently a last minute filler update.<br /></p><p>Page 3</p><p>See, Mary has apparently been goading Kaylee and her folks for some time towards the revenge she, Mary, wants to take. Mary wants Kaylee to feel like she's the one choosing for her rapists to die, even if Mary is pressuring her so hard that it's basically impossible for her to say anything else. I don't think that's as empowering for Kaylee as Mary wants it to be; I think it's more about Mary letting herself feel like she has no agency in the murders she does. Feel like she has gone too far to turn back.</p><p>4</p><p>My cousin and best friend is a huge Harry Potter fan. Got tattoos and merchandise and everything. Mainly to do with a period of her childhood in the 1980s when her dad kept her in a closet under the stairs. She's also the one to whom I first came out as trans, and the one who's been the most unfailingly supportive. This could seem like a contradiction to some people, but lemme tell you the secret. It's not about "separating the art from the artist" or going around pretending Jeanne Rowling is not a dangerous, hateful person. It's about not treating the act of consuming as a moral choice. Neither eating good food nor reading good books makes you a good person. Conflating the things you enjoy with your personal character might be the purest, most mistaken expression there is of consumer culture.</p><p>So, let's not judge Dan for reading Harry Potter or Ali for gifting him the books.</p><p>(´But we can judge Violet for running Alison's printer dry and not refilling it or even saying anything about it until after Alison's print out fails. We can judge the Hell out of her.)</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-5-5/">5</a></p><p>We can infer third tier and higher biodynamics have skills that are defined by federal law as "supernatural." That's got to be hilarious.</p><p>The girl with the burn scar over half her face may tell us something that's easy to overlook: That this country recently went through about four years of civil war, with new and unpredictable kinds of weapons.</p><p>6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11<br /></p><p>Look at that fancy contrast of words and pictures. I feel Alison has more poetry than substance in her argument about people's lives arbitrarily forced into given directions by unique gifts being bestowed upon them. But it's effective on several levels: obviously she has to be thinking about this all the time, it manages to sound like something thrown together to meet a minimum word count at 4 in the morning, and (it hardly needs pointing out) the focus on invisibility makes it a whole theme with Mary simultaneously stabbing these dudes.</p><p>Me, I'm a writer, I could only ever have been a writer, everything that's happened in my life since before I could speak has led to that, my choices are limited to either writing or doing nothing, and doing nothing only makes me unhappy. So I can get having your life decisions made by forces beyond your control, and trying to redefine the basic terms of existence to free yourself from those restrictions. We SHOULD shift the focus of society to meeting our needs rather than exploiting our abilities! It would be possible with some sort of. . .collective action.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-12-4/">12</a></p><p>Funny page, but if you consider Patrick is unable to ever completely tune out Alison's thoughts and is bound to take extra notice when she's thinking his name, it gets even funnier.</p><p>13</p><p>This is such a silly thing to call a controversy, you'd think making the reader listen to a TV debate is just a waste of time, but wait. Look at what they're actually saying. This is just exposition. So elegant.</p><p>14</p><p>Speaking of elegance, but with 100% more irony. . .</p><p>15</p><p>Oh look, it's Violet putting words in her friend's mouth, it must be a day of the week. "I told some people you don't know that you'd clear your usually extremely busy celebrity/student/firefighter/family crisis schedule and come and party with them tonight" is kind of messed up if you ask me and then her follow up to that isn't even "are you going to make it?" but "can you do a cool superhero entrance?" </p><p>Save us, kind madam Paladin!</p><p>16</p><p>Wow Violet is so pissed at not getting a full monopoly on Alison's time. I'm enjoying her misfortune maybe a little too much.</p><p>"Coming out of the phone booth" is honestly hilarious however. #JustSuperheroThings</p><p>17</p><p>Getting blindsided by an amputee joke and being extremely flustered is not a biodynamic anomaly Alison, I think that's the same for everyone including probably amputees. Violet saying something we can relate to, now that's shocking.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-18-5/">18</a></p><p>We can't say Alison isn't a good sport, at least.</p><p>Okay we know Violet is a bad friend and a bad person, but she really isn't "all" bad. A friend who pushes you into going to parties is good for someone shy and introverted. Here she's even moderately supportive.</p><p>19</p><p>Clevin is a good egg, but I can't help but wonder how that conversation would go if Alison had saved his least favorite cousins instead.</p><p>Some of my favorite movies are Swedish! Not as many as you'd think seeing as it's my first language. I'm not enough a film nerd to actually <i>like </i>Ingmar's stuff, but I'll watch <i>The Seventh Seal</i> for the arts which I'm guessing was where Clevin was going with that.<br /></p><p>20</p><p>Hello Miles, aka Dead Meat</p><p>21</p><p>"To 'chill' means to pretend bad things aren't happening around you" is easily in the top five most useful real things this comic has taught me.</p><p>And yes, going "Dude if I was trying to kill you you'd know all about it" would probably not have made anything better for anyone here.</p><p>22</p><p>Of the several strong lines served here, my favorite is "oh, you can see her now?" Alison's <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-9-2/">power of zingers</a> has evolved from wisecracks to deadly whip-cracks.</p><p>23</p><p>It's our right as adult humans to drink ourselves unconscious in public without fear of creepo violators, or, okay, um, maybe not the particular hill I'd choose to die on. No but for real, it's good the comic doesn't present Daphne as a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victim_blaming">perfect victim</a>. Doing everything right, knowing your limits, not making poor decisions are not supposed to be prerequisites for not getting molested.</p><p>Now I want to finish watching <i>I May Destroy You</i>. but it's so fucking hard to watch I don't know if I can.<br /></p><p>24</p><p>There's not much I can say that isn't already taken care of by the comic and the comments, but: I hope Alison is making sure to get enough sleep! Sleep deprivation has basically the same effects as inebriation you know.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-25-4/">25</a>, 26<br /></p><p>Hot cornbread AND cold lemonade and he still has the nerve to yell? This guy beats his wife and probably beat his kids or worse, but he's also an asshole.</p><p>And now a dead asshole.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-26-3/">27</a></p><p>Our first look at the big splashy superhero headquarters comes just when the team is completely finished falling apart. Seems symbolic.</p><p>If I can only figure out if those blue patches on the ground are solid or water or what. Maybe mini submarine access?</p><p>28, 29, 30<br /></p><p>I like Brad because he doesn't seem to care about being liked. He'll just say whatever is on his mind that he thinks Alison should know, he's kind and critical and petty and fair all at once, not bothering to sugarcoat anything <i>or </i>show any firm displeasure. I don't think I'm explaining my thought here very well. It's a willingness to let things be nuanced and complicated, as his feelings towards Alison probably are. It makes his attitude tricky to read, I'd struggle to figure out what kind of reaction he's expecting his words to have.</p><p>So that seems bold.</p><p>31, 32<br /></p><p>Some unusually dense storytelling here, but it's good to have this backstory sorted.</p><p>33</p><p>CLOSURE! Which is kind of funny how valid it feels to have things decently resolved between these two characters, half of whom we have only been getting to know for six pages.</p><p>Who can say where the road goes, okay, it goes to the dynamorph conference, but they don't know that yet.</p><p>34</p><p>I think half of the science fiction technology in this comic goes towards enabling Hector to talk to other people when he's being tiny. But no devices can overcome the lethargy of major sads.</p><p>35</p><p>"This is the size I feel like being right now" is such a superhero-but-in-a-realistic-world thing to say. Who needs four Ant Man movies when this comic page is a thing that exists?</p><p>36</p><p>If we're going by their own words, Hector has saved the world <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-74/">at least one time</a> more than Alison has, which means he's the better superhero.</p><p>This is probably one of those times when I go so deadpan nobody can tell I'm joking. But for real, Hector is badass.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-37-4/">37</a></p><p>See, Alison agrees with me.</p><p>And "There is no such thing as a good idea forever" is <i>the </i>most important lesson of the comic in my opinion. They're dropping hard and fast today.</p><p>38</p><p>The immediate, visceral response is so painful to see. Ali must <i>always </i>be thinking about Tara. If her insides were not invincible the guilt would eat her up, and that's not a metaphor.</p><p>39</p><p>I like that they aren't just hugging it out like every other conflict resolution we have seen. That was so bad Ali doesn't just forgive him for saying sorry, not immediately. Actually, making all that effort to hand her a tissue as big as he is might've made me believe he really feels bad, that's a solid act of contrition.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-5/page-40-4/">40</a></p><p>I can't blame Hector for being daunted by the prospect of doing hard science, but if I were in Ali's I also would be going "I'm leaving" at that point.</p><p>41</p><p>They'll reconcile later so it's not that sad, but this page goes so deep into melodrama it's more funny than sad anyway.</p><p>Also, this is where the comments on the comic become unmanageable. I'm probably going to slow my reread down to a crawl to read all the comments and it'll be a big waste of time 99 out of 100 times. We'll see how that shakes out in coming posts.<br /></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_24.html">Link to previous post</a></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_30.html">Link to next post </a><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-28283997061715710812023-12-24T12:56:00.006+01:002023-12-25T13:35:54.433+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 5<p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_21.html"> Link to previous post</a></p><p>Piece by piece, we're getting there. First today, in between Chapter 3 and 4 we find a week's worth of guest comics:</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/guest-art/tuesday/">Page by Hazel Newlevant</a></p><p>Cute comic with a cute nurse and Tara being cute. Err that's all I've got.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/guest-art/wednesday/">Cartoon by Simone Rein</a></p><p>At a certain point, organizing the pile of stuff so she can carry it on her shoulder has to become so difficult it'll be quicker to take several trips. But maybe Alison is just showing off a little. Love how the girl in the foreground is offended, like she thinks this shouldn't be allowed.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/guest-art/friday/">Pinup by Suzi Glass</a></p><p>"Uh, Feral, maybe you should take it easy with the cool poses until we get the sword out of your brain. You're gonna fall over and get blood everywhere."</p><p>"Whaa 'm not doooin' no pooses. Heey yerrreeeally tall t'daayy."</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/cover-3/">Chapter 4 cover</a></p><p>Neat montage of Alison through the ages. I wonder if it's significant that Buster is fixed in adult form, like it's how she'll remember him, or it's more symbolic of him being a fixture of her early life?</p><p>Page 1</p><p>A training montage for your brain! Flex those folds. Learn many!</p><p>Page 2</p><p>I was today years old when I figured out this mysterious sage wizard with the impressive beard is Fire Chief John, not wearing his work clothes. Such a multitalented man.</p><p>I think he's completely right that an educated population is the most fundamental component of a healthy growing society. Think how things changed with public schools; how desperate conservatives are to make <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/schools-families-feel-the-pinch-after-end-of-federal-free-meal-program">education worse for the poor</a>; how the quality of life around the world continues to improve as the amount of literate people go up.</p><p>To quote Neil Gaiman, "everything changes when we read."</p><p>Now I'm feeling probably a bit too smug about the fact I'm writing a series of blog posts about this comic instead of Tiktoking or podcasting like the Internet tells you. Let's talk about this phone call instead.</p><p>I've gotten that call. Mom going "Can you come home right now?" That was an unhappy hour and a half of bus rides I can tell you. Must be much nicer to be able to leap across the city in a couple of steps<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-3-4/">3</a></p><p>Then again, you get a bunch of downtime when you're up in the air. Nothing to do but watch where you're landing and think about what news could be so bad they can't tell you on the phone. Unless you have good cell phone coverage and unlimited texting, obviously.</p><p>4</p><p>Ah, our first hint at the reason there are superheroes. And puppies!</p><p>5, 6<br /></p><p>I've heard some people reason that having a dog will let you kind of practice for having a child, which makes caring for a dog and a child at the same time actually easier than just caring for the child. I'm not sure if those people ever tried having a child, but they certainly didn't have one before making up that theory.</p><p>The Greens are far from reckless, though. They actually seem to deliberately plan their family around teaching the kids to be responsible, dependable compassionate human beings. A dog is probably better than a cat for this purpose since they're more high maintenance. And then they go and get Alison a little sister too. Not afraid to make things hard for themselves.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-7-3/">7</a>, 8<br /></p><p>Okay there's crucial moments of personal values development afoot and all but have you considered how happy Buster looks? Alison can't be that grumpy if the dog thinks she's just playing.</p><p>Actually I think she's angry because finding out about babies upsets her sense of justice. Why, here's a person who's so small and powerless, so easy to break, unable to move or speak, crying out in unbearable pain and fear at the merest discomfort or even loud voices. And there's no way to help them with any of that, all the king's horses and all the king's men can only, at best, keep them safe and fed while they wait to grow up. How could you look at that and not think it's unfair?</p><p>A little perspective (everyone is babies at first) is all it takes to make her feel better, even if Dad is not addressing the exact problem that, if my theory is right, Alison would have trouble explaining. Something to be said for addressing general principles, if your kid is receptive, unless you're totally sure about what they're thinking and feeling.</p><p>9</p><p>Good parenting, good big sistering, now we have got everything.</p><p>10, 11, 12<br /></p><p>The injustice, it burns. Must. . .help. . .somehow.</p><p>This scene is practically a morality play, it's so simple and pure. But it doesn't have to be more complicated than that. Alison can just want to save people because she believes the world should be fair. Because she was raised right.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-13-4/">13</a></p><p>Another flashback, another lesson. It's getting predictable I think, but then, it's hard to complain about getting more backstory at this point.</p><p>14, 15</p><p>My parents never said I had to be more normal, but they never said I was allowed to be weird either. They didn't say a whole lot of things directly. I think they preferred to imply things and never realized I could only guess what it was they wanted to imply. I would have loved to be told normality is a fake idea.</p><p>But at least now I have this comic with the soup ladle gag to remember every time I have tea at grandmother's who has this sugar bowl with a comically tiny, possibly made for scooping saffron or heroin spoon.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-16-3/">16</a></p><p>Okay I guess allowing yourself to be a weird teen is a whole other thing than allowing your parents to be weird in public.</p><p>17</p><p>I read <i>It</i> when I was close to the same age as the characters, which made it very relatable to me. Maybe Tolkien is best enjoyed as a young fortysomething Hobbit, aka teen human, and Alison is just a little ahead of the curve. The text can be dry and unconventional but it's not exactly using advanced language or complicated symbolism. It's not like the book is filled with the most horrifying child-eating nightmares and weird sex and graphically tortured flesh that'd make it hard to read either. MAYBE JUST TAKE HER WORD FOR IT WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE oh no I'm channeling the writer.</p><p>Aside about <i>It </i>that I figured out the other week (I'm rereading that too at the moment, if you don't mind.) It attacks Beverly (aka the one girl of the group) in her home, in that famous scene that plays so well in the movie adaptations with the blood shooting out of the bathroom sink. (There's a line about how she can smell the blood cooking on the incandescent light bulb while her dad touches it and smears it and doesn't know it's there that really makes the whole thing.) Most of the child characters aren't really safe at home, with parents who ignore them or talk down to them try to medicate them to death, but Bev is the only one who doesn't <i>feel </i>safe at home, and that seems to make her vulnerable there.<br /></p><p>18</p><p> I was the only person I knew who played Neopets, which didn't give Neopets a whole lot of lasting appeal. First get friends, then decide on group activities that may include computer games, I understand that's how it should work.</p><p>Sorry guy, if you had not taken this rare social contact as an opportunity to be condescending things might have been different - I don't think Alison is that married to fitting in at the cool table.</p><p>Did you know that in the United States, children are statistically four times more likely to die from having a swimming pool at home than a gun? That's not to say guns aren't dangerous and you shouldn't have them, but clearly that's why pool = cool: The danger.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-19-4/">19</a>, 20<br /></p><p>Things are comin to an edge at the ballgame.</p><p>In a way, Conspiracy Chris and Mommy Green (oh her name is Susan) are both right - there are malicious actors at work (biodynamics going nuts with their newfound powers) <i>and </i>it's caused by the weather (which was how they got those powers). With so many wildly different impossible things going on at the same time, maybe it's weird to decide they are connected by a single cause anyway. It does sound ridiculous that terrorists would teleport a random person to a random location, and it doesn't sound a lot less ridiculous that a force of nature would slice up a series of police cars.</p><p>In conclusion all the adults are too busy advocating their politics to really think about what they're seeing. I bet the centrists think it's somehow evidence more public services need to be privatized.</p><p>21</p><p>I think Buster actually is biodynamic with some sort of empathic sense of his humans' conscience. A regular dog might, if he noticed Alison acts aggressive towards Katie, take <i>Alison</i>'s side, start growling or whatever threatening posture he has been taught is permitted, but Buster seems confused or disappointed. It's almost too cute.</p><p>22</p><p>Some very last minute foreshadowing. . .</p><p>23</p><p>She may be young, but Alison's still showing real strength of character with how easily she accepts new knowledge, owns her mistakes and changes her priorities. What does it profit a girl to win the big game if she makes an innocent person feel bad about herself, I think the Bible says.</p><p>24</p><p>An attempt was made, at least.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-25-3/">25</a></p><p>And then everything changes.</p><p>It's a little funny how this looks majestic and magical with the extended page to show the scale of what's happening and all, and in the story nobody even realizes what's happening for several weeks. Presumably nobody at the game even puts it together until maybe after Alison takes off the mask, if they remember her at that point.</p><p>26</p><p>Hmm maybe moving quickly between phone towers and/or wifi stations drains the battery?</p><p>27, 28, 29<br /></p><p>What a pleasant fantasy, to have heads of state with enough credibility that when they address the public to explain with authority some unprecedented and confusing world event, you can believe them.</p><p>But seriously, recognizing and treating the emergence of these biodynamic indivisuals as a "health and humanitarian crisis" and making such reasonable measured statements as assuring the victims of their civil rights and legal accountability is very good. It's the kind and thoughtful sort of twist that makes this comic stand out, that gives it the feeling of authors who have thought about literally everything they could to make a believable story about superheroes saving the world.</p><p>Enter: Menace!<br /></p><p>30</p><p>Extremely self-satisfied, pretty much acting like a parody of the teenager who thinks he's figured everything out and is above it all, but a speech from a fourteen year old boy hacking into a national TV broadcast to announce he's taking over the world could have gone a <i>lot </i>worse.</p><p>I guess he is just outlining his plans in a bare minimum of words that he thinks will be helpful for people to understand what's going to happen, with some assurances of his nonviolent intentions, vague hints at mind reading powers, and trying to discourage anyone from acting like a comic book superhero. (He knows what Hector must be thinking, you realize.) Knowing nobody is going to care or believe it until they see it, but also knowing there's no speeches that he could have made to be more believable, what else should he say?</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-31-3/">31</a></p><p>Getting super strength must be fun. I imagine it would be just pushing against the expectations you have on your body, learned from experience, figuring out how to exert more force, finding out bit by bit you can keep pushing and you don't seem to <i>stop </i>exerting more force, until the stone crumbles and you start thinking how ridiculously, impossibly hard you were pushing at the end.</p><p>Unless it's more like the force you usually use to punch keys on a keyboard is now enough to slap someone's eyes out of the back of their skull, but that seems like it would cause a lot of collateral damage before you figure out how to move more softly.</p><p>32</p><p>Alison playing with boulders like the stone giants in <i>The Hobbit</i>.</p><p>33</p><p>Think about how birds can fly - they're light enough in proportion to their muscle strength and they have wings for leverage - and you realize if you have super strength all you need to fly is a big enough wingspan. (If you have super strength and <i>speed </i>all you need is to kick the air down with the soles of your feet, but then that's not a power set anyone in this world has as far as we see.)</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-34-3/">34</a></p><p>I'd like to take a moment out of this thrilling superhero origin story/political/psychological/philosophical drama to talk about the Ship of Theseus.</p><p>I'm not going to but that's a good line, right? Of course there's an answer to every identity crisis in theoretical physics, "you only imagine that you are you in the first place", etc, the delusion of perceiving physical objects as whole distinct things, etc, the wonder of knowing yourself as the universe's awareness of itself that only thinks it's separate from the rest and limited in existence because it experiences consciousness and so on.</p><p>But that doesn't help here. Hugs are better.</p><p>(And the last panel seems made to give us space to think Alison is twenty tears old and Buster has to be dead now.)</p><p>35, 36<br /></p><p>I wonder if these nice cozy child soldier training/experimental medicine camps would have happened if Menace didn't give them an excuse to declare martial law?</p><p>In further conspiracism, remember <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-1/page-18/">these </a>folders? The dates confuse me. There's two 1990 dates that would place these kids in utero during the big mystery thunderstorm if it's the date of <i>conception</i>. And one 1992 that that would suggest at least some biodynamics actually continued to be conceived and born long after the storm and nobody except the Conspiracy ever noticed. Could be a minor confusion in the editing stage, but if it isn't. . .</p><p>37</p><p>This speech seems a bit extemporaneous, by which I mean the guy got carried away as soon as he mentioned Menace. You kids are <i>not </i>involved in this military conflict but here's the latest details about the military conflict just in case you're curious and God bless America.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-38-3/">38</a></p><p>Perhaps we just needed a segue to lead into the topic of superheroes and villains. . .</p><p>39, 40<br /></p><p>The story of <i>All-Star Superman</i> being in the comic seems even more serendipitous than the <i>Alice in Wonderland</i> bit before. I mean, maybe I should explain for those who may not know, but it's hard to easily describe how much <i>All-Star Superman</i> is <i>the </i>definitive superhero comic out of the major publishers in the whole century-plus long history of this artistic medium. I should make a "great comics" post about it sometime.<br /></p><p>And I wonder if the "child soldiers" routine is maybe unfair cause Hector just made his super team happen against the adult's wishes and without permission and they were too successful to be restrained and the military was forced to commit after the fact and train them and stuff.</p><p>41</p><p>I'm now thinking of a nice post I read that presented the idea of pets looking at humans like Middle Earth mortals look at elves. From a dog's perspective, we live for many generations, we build wonders for them to live protected from cold and predators, we produce an abundance of food with magical health-giving properties for them, and while we can be slow to act and careless of their little problems, it is to be hoped that we can utilize all of our unfathomable wisdom and patience to care for them and teach them skills for the betterment of the world.</p><p>Hashtag Just Dog Thoughts, not thinking about Buster's grave or nothing. I like cats better anyway, shut up, you're crying.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-42-3/">42</a>, 43<br /></p><p>Oh right, then the bad news.</p><p>44</p><p>There probably IS no news a father would rather hear than "your daughter is bulletproof." Heartwarming stuff.</p><p>45</p><p>And directly to the heart-clenching panic of watching your mom cry. I think the only time I ever saw any of my family members cry was when my mom nearly severed her ear on the metal door of the cupboard over the refrigerator, which, she was bleeding and scared and angry but the real terror for me, the part that made me try to look away, was how ashamed she was for crying. Me, I haven't been able to cry in front of another person since I was about ten and ran headfirst into a concrete pillar during a basement table tennis game.<br /></p><p>46</p><p>Yeess hug it out. And talk it out. I think the only word for what's happening here is awesome. Alison at this moment grows up to be a person who's able to comfort her mother at this moment of distress and offer a perspective which reassures her with simple and honest terms. And immediately, without pause, the parenting continues. "When we are gone I want you kids to still have each other" might be the most perfect, compassionate, irresistible command to drop on your family in the face of it potentially tearing apart over the death of one of its members.</p><p>47</p><p>I think the operative words here are "it hasn't really hit me yet."</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-48-3/">48</a></p><p>So mature!</p><p>49</p><p>As we are already talking about <i>All-Star Superman</i> (I don't know how to abbreviate that title), it has a great line where Clark Kent tells Lex Luthor why Superman does not, as Lex assumes, make Clark (and every mortal human being in contrast to Superman) feel like his life does not matter: "Our jobs don't really overlap much." </p><p>In the good old days of the Final Fantasy Worlds Apart forums (I miss forums) I knew a guy who the mods named Smarty McBarrelpants who thought that Superman was a basically evil character, without redeeming features, whose very existence made a mockery of democracy. The theory being that we all cannot be equals if there is someone who can do things nobody else can possibly do. I think that's absolutely wrong.</p><p>Because <i>everyone</i> lives on different terms, and have to live their own life on their own terms in order to stay alive, and if they don't do that, then they die. It's not a contest. While there is a great good use for human society in giving everyone the best opportunities we can give them for them to be who they want, go where they want and do what they want, we do still live in the world where some people are born owning a billion dollars and some are born without arms or legs. It's not a great leap from there to imagining a world where some are born with the strength to take people who piss them off and kick their ass so hard they have to go to the moon to take a shit. The challenge is still just to find things you have in common with the other individual (as we have discussed here) and building a community with them. (She said, writing a blog post on Christmas Eve for nobody to read.)</p><p>The biodynamics, even Alison, are not a different type of human being. That they can run faster and jump higher is only a difference of degree, not of kind. That some of them have made some headlines in the past four years doesn't make them as a group any different from, say, Tom Hanks. These are things Jennifer Green probably have not considered.</p><p>50</p><p>Or, in other words, nobody is special.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-4/page-51-2/">51</a> <br /></p><p>No single person can do that much more than any other person, when you take just a little bit of a wider perspective. Shit, if you look at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQobd6o3ujU">pale blue dot,</a> do you think even Superman himself has made any real difference in the world? This is getting close to getting ahead of the actual ultimate point of the comic, but we only have to look at the things happening on the page, we don't have to cry over things that have not yet happened.</p><p>"I can't save dad." God<i>damn</i>. <br /></p><p>52</p><p>In which Jen learns that indeed she is special. Just like all of us. There's a speech to be made here deconstructing Tyler Durden's philosophies but I'm pretty sure it's been made many times already. Moving on to chapter 5.<br /></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_25.html">Next post</a><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-84408573117445714522023-12-21T09:47:00.002+01:002023-12-24T12:59:03.936+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 4<p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_18.html">Previous post here</a> </p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist.html">Mission statement here </a></p><p>Copyright notice: It probably hardly needs pointing out the webcomic <i>Strong Female Protagonist</i> discussed and linked here is owned by the authors Molly Ostertag and Brendan Lee Mulligan.<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-42-2/">Chapter 3, page 42</a><br /></p><p>Well well well. I've taken a break from rereading for a full day because I didn't know what I should say about this exchange. In my limbo, I have been reading the comic <i>Powers</i>, playing <i>Clicker Heroes</i>, watching some potent streams of <i>A Highland Song</i>, thinking about catching up on the <i>X-Files</i> i left behind three decades ago, and watching the reality TV reinvention show <i>Strip Search</i>, but this reread and the multiple browser tabs I keep open for it never left my mind.<br /></p><p>Ironically the trouble is me having the same white girl problem as Alison does here: Thinking that I need to have an opinion.</p><p>And more than that, she thinks she needs to be the one to solve the problem of Tara's elective perpetual surgical torture. Before, she was in pain because of sympathy for the terrible thing her friend is poised to endure. I'm sure she still is. But here is also the pain of cognitive dissonance because she feels the need to save Tara and can't accept that Tara is allowed to make this decision to be in pain in order to help a lot of people all by herself.</p><p>Is it a good or a bad decision? Maybe it's worth it to Tara, or maybe once she's in surgery she will feel forced to keep it up even though she wants to pull the brakes just because it's better than admitting she was wrong and it was a bad idea. The thing I'm realizing is, because I'm not in a position to decide if I want to have my organs painfully harvested while I'm still alive to help other people stay alive and healthy and I never will be, I'm not entitled to have an opinion about Tara's choice in the matter.</p><p>That's not an argument about abortion rights <i>on purpose</i>, it just happened that way.</p><p>Oh and Patrick was there too. (Tee hee.)</p><p>43</p><p>In which Patrick arrives at the diagnosis of Ms Green that the rest of us already have.</p><p>44</p><p>Going by these last pages alone, a lot of this chapter may be just me catching up to the comic saying things I have already talked about and/or have made notes about needing to talk about later. But at any rate, I do think we as a society don't give enough credit to the things that <i>SFP </i>does, including this scene of the hero and the villain sitting in a hotel room eating icecream and discussing how to save a life.<br /></p><p>45</p><p>The most relatable villain origin.</p><p>46, 47</p><p>Just a grown man experiencing cartoon comedy for the first time</p><p>There's a theory Patrick's verbosity is a way to deal with his problem of keeping track of his own body that I like. He sometimes comes across as Explaining Things Without Provocation Man but if we take it how much he talks is more about how agitated he is than how relevant he thinks the things he's saying are it's rather understandable.</p><p>Also, it's cool to be demonstrative about liking the things you like.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-48-2/">48</a>, 49<br /></p><p>It only becomes real when you become aware of it happening, eh.</p><p>50</p><p>Of course the vending machine is a victim of misdirected aggression and all that serious stuff, but this is still hilarious.</p><p>51</p><p>Not sure if this page does anything but build tension and show how annoying Patrick can be under time pressure.</p><p>52, 53<br /></p><p>I think it's never explained why "NEF" is a slur. These bigots remind me a lot of trans exclusionists who get so wrapped up in their cult-like jargon they fail to realize normal people don't know that they think they're insulting you by using the word "TRA", or that they attach a bunch of implications about the horrors of runaway decency to the word "pronouns".</p><p>And yes these people make no sense. Tara killed this guy Wyatt, alright, so she should. . .not donate organs because. . .Wyatt might have donated his? And that's about the <i>most </i>reasonable of these protests. Conservatives could save us all so much energy if they cut out all the bad faith bullshit arguments and just said "the people I like can never be wrong and the people I don't like can never be right." Cause, you know, it doesn't matter to these people what Tara has done or what she will do, how good or bad it is, the only thing that matters is she's one of the lessers, the out-group, the Other. Biodynamic AND gay AND a violent criminal? Irredemable.<br /></p><p>54<br /></p><p>The "Former Mrs Girl" line really helps when everything's so bleak and tense and fraught. Good joke, Johnny. Oh you were serious? I'm sorry.</p><p>Does Alison ever lie except to keep Patrick's secrets? Yeah, yeah, it's easy to have principles when you're invincible and all, but it's fun that she has this one thing that matters more than truth. The Great Conspiracy which, remember, she really only has <i>his word</i> that it exists. It's maybe easy to see he's earnest about it and he probably isn't deluding himself (we know that he isn't, but the point is Alison doesn't), but she's based the direction of her life on the word of one person and that seems a bit much.</p><p>Of course she also wants to get in his pants.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-55-2/">55</a></p><p>Johnny clearly hasn't read <i>What We Owe to Each Other</i>. He's practically <i>evangelical </i>about selfishness and I'm glad he's going away.</p><p>Meanwhile Tara presents a stupid person's idea of a smart person in such an ingenious way I have to respect it. If you like to present yourself as a smarty, you're trapped - you can't argue that being smart is more than just being all talk because then you're <i>talking</i>. Do something nice for someone who isn't yourself and then maybe you've got a point.</p><p>It's probably unfair to insult Alison's intelligence as she does, but she's clearly entirely done with debates.</p><p>56</p><p>Hmm maybe Johnny is good to have around just now cause it means Alison isn't the most annoying person even when she continues to have forceful opinions at Tara after Tara explicitly says she doesn't want to hear them.</p><p>I'm making Alison sound like a monster for disagreeing, but she's not that bad. Just caring about her friend without reason or measure. It would probably be a sweet memory to hold on to for the torture, friends showing up to try and talk you out of it.</p><p>And of all the impossible things going on in this story, the one I have the most trouble believing is Tara's hometown Hot Coffee.</p><p>57</p><p>She slapped the shades off his face with her words, and it's almost pure comedy. Go home Johnny nobody likes you.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-58/">58</a></p><p>Aah, feelings! I knew it was coming, I've read this scene and gone over it in my head so many times, and it's buried under silly jokes and frustrating arguments where everyone has the best intentions and it's hidden in a single low key panel at the tail end of the page and it still hits like a twist of the knife.</p><p>59</p><p>Yaay, they made up. (Now if we could get in a little kissing too.) (Haha just kidding we know Alison is straighter than the ground of Nebraska) (unless ...?)</p><p>60, 61<br /></p><p>And back to the murder plot. Yes we're ignoring you Johnny.</p><p>62</p><p>I feel like you're just baiting me now .(She said to a fictional character written years before.)</p><p>Okay fine, where's he getting this idea that Alison failing to change Tara's mind makes Tara's decision Alison's fault? It's so nonsensical I could believe he's just a hallucination giving voice to her feeling of guilt.</p><p>Also, nice reality check for Mr Why Do People Ever Do Things For Each Other. I hope he's a little freaked out.</p><p>63</p><p>Speaking of people not making sense, <i>maybe </i>they thought Tara could be killed with the flamethrower, but I doubt it. Guy murders a whole team of chromosomically stable doctors and slows down their plans to save a shitload of chromosomically stable sick people just to make a point about how much he hates biodynamics. Sure he's decided all those people he's making suffer are immoral just because of their association with the enemy but the math is so absurdly faulty. At a certain point he'd have to take a look at who's helping the people he professes to care about and who's harming them and have a "Are we the baddies?" moment.</p><p>64</p><p>In my headcanon, that punch was never going to hit. Just a gesture to get Johnny to teleport away. Of course the body count of the day isn't finished yet. . .</p><p>65</p><p>Alas, killing the shit out of murdering bigots is often going to take precedence over giving them time for self-reflection and growth.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-66/">66</a></p><p>Trying to have a useful exchange with an angry mob was probably a bad idea under any circumstance but this mob is just ridiculous. They're so sure she's not going to kill more of them, they feel safe to keep yelling slurs at her? Or did they all show up here for reals ready to be martyrs?</p><p>67</p><p>Well, there's a more reasonable reaction to finding out you pissed off Superman, just a bit slow.</p><p>Also, chuckles at Patrick's giant sign. Did he put that together in what, three seconds? </p><p>68, 69<br /></p><p>Wild that everyone re so ready to try and restrain Alison when she noticeably loses her temper for probably the first time ever. Maybe they're always low key afraid of how she might hurt people. (Note however no one's scared to be alone with her, just scared for other, third party people. Whatever that means.)</p><p>70</p><p>This whole prison, with the meters-thick walls and guards armed with tanks and anti-aircraft guns, is possibly built just for Daniel. Very <i>Kung Fu Panda</i>, especially with the restraints stopping him from moving one <strike>hair</strike> blade and the complete lack of anything for him to do or see - except it's <i>not </i>presented like we're supposed to predict how he's going to escape.</p><p>71</p><p>Building bridges, not complicated work, but it's difficult, it takes effort.</p><p>72</p><p>So mean to make a guy cry when he doesn't even have hands to hide the tears.</p><p>73</p><p>Actually, the prison DJ could be real. I choose to believe Daniel at least gets music and we just don't hear it cause it's not important to the comic. And the needle skip from the DJ being shocked could be real. Okay fine Alison probably wouldn't be this honest if the DJ could hear her.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-74/">74</a></p><p>Change "probably" to "definitely," damn.</p><p>75</p><p>The density of good words on these pages make me speechless.</p><p>There's more that unites you and me, dear reader, than there is that divides us. Doesn't matter who you are or what you do or where you go, you can always form meaningful connections with people if you want to. We can just look for the things we have in common, and they are there. The comic isn't unique in delivering this message, but it's a good message, one of many the comic has to tell us.<br /></p><p>76</p><p>Aah such good words.</p><p>77</p><p>I mentioned making effort. Like how hard do you think it is for Alison to say even half of these things?</p><p>78</p><p>Maybe it's more the cumulative weight of all these words, but for some reason "they deserve better" was the part that got me.</p><p>I need a cigarette now.<br /></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_18.html">Previous post</a></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_24.html">Next post </a><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-65504068486246116392023-12-18T16:43:00.008+01:002023-12-21T09:48:03.306+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 3<p> It took me three days to get through and commentate <a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_17.html">chapter 2</a>, which is more than twice the length of chapter 1, a trend that will continue throughout the comic. So we'll see how long these posts can get.</p><p>This post contains (linked) references to <i>Strong Female Protagonist</i> by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag, pages of Ultimate Spider-Man by Brian Bendis and Mark Bagley, copyright, etc..<br /></p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/cover/">Chapter 3, cover</a></p><p>Tara Lynn, aka Feral, aka my favorite! I think this counts as a pretty subtle little twist. We get taken in by the claws and the cat eyes and wondering who this is and why Alison seems to be dressed like her nurse and it's easy to overlook the part that's the most revealing of Tara's character: She's smoking in a hospital bed.</p><p>P1</p><p>This is the stuff I love. Get a cut in your unbreakable skin and there's nothing to do about it but keep it clean and wait for it to scab and scar. Daniel's power being based on cancer is also cool, except for the horrible horrible death I GUESS.</p><p>2</p><p>If you keep getting free grades just for saving the city from devastation you're never going to learn the material, Alison! We have been over this.</p><p>Surprisingly there's not a lot of overlap in the jobs of punching out supervillains and repairing the infrastructure damage caused in the process. I think we've been over that too ,just a few pages ago.</p><p>And imagine if Rosenblum had just dropped it. Not like Alison and Tara are very close friends yet, there's not much reason for them to be involved in each other's business, and if not for Alison insisting they might never have been. And that's terrible.<br /></p><p>3</p><p>They come from such different worlds, how will they ever find common ground? Okay but "Of course I need a gun because otherwise I can't shoot anyone" has to be some willful stupidity, admit it Tara.</p><p>Page Holiday Greetings (?)<br /></p><p>Ha I just realized they have Christmas themed costumes.<br /></p><p>4</p><p>The two toughies fight the supervillain and everyone else does everything else? Seems like a practical division of labor. Though of course Alison has to object to cooperating with <i>crimes</i>. (And the concept of cooperation.) Tara and her band of rogues are really being nice even bothering to stick around with the big city heroes. Maybe a certain amount of lady boners are playing into that decision.<br /></p><p>P5</p><p>Hitting a guy with another guy is such a power move, but can Alison kick a guy so hard that the next guy over breaks his arm? Bruce Lee did that once, in real life.</p><p>6</p><p>Puking up your literal, bullet riddled guts could be a good combat move. (Yes super regeneration is super gross.)</p><p>Yer a loose cannon, Tara. With loose ammunition in you. Dang, the bullets would still be burning hot too.</p><p>7</p><p>Tara probably knows about her anomaly progressing and how it means she gradually gets a little bit better at regenerating all the time. (I figure outlaw biodynamics get medical amnesty in the name of science and most of them do want to keep regular doctor visits to get some ideas about what's going on with them.) So as far as she knows at any time she's in better health than she has ever been before. So when people see her get wounded and ask if she's okay (which has to be all the time) she can be super cute and tell them honestly "Never been better!"</p><p>Yes please let it be her catchphrase.</p><p>8</p><p>Ignomino should have gone into pro wrestling instead of crimes. "You will be punished for your insolence"pfft whatever you say chest club. Although, it seems he can independently move around multiple objects with a lot of precision. Even if it takes his full concentration, that's pretty impressive.</p><p>Whereas Tara doesn't need no motor control or frontal cortex to go "fuck you". It's like fighting the Man is pure muscle reflex to her. <i>Very </i>impressive.</p><p>9</p><p>I mean, here he loses because he can't do anything about a shoe while levitating Alison and a sword. What did you even get all those muscles and fancy words for Ignomino.</p><p>Procedure for assisting a regenerator with foreign objects stuck in their body: To minimize discomfort and hasten recovery, focus on dislodging the object above avoiding adding to their pain and injuries. It doesn't matter if you split her head in half gurl, it'll get better, but it won't get better as long as her brains are trying to grow around a length of metal.</p><p>(Regeneration just gets more and more gross.)</p><p>10</p><p>I like Tara's move of completely unnecessarily putting her foot on the pool table. The surprise kiss, not so much. I mean, I would if it was me, I desperately need people to show and tell me what they want out of me, but clearly she's just seeing whatever signals she wants to see from Alison.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-11-3/">11</a></p><p>The comments on the page here already have done most of my job for me. But I can add, I really like them bonding over how Alison is secretly super uncool.</p><p>12</p><p>Doing a mind reading on the US Senate, cool cool cool.</p><p>13</p><p>How do you have time to read a whole book Alison? I don't have work or school and I'm lucky if I get through 20 pages of webcomic in a day. Yes, this is the one thing in her life I'm jealous of.</p><p>I wonder if Rat and everybody would have been as fiercely loyal to Patrick if it occurred to them he never gave anyone birthday gifts or anything. On reflection, why wouldn't he? Must have been some dystopian, impersonal villain lair meetings.</p><p>How much of this road trip is happening because Alison can't drive herself?</p><p>14</p><p>Maybe he'd like Vocaloid music?</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-15-3/">15</a></p><p>Hypothesis: It doesn't matter if you're the mind reader or the broadcaster, telepathy is more uncomfortable depending on <a href="https://i.imgur.com/7YuRxid.png">who has the most shame</a>.</p><p>16</p><p>That's a pretty juicy secret I think. Well, it would be if Patrick was going to get back to public superpowered fights, where keeping people guessing about what your powers actually do would be a sweet advantage. If he has no plans even slightly in that direction, and I really don't think so, and he's pretty much engineered a situation where Alison can't ever tell people he's even still alive, it seems more like an attempt at sharing something personal. "I had two younger brothers, one died." "Everyone thinks I used mind control to try to take over the world but I can't do that."</p><p>And yeah he is spooky. You never really know if he means what he says or just says whatever will get you to do what he wants you to do. Just like everyone else, but like, you're more aware of it. Might be harder to trust him if you're always thinking about it, and then going in circles cause you know he knows you're thinking about it and that's frustrating for him and unfair if he does want to be honest and now he's thinking about how you're thinking about <i>that </i>and now how could he possibly not want to do or say anything that will make you trust him and. . .</p><p>Actually, that whole grim rant might be designed to paint himself as so cruel and manipulative as to remove all ambiguity, since he knows she'll go through something like the above thought spiral anyway. So he's helping her decide he's completely impossible to trust, just getting that out of the way, which makes him at least <i>honest </i>about being dishonest, so you see, he's not a bad guy, it's just how his power forces him to be, and do you see where this is going? We've just formulated an argument for letting ourselves be manipulated by a guy for whom manipulation is pure instinct.</p><p>Although, <i>with all that in mind</i>, I'd like to just choose to trust him.</p><p>17</p><p>See, look at that happy relieved face. Either everything he is is a deception, or nothing. So you can either decide to trust him or nothing happens. At all.</p><p>18</p><p>Now, did Patrick time that so Heather would interrupt him? That's just the sort of thing I, nope, gotta choose trust.</p><p>19</p><p>I mean, we could pick apart the several levels of deception coming from the well-meaning scared little mama here in her few seconds of apparence: Supporting her child's interest to hide that she herself really wanted to beg Alison to put the cape back on to hide how she presumably knows supervillains had nothing to do with baby daddy's death by sexual misadventure. It's not ideal but I'm saying it's silly to single out Patrick.</p><p>Really more sad for Alison feeling her personal life shrink and constrict under the unimaginable pressure of global fame. Sorry for your loss, unnamed bit character.</p><p>20</p><p>Now Patrick is the relatable one. Well maybe it's just me who gets impatient with conversations where you already know how it's going to go and can't resist being efficient and failing to think about how the other party might be put out when you say things they don't have anywhere to go with.</p><p>The only difference, if I was operating with the same information he has, is I think I'd have said "I don't think you can just be good or bad, it matters what you do. But I'm trying to do good things. I'm, and I always have, tried to make it so no one has to go through the things that I have."</p><p>Which, I think at least <i>he </i>thinks that's his real motivation, replacing the systems that let abusers like his parents and the Grand Conspiracy ruin lives. Probably some amount of bloodthirst involved there too but you can forgive someone not wanting to acknowledge that.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/656/">21</a></p><p>Aah, the ambiguity. Which could it be? We have seen Alison's dreams are nuts and also scary, and we'll see Patrick doesn't like the feelings Alison gives him, so both options seem pretty unlikely.</p><p></p><p>22</p><p>Passive aggression, meet massive aggression. Really the freak (meaning the bigot) could try a <i>little </i>bit to hide how bad she wants to murder biodynamics when she's in the middle of conspiring to murder biodynamics, this is like cartoon villain mentality.</p><p>23</p><p>Oh no it's getting scary.</p><p>And Patric, privacy is troublesome to navigate, really? I think he'd have to go to space far away from any other people to really respect anyone's privacy. At least never talk to anyone. So like, it's sweet that he's trying to find some reasonable compromise.<br /></p><p>24</p><p>Cause it's not like Tara keeps to herself what her keen nose can tell.</p><p>Aww, they're friends. Just not good at keeping in touch I guess.</p><p>25, 26, 27<br /></p><p>Tara's days of feeling better every day are certainly behind her, dang.</p><p>28</p><p>Everyone (well, Daniel and Tara) seem to put so much stock in Alison's word that superheroes are for babies. Maybe it was just that she said something all the biodynamics were thinking just as they were leaving their teens, or she's just that influential.</p><p>29, 30, 31<br /></p><p>Before we knock down Alison for futzing around in school learning nothing for a year that Tara probably didn't learn in her first week on the road, remember Alison is the least incognito person in the world. (And a huge nerd.)</p><p>32</p><p>Why is Tara sick anyway? Some effects of experimental surgery and medication I guess.</p><p>33</p><p>Such reflexes. I'm imagining Alison has fought some super annoying teleporters and that's why Johnny Temple is the only person who gets her to react without thinking. Not especially motivated or dangerous opponents, just annoying.</p><p>34</p><p>He must be into fashion, his jacket pockets are useless!</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-3/page-35-2/">35</a></p><p>It's too bad the movie Jumper was already made before this, they got to do all the really sweet teleporter party tricks. But at least we get the hilarious mental image of Johnny zapping into his own party and stealing someone's drink.</p><p>36</p><p>More than anything else the most genuine and unique artistic expression of American culture is superhero comic books. (Send tweet.) No but Johnny's question doesn't seem like it would be a big mystery; ol' Hector is definitely not the only one of the super kids in America who took <i>All-Star Superman</i> as an instruction manual.</p><p>37</p><p>Doesn't seem to be a lot going on here, just introducing Patrick's <strike>proxy evil CEO</strike> legitimate corporation's figurehead Duval and showing us he's still tracking down them "Closed" folders.</p><p>38</p><p>Just how much does Duval know about the company he's representing, I wonder. Say he's an actor hired for the full time job of appearing as the boss of Templar industries, famously Menace's old business front that now desperately needs an older white man at the front to give them respectability. It's not gonna be hard for him to figure it out if he knows the spooky detached kid who's the same age as Menace is the one who really runs the company.</p><p>By the same token it would take some very convoluted stories to keep the truth from him while somehow explaining why Duval needs to have this guy instructing him in his act and acting as his assistant, while nobody in the company knows who he, Patrick, is.</p><p>Makes more sense if Duval knows just about the whole truth. A two man con may be the simplest way the two of them can run Templar. It's just bold of Patrick to trust someone that much who isn't Alison.</p><p>39, 40<br /></p><p>Have we mentioned regeneration powers are gross and get more gross the more you go into depth with them? Well, it's biology in general come to think of it. Just buttloads of body horror combined with nightmares of being restrained and tortured forever. And it's for the greater good and stuff.</p><p>Tara must hate herself so much to even come up with this, let alone go through with it. Maybe she wants to be punished for all the people she killed and the team she let down. Or maybe it's possible she just wants to help people this much. We don't get told enough about her in my opinion.</p><p>41</p><p>Sometimes the alt text helps you get through these pages eh.</p><p>I like this. Taking a whole page just to stop and process the intense feelings the characters are having. Terror and compassion and guilt and what else. We'll leave them there for now.</p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_17.html">Link to part 2</a></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_21.html">Link to part 4</a> <br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-78669436172171701192023-12-17T11:50:00.004+01:002023-12-21T11:03:06.247+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist, part 2<p>Copyright notes: The webcomic that's being referenced here throughout is created by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag. Cute animal gif created by I don't know who. Panels from <i>The Authority</i> by Tom Peyer and Dustin Nguyen. Webcomic page of <i>Manly Guys Doing Manly Things</i> by Kelly Turnbull.<br /></p><p> Let's just <a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist.html">keep going</a> while I've got my steam up.</p><p>Chapter 2, cover</p><p>What have we got here. . .a fairly standard image of the looming shadow of the menacing, spiky villain surrounding the roughed-up hero posing defiantly. This might not be super deep I think. It might just be telling us we're in for some basic straightforward superhero battle, and at this stage we can't just <i>assume</i> it's setting up that expectation in order to subvert it.</p><p>Though there's one thing you'd never see on a traditional superhero comic cover: The hero wearing regular street clothes without the slightest suggestion of a secret identity.</p><p>Page 1</p><p>I had this dream some years before Alison did. Well, not exactly the same. I was flying around a big city and dodging these steel bars some bad guys were launching at me telekinetically. It might have been inspired a lot by <i>Chronicle</i>. But for the most part, except for there being heavy bars stabbing through the air with great psychic effort instead of a manhole cover launched with super strength, and multiple nonspecific entities arrayed against me representing nothing but fear chemicals in my brain coloring my dream instead of an incarnation of my own superhero persona representing a buttload of highly meaningful internal conflicts I've got going on, pretty much the same.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-2-2/">P 2</a></p><p>Okay, on the face of it, getting wrestled by yourself, the only opponent who could ever hurt you, while they're making incomprehensible accusations against you would be pretty scary.</p><p>Well, at least while Alison is fighting for her life this would seem like incomprehensible accusations. But I think what we're seeing is her subconscious still mulling over the question of the Great Conspiracy: Who gave the biodynamics their powers? Also, perhaps, how guilty should she be about getting to be the most powerful individual in the world, knowing that those responsible like to go around killing children?</p><p>P 3</p><p>Ah, the struggle between not being late for school and not having people gawk at you leaping tall buildings in a single bound. (I don't care if the comments already made that joke.) (Yes I do.) The comic does this blending of the fantastic and the mundane so much, and I eat it up every time.</p><p>Half of the onlookers seem <i>mildly </i>thrilled and half look like they aren't noticing anything out of the ordinary. It's just so <i>believable </i>I want to squeeze it and pet it and call it George.</p><p>Can't tell if that cop in the middle of the crowd I'm just noticing has a prosthetic hand or some exoskeleton thing, but I suppose it doesn't make a lot of difference either way. We see (presumably) Templar industries at work, empowering the system. Low key scary, and not just because of associations with the real world NYPD. It's the implication of how far Patrick goes into the big picture.</p><p>Think about it. He's handing out top of the line science fiction prosthetics-or-body armor to law enforcement. Not just bipedal tanks that might possibly make sense as a counter-biodynamic measure, but everyday tools to assist them in beating up poor and mentally ill people. Well, I'm being reductive, but that's at least a part of what they're going to use the things for, and Patrick has decided it's worth it for whatever connections or favors or credibility it may have bought him. Which is probably <i>not a lot</i> in itself. More likely just a step in a long term, loose ended plan to gain influence over the US government and military to leverage their resources against the Great Conspiracy.</p><p>And likely at least a few Eric Garners and Tamir Rices have to pay for it. That's the kind of thing Patrick <i>thinks </i>he wants to avoid but, here's the cop with her cyber gauntlet anyway. It suggests he may lose sight of the full impact of his big decisions.</p><p>P 4</p><p>Gee Alison, for talking about quitting the superhero game, you sure made that entrance in the nick of time.</p><p>And we'll get back to Professor Antipathy presently</p><p>P 5</p><p>Oh, just you wait, Perfesser. While I worry if I made the right call here trying to comment on one page at a time.</p><p>P 6</p><p>Yeah, so, Alison killed his husband by throwing a giant robot at him in a careless gesture, in a fight where no one was really in danger, while he was listening on the phone, and nobody cared. I'd probably try to get some passive aggressive revenge too.</p><p>I mean, I'd like to think massive aggression is more my style, but maybe I'd be just as scared as Cohen in his place. Fighting this untouchable power, you'd probably learn to know the fear of God.</p><p>But he's still so shitty about it it makes him less sympathetic than certain mass murderers. Bluh bluh I have decided you aren't human and now I'm going to ignore anything you have to say, sabotage your attempts to learn things and lecture you about how evil this monster is that I have made up in my head bluh.</p><p>Everyone who makes Alison the object of their scorn seem to decide she has been invincible from birth and also can't imagine what it's like for people who aren't and cannot be scared or betrayed or ashamed or lonely or any of those things that really hurt. I mean it's such a persistent theme, conflating her being the strongest person in the world with the literal Overman. (Cohen even spells it out for us.) Guess it's how she presented as Mega Girl, but how angry do they have to be to keep looking at her that way after talking to her for one minute and seeing the almost constant parade of hurt or insecure or concerned expressions on her face that even I can read. . .</p><p>Who, me, protective? No no, Alison is a fictional character, it would be ridiculous.</p><p>P 7</p><p>I wonder what it is Cohen has done before, taken personal gripes with students as a reason not to teach them or discriminated against biodynamics?</p><p>Also, how deep in thought do you have to be to not notice a rat person? Who you know personally? Who's doing crimes on the street? I love it. Such realism.</p><p>P 8</p><p>A bunch of little things going on here. Is it bad I think Rat trying to scratch and bite Alison is the cutest thing? Like a <a href="https://i.imgur.com/0aNcrlI.gif">kitten wrestling a S:t Bernard</a>. Maybe he's just in complete panic. </p><p>And it's sort of disconcerting what casual and precise violence Alison is capable of. Yes, it's good for avoiding squishing any bystanders that she can throw a garbage container with this kind of accuracy, not to mention launching Rat into the air just as high as she wants him, and with a a knee soft enough that he doesn't go splat. But the implications in that she thinks to do these things so easily, with no hesitation, and that she stays calm and completely in control over the confrontation. A chilling display of tactical thinking and tight discipline from a highly trained child soldier. <br /></p><p>RIP sweet jacket</p><p>P 9</p><p>Now I'm thinking of how differently Alison feels about welding Rat into a garbage can and twisting Max's arm, let's make a note to get back to that when we get to the Max affair.</p><p>For now let's just breathe in her strong zinger game.</p><p>P 10</p><p>I don't know what to make of Rat's whole thing here. Well, we'll find out the factual statements are disinformation, not much to that. And the sass in panels 6 and 7 is largely in line with indignant speeches of defeated villains. But then he brings a twist at the end. "I know who my friends are and where I ought to be" doesn't sound like he's trying to like, get Alison. Okay I guess it <i>could </i>be a jab about not knowing her place, but does that make sense? Does he want her running around in costume and throwing him and his friends into the Atlantic ocean?</p><p>I think it's more a cry of self-affirmation. And in that light, it looks like he <i>means </i>the other stuff. His loyalty is a big part of his self-image; he's <i>proud </i>of holding out, and he thinks maybe Alison really doesn't get that. Maybe he's not being snarky but he's actually offended. So angry he can hardly think, so then he loses the plot and goes on about being too cool for school and knowing where he belongs.</p><p>Sweet little character moment from someone we then never see or hear from again.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-11-2/">P 11</a></p><p>Maybe it's just me, but I constantly take breaks from my stories (especially comics) to fill out details in the scenes I'm shown in my head. Here I picture the phone conversation covering a bit more. "Yes, sealed. As in, I think, they - someone molded the lid closed with super strength. You probably will want to bring crowbars or bolt cutters or something. Jaws of life, that's probably overkill but. He, uh, it would be inhumane to have him sit in there any longer than completely necessary. I don't know what's the, legally, but I know the guy, he will make a big stink about his civil rights if he thinks he has a case. No, obviously, we have to protect our civil rights, I'm saying we should try and not violate Rat's to begin with."</p><p>It can go on and on. In one parallel universe Alison keeps rambling the whole time while the cops get there and extract Rat from the can and then hang up on her. I have way too much fun writing halves of phone conversations.<br /></p><p>Anyway I'm with Rich here.</p><p>P 12</p><p> Speaking of hypothetical conversations, there's some tricky ones Alison could have with various people to make it clear Menace is no longer operating. Maybe the trick would be hinting that she killed him and it was so bad even she couldn't get away with openly admitting it. But it's pretty interesting everyone just trusts her (at least to <i>some </i>degree) when she says he's gone and doesn't say how she knows that.</p><p>It seems, as far as anyone knows, Alison confronted Menace, but she says he got away and also he isn't a threat anymore, and in a year since no one's seen him. Given that I don't know who <i>wouldn't</i> assume she killed him in a way that she has to cover up, but I think they just think she wouldn't do that.</p><p>Saving the world all those times have bought her a <i>lot </i>of "sure"s from her peers, I guess.</p><p>P 13</p><p>Is it funny Alison isn't troubled by the <i>ethics </i>of hacking her antagonistic professor but just wants to keep a clear line between the superhero business and her education? Let's go with funny.</p><p>And whoaa cool meaningful scene transition.</p><p>P 14</p><p>Clearly you're not in the AV club, Graveyard. I know some <a href="https://loadingreadyrun.com/">filmmakers/streamers</a> and they call video of any kind "tape" any chance they get. It's especially funny when they say for the audience to "check the tapes" of a live digital broadcast with digital cameras. Maybe Cleaver is just too hip for you huh?</p><p>Kind of terrible that Cleaver, aka Daniel, has not had an opportunity to see this film clip that's probably been making waves all over the world for a year, before breaking out of prison and hiding in an abandoned gloom factory and getting his buddy to help out with finding it and also operating a laptop for him.</p><p>P 15</p><p>Brad has such a goofy costume, reminds me of Captain Hammer with the logo on the chest looking so out of place on an otherwise super generic outfit it sort of just draws attention to how "assembled from items I found at home at the last minute" it looks. Which, it occurs to me, may be very deliberate. A look that says he can't be bothered to care about his appearance might be meaningful for a guy going through life with a big fleshy bat face.</p><p>When I hit puberty I had the most terrifying dream I can remember: I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw I had three eyes. The fear of my body changing was so complete I began to neglect it if not subconsciously trying to destroy it - not cleaning myself, cracking every joint I had, sitting very still in uncomfortable positions, listening to Metallica, what have you. Obviously, in hindsight, I couldn't stand it because I was never supposed to be a boy, and not having any language to express such an idea, I could only protest by keeping a wide distance between myself and my body.</p><p>So I can relate to the dynamorphic biodynamics, whose bodies changed into unpredictable alien shapes when they were about 14 years old. I can imagine Brad living my nightmare in real life every time he sees his reflection.</p><p>But where were we? Ah yes. Tandry Connors is the anti-Lois Lane. Mary blends into the background. Hector loves fighting crime. Alison is just now figuring out something. Everyone's being very in character. Makes sense for this page where we're first introduced to the Guardians as a unit.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/207/">P 16</a> (Help me, the page URLs are getting confusing.)</p><p>Welp, the only comment I could have here Alison makes for me on the next page.</p><p>P 17</p><p>Yeah, this is an inspired reveal. Impulsive and melodramatic, sure, but I think to the TV watching audience that would make it all the more candid.</p><p>Haha can you imagine the reactions of the legions of supervillains watching this? I'm thinking specifically of the part where Alison goes "stay away from my family." I'm picturing all of them individually considering their options and going "yeah I'm good. *fake laughter* It would be in bad taste to go after the family, right? PleaseohGodIdon'twanttodie."</p><p>I mean, it never even comes up. Alison doesn't even make any security arrangements, or any explicit threats. The Green family might be the most safe from being victims of violence of all the people in the world, cause everyone's that scared of the mere concept of having Alison come after them with a grudge.<br /></p><p>I actually forgot we were watching this scene flashback style along with Daniel. Those nearly two pages of television took forever.</p><p>P 18</p><p>Everything's about you huh Cleaver. No okay I get metaphors. (Sometimes.) He's angry because Alison made it sound like she's just been playing cops and robbers and now she's decided she's done, while Daniel has never had a choice, has never been doing this for fun, and will never (as far as he knows) be able to quit and return to civilian life. It's terribly unfair even if she wasn't thinking of him at any point in that speech, and he probably isn't so conceited as to think she was.</p><p>Although, on a certain level Daniel might feel that his identity has been shaped by his conflict with Mega Girl. They're the top two most indestructible individuals known to science, he was a trusted henchman to Menace which probably would mean most of his job consisted of "slowing down Mega Girl", he might not have had a lot going on in his life beyond fighting her and finding ways to masturbate with swords for hands, and then she put him away for three years. He's been told she retired, of course, but he's still been expecting her to come for him every moment since he broke out. Seeing this video instead might just feel a little bit like he's not real, just a ragged old toy.</p><p> And Graveyard was there too. (Hilarious joke just for me.) No but do we even see her again?</p><p>P 19</p><p>I'd like to imagine this song has a verse talking about the difference between bullet resistant (a thing that exists in our world) and bulletproof (which doesn't).</p><p>P 20</p><p>Alison must have so many anecdotes about being five to thirteen years old. Okay, just a normal amount, but that's all the time she had to have her own life that wasn't being drafted into a new type of war, being a superstar and having more expectations and responsibilities placed on her than a mortal mind could withstand. So I expect she gives a lot of focus to that period. </p><p>Also it may be useful to have such stories up her sleeve to prove her basic humanity.</p><p>In other news, this may be the only time we see Violet respecting Alison's express wishes.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/284/">P 21</a></p><p>Later on we see Alison and Tara debating super resilience contra super regeneration and now I wonder which is worse to have if you like tattoos. Just not being allowed tattoos, or getting them and having them fade within hours or days at best?</p><p>Of course, being excluded from the group activity maybe stings more than a tattoo needle. It seems to instantly deplete Alisons party energy reserves, in fact. Even Violet feels bad.</p><p>P 22</p><p>Such a gorgeous, moody scene. Pity about the guy with the death wish causing a "scene" eh.</p><p>Imagine what would happen if he like, startled Alison. Come to think, in this world I think I'd <a href="https://i.imgur.com/YXbvFlm.png">wear a bell</a> just in case.</p><p>P 23</p><p>"It was just a joke" yeah I've heard that one before. I guess I could feel sad for these kids, torn between worshiping their saviors and resenting them, and burying themselves in layers of irony. Alison looks sad.</p><p>Although then she just walks away. The problem here could be that she possesses a streak of idealism.</p><p>"Wait," you say, "isn't idealism good? Why, on this very blog you have talked many times -" - About optimism. Optimism is to dare to believe good things can happen, that the world can be better. Idealism is the belief that the world can be <i>ideal</i>, and it tends to lead to ignoring bad things that you don't know how to fix. The Good Place in <i>The Good Place</i> (spoilers) goes from an idealistic invention in the beginning of the show to an optimistic one by the end - from keeping sick souls out of sight (and in <i>eternal punishment</i>!) to giving them time and space and support to heal.</p><p>And if Alison is going to make some serious improvements to the world, the biodynamic hate movement is just going to get worse. They're people who just won't fit into any model of a better world Alison can conceive of because she's the one conceiving it. At best their politics can be as irrelevant to society as they feel her mere existence makes theirs.</p><p>As she walks away, maybe she thinks "How can I help you? The only thing you want is for me not to be here."</p><p>See, now who's the sad one? Checkmate, side characters!</p><p>P 24</p><p>I don't know what a credit union is and I don't care. Something involving stupid evil credit scores, I'm sure.</p><p>And yeah, I think "I don't want Cohen to be fired" and "I want to learn the stuff I signed up to his class for" were both very reasonable requests that the school board completely ignored. Maybe Alison needs to find a school less concerned with that they think will make her happy and more focused on learning.</p><p>We know, everything changes with Lisa <strike>attacks</strike> starts teaching, I'm being facetious. But it would be a low key nightmare when you want to - indeed, you have world-shatteringly important reasons to - learn as much as you can about everything you can as fast as you can to have a chance to even begin to figure out the limits of <i>what</i> you need to learn to be able to leverage your considerable resources to change the world in a positive direction, but your teachers are all "We'll give you the best grades you could ask for, the higher the grades the better PR for our school. Don't like this guy? He's fired. Don't know what you're trying to do? How about an independent study where you just decide what you want to do and we sign off to make that your class. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Please don't get mad</span>." How long can you maintain any doubt in yourself to think critically about what you know and how you know it in such conditions? I mean it's basically how Elon Musk ended up convinced he's super smart.</p><p>P 25</p><p>TFW the worst person you know wants to violate your principles in order to help you.</p><p>Yeah there isn't anything Alison can do here. But then, she doesn't know that because Cohen thinks it's beneath his dignity to talk to her about his situation.</p><p>P 26</p><p>Because he blames biodynamics, and Alison especially, for being born. I wonder if there's <i>even more</i> resentment going on here than the normal everyday "you killed my husband and got away with it" grudge, or if he turned against all the "aberrations" just because of her.</p><p>P 27</p><p>I mean, here he also dismisses all young people and their "trademark vanity." Oh please bring on the supervillain fight already.</p><p>P 28</p><p>Everyone else thinking: "Should I move away from the area as fast as I can, look more to put solid buildings between myself and the fight for cover, and/or slow down to alert/help other people on the way?"</p><p>Alison thinking: "Should I take my clothes off so they don't get ruined? Okay I can at least lose the shoes."</p><p>Sure, maybe the shoes have such terrible grip they'd be a hindrance, it could be strategic thinking. But let me keep my funny headcanon.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/sfp-2-29/">P 29</a></p><p>Remember when twitter was useful for immediate alerts about giant emergencies? Today I imagine the Guardians would have a messaging function on their website to inform them about this kind of thing. Probably need a full time staff to sift through the information, maybe with some algorithmic aid for when hundreds of messages come in at the same time from the same area so they can quickly see it's serious business.</p><p>You know, I'm starting to think Hector and the rest of the team aren't on the same page about their mission these days. Even if Those Two are correctly assessing they don't have a lot to contribute in this fight. (Wait, Cleaver could very likely be susceptible to Sonar's power of yelling.)</p><p>P 30</p><p>You sure picked a day to put on your "Innocent bystander" t-shirt, random citizen! They'll probably be laughing about that later. In like ten years.</p><p>I wonder what "I'm a fucking superhero" Furnace is doing right now.</p><p>And I wonder what tone Alison is taking exactly. Everything she's doing looks very practiced. Folding up shirt sleeves, making fists, maintaining eye contact: It could be taken for intimidation, but to someone this big and stupid it probably comes across more like fearlessness, just telling him that he's not intimidating her. She might be striking a perfect balance of being willing to hear him out while also ready to kick his ass; not listening to him because she's afraid to do anything else but because so far there's no reason not to be polite.</p><p>That would be difficult to pull off perfectly, but she's had a lot of practice.</p><p>So, I'm reading her line in a very neutral tone. Not too unconcerned, that'd be fakey, but just politely engaging. Alison answers Daniel's direct question and doesn't give him anything else. Taking him in good faith because she can afford to. The longer they can talk and avoid <strike>throwing ha</strike> *cough* fighting the better</p><p>P 31</p><p>Character is the puns you make when nobody's around to hear you talk to yourself. "Big guns," hue hue.<br /></p><p>Maybe Hector's anomaly is making real life more like comic books. In which he can have an airplane the size of a fruit fly to fly out of another airplane that's flying itself with a natural voice recognition-AI that thinks its Alfred Pennyworth.</p><p>P 32</p><p>Oh boy. We've got one biodynamic cop, one guy who wishes he was biodynamic thinking this is the appropriate time to leap onto police cars, one guy clearly too old to be biodynamic wielding some science fictional healing staff, one guy who seems to be a D&D bard trying to keep the crowd calm with his song, and that's just the worldbuilding going on in one panel.</p><p>And yet all the action is immediately overshadowed by John the fire chief worrying about his invincible recruit. And then she has to suddenly face her mortality. I'm just describing what's happening on the page but I love it.</p><p>P 33</p><p>Yeah the keep him talking plan didn't have a lot going for it long term. <br /></p><p>Here, it's Alison finding the leverage to push Daniel with that little tackle I have to write off as artistic license. The United States government would spare no resources to hurry the development of unbreakable shorts for the four meters tall teenage boy, that part is actually super believable.</p><p>P 34</p><p>That guy just threw a car with his foot.</p><p>Yeah that's all I've got.</p><p>P 35</p><p>Even though we have established Daniel's TV watching privileges have been harshly constrained, I'm assuming he's riffing on <i>Scrubs </i>here. You know, the part when JD gets appendicitis and Turk does a whole song and dance called "I get to cut you open." That's much less distressing than imagining he says that just to be literal.</p><p>I mean, he doesn't seem to care a lot about what he's saying to begin with. Leaving himself wide open to "I just <i>said </i>I don't want to fight you" repartee.</p><p>P 36</p><p>Speaking of witty banter, Hector you goofball. I take it as a positive Alison is annoyed, in panel 1 she looks more discombobulated. Probably knowing Hector indeed has her back is a comfort at this point when she's suddenly having to think about not getting stabbed </p><p>They say Alison was always a bad team player, but I suspect she does have a lot of respect for Hector's resourcefulness. Held back by being annoyed with him as only family can annoy you, obviously.</p><p>P 37</p><p>See, teamwork!</p><p>You know, this development where Daniel might be able to <i>hurt </i>Alison is a complete paradigm shift. I like that Hector's impulse is to protect her. And I like that they both stop freaking out and get on with it immediately even more.</p><p>P 38</p><p>He had to go "quit playing" just when she went and picked up a toy. We know what's coming next. . .</p><p>P 39</p><p>Admittedly, I did not remember or expect another full page of anticipation here. . .</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-40/">P 40</a></p><p>Tag!</p><p>P 41</p><p><a href="http://thepunchlineismachismo.com/archives/comic/pushing-the-limit-of-what-constitutes-not-provoking">Alison is gonna visit you in prison and be so supportive and respect your opinions and help you begin to heal and you're gonna feel like a real heel for calling her a bitch</a>.</p><p>The medical terms for the characters' various anomalies the alt text here mentions followed by "Pintsize can shrink real small" cracks me up, but maybe his power is just so weird the doctors haven't classified it. I mean, he can keep thinking and talking with a brain the size of a fat virus, I don't think anything related to biology can explain that, even if it's some special organs that allow him to do it. He could be bending space around him, manipulate physical dimension itself. So weird if you start thinking about it.</p><p>P 42</p><p>Nothing much going on here, just some super violence. And Alison turning off comms.</p><p>P 43</p><p>He doesn't hear a lot of this but she really just wanted to say it I think.</p><p>And really, walking into the sea while in deep shock? Did you have to remind me of <i>I May Destroy You</i>, comic? No that's fine, I'm not crying.<br /></p><p>P44</p><p>She hasn't figured out she's wounded yet but she's figuring out a whole other thing. . .</p><p>P 45</p><p>It occurs to me this could just be how Alison imagines it happened </p><p>P 46</p><p>Yep, she's inferring from the obituary, memory and epiphany, apparently. "It probably happened. Yes, while they were on the phone. What, twisting the knife? No no it's just a reasonable assumption."</p><p>She's never going to pick those shoes back up is she.</p><p>P 47</p><p>Okay this is just a great concussion/shock/guilt montage.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-48/">P48</a></p><p>Fine now I am crying.</p><p>I wonder why Hector is crying though. He missed out on all the intense stuff. Maybe he was that scared of Alison getting hurt. But I'd like to think he just knows her enough to sympathize with how much it hurts her to not be able to fix the things she's broken.</p><p>P 49</p><p>Hang on, where did <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-2/page-31/">those glasses </a>come from? Okay, let's see, he can shrink his clothes and stuff, maybe he keeps a separately shrunken backup pair on him. (Procedure: Shrink, remove glasses, grow, pick up glasses with some micro-pincers, carry on and don't worry too much about what happens when they double-shrink.)</p><p>A variety of neatly presented exposition here, once again.</p><p>P 50</p><p>A nice heart warming ending. Except for the lies.</p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist.html">Part 1 here </a><br /></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_18.html">Part 3 here </a><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-82990373338202444202023-12-14T01:52:00.002+01:002023-12-17T11:51:25.612+01:00Rereading Strong Female Protagonist<p>If you haven't read <a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com">SFP</a>, what are you waiting for? It's tragically unfinished, but what's there is still a damn great webcomic full of heartwarming humanity, staggeringly carefully thought out "what if superheroes were real?" sci-fi, actually difficult moral conundrums, practical advice, philosophical world-bettering, occasionally not terrible reader comments, adorablesness, heart-wrenching horror and gay girls.</p><p>I keep rereading it far too often for such a short work, and it occurred to me I have thoughts about it. And now you have to read them.</p><p>Small print copyright notice: This post includes scans of comics panels owned by Garth Ennis and Patrick Robertson (<i>The Boys</i>) and Mike Carey and Mark Hempel (<i>Lucifer</i>), aside from links to the website for the comic Strong Female Protagonist owned by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag.</p><p>Ch. 1 P. 0:</p><p>A very telling title page. Really I think there's only one possible way to read it. The domino mask, the gloves, the cape, the action figure, all ready to be put in a box and put away. Alison is just lingering on the memories a while, while the sun rises on a new day and begins to cast colors onto the shadows.</p><p>I'm just staring at this now trying to figure out how it's so unambiguous. Why can't she be packing the stuff up? Why can't the sun be setting, or just falling in from a window somewhere behind her? I think it's in the body language. Subdued, passive or something? I don't really have even a pidgin vocabulary of body language but Molly Ostertag's art communicates it so well even I get it. Okay enough gushing for one splash page.</p><p>P1</p><p>Haha, it's funny cause Alison is staring down her birthday cake like it's a supervillain and staring down supervillains is a thing she has actually done as one of just a handful of people in the world. Her parents are supportive! Her sister Jen rolls her eyes! Buster is a good boy! Alison expresses her sincere belief in birthday wishes, or symbolically the simplistic moral values she has been brought up with!</p><p>Okay I just got the last part myself, reading this comic for the fifth time. This is some very good lighthearted low-key action, containing setup and theme stating combined with just a touch of character introductions. Nobody even gets a name except Buster. Cause all this is just one page and you don't want to front load a bunch of Nouns in a story.</p><p>P2</p><p>Oh, here come the Nouns. New York, Bronxville, Christmas, these are familiar terms, grounding us in reality. (Maybe not THAT real for EVERYONE WHO DOESN'T LIVE IN NEW YORK, <i>Brennan </i>I'm just kidding, the creative team are really not living up to the stereotype of New Yorkers who think the world revolves around their city.) </p><p>But yeah this page is mostly just setting things up, establishing scene, delicately infodumping and developing two central characters a little bit. And ending on multiple open ended questions to pull you along to the next page. I don't mean to praise the comic so much on every level but it <i>is</i> actually<i> so </i>good on <i>every</i> level. So much craftsmanship has gone into these pages. And they don't even feel dense even with all the things they're accomplishing.</p><p>Okay I can say one negative thing. The lineart early in the comic is pretty rough. Good amounts of detail, not too sparse, not too distracting; strong character designs, as previously mentioned a firm grasp of body language as well as anatomy, perspective, lighting and all them basics, but the lineart is just functional, not <i>amazing</i>. Yeah, get roasted, Molly nine years ago who's probably working all day and night to get pages done.</p><p>P3</p><p>Okay the opening shot here is just hilarious with how it contrasts Alison with her roommate in the way they decorate their respective sides of the room. Violet: Cardboard signs with progressive slogans, pamphlets, not much else. Alison: Firefighter equipment, Christmas lights, pictures of dog and family, a book titled <i>The Social Contract</i>. Could it be a suggestion Violet is a. . .<i>poser</i>? Nah, okay, she's passionate, she has some idea what she's doing, I think it's just that she's made slogans into her entire personality, which is not a problem with a lack of deeper analysis so much as a problem with not having anything else in her life. And well, we're gonna see how that works out for her.</p><p>Then there's the rest of the page that's just Alison trying to take it easy and getting lost in her thoughts and/or music for just a moment and walking into traffic. There's probably a large essay to write about all the specific ways in which being bulletproof has changed and, importantly, not changed the way Alison thinks and moves through the world; because she does <i>not </i>have any kind of superhuman awareness or wisdom or integrity, unlike Superman she's just as susceptible to conceit and thoughtlessness and frustration and cruelty the path of least resistance and general old fashioned poop brains as any mortal (sorry, chromosomatically stable person).</p><p>Which, of course, she can't afford to be and okay let's give the comic a chance to develop its theme by itself and I'll probably get through that essay a little bit at a time.</p><p>P4</p><p>I wonder what it's like to be jolted out of your revelry by being physically launched across the street but not experiencing any pain or even mild discomfort. Probably very similar to the old <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypnic_jerk">myoclonic twitch</a> which I get a lot - you're fully immersed in a freshly forming dream world, then your whole body just instantly jerks you out of the world. Alan Moore has made me believe waking up from a dream is what dying is like.</p><p>So, the city of New York should probably be grateful Alison doesn't have any panic reaction here.</p><p>Also, shout out to the bus driver who goes from "jeez he's gonna have nightmares fore a year" sympathy to "okay instantly turning off the sympathy the moment he sees it's <i>just </i>a superhero he's run over with a bus is kind of a heel move" disbelief to "yes alt text, yelling about what the tax payer has to pay for is like, the fastest possible way to get the biggest possible number of people to lose interest in you and your opinions" irritation in the space of four panels (one not even including him). Nice job saving Alison from feeling guilty!</p><p>P5</p><p>Sweden is a peaceful country where cops don't murder a lot of people so I'm lucky that I can relate to having a respectful exchange with one. I'm cautious around them, but not afraid, and I'm not even invincible.</p><p>For this page, it seems we've got a state of detente between biodynamic people of mass destruction of various political affiliations and police mechas that makes peaceful protests possible. Nobody's going to start any shit when Chris, aka Furnace, aka the unstoppable mass murderer with famously hot temper is standing there, right? Maybe the gun enthusiasts are right that people are more polite to each other when they know they can be killed at any moment, right? </p><p>Mmmaybe that impression is not going to last for many pages.</p><p>P6</p><p>Yeah, yeah, Violet is the worst, the comic lays it out pretty vividly so we may not have to get into it.</p><p>I could get into how well the comic establishes Furnace's character and makes me hate him, before even giving him a name or clarifying what those sparkly hands do and why it's so bad that he's waving them around in front of an unarmed crowd. It's all about the plural "hippies."</p><p>Yes, it's not that he's willing to blowtorch a large crowd of people over a paper coffee mug. It's that he uses the actions of one person to blame the collective crowd. Yes, this sort of thing was wrong before Israel killed 17,000 people in two months and displaced an entire city in order to fail to take revenge on any significant portion of the people who attacked them, and it will continue to be wrong when the last war criminals have gone to the Hague. It's the basically faulty logic of prejudice, of ascribing a common and inherent quality to a group of people that diminishes the individuality and the free will of that group's members. Here, the quality of violent-coffee-throwingness, which is not even a trait Violet individually possesses, let alone everyone in the crowd.<br /></p><p>Reality doesn't work that way, which is why we've had laws against collective punishments for several hundred years. Furnace doesn't get it and neither do the cops, apparently. (Or they might be trying to hold Furnace back for other reasons than Alison being there.) So we immediately know who's on the right and wrong side here.</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-1/page-7/">P7</a></p><p>This page pretty much speaks for itself. Way to put me out of a job, page. Furnace gets even more hateable with every single panel; I especially like his intuitive way of twisting facts into insinuations that serve his narrative. That's a skill that has to have taken many years of watching Fox News to train. Like, the line "You talked about leaving the spotlight yet here you are" does the job of accusing Alison of hypocrisy, suggesting she has an obligation to go away so she doesn't end up on the news since she said she didn't want to do that, insinuating without specifically saying those things because if you spell it out it doesn't actually add up. And I kind of doubt Furnace thinks consciously about any of this before he decides to say it - it's just a reflexive action on the part of his mouth, the speech pattern of someone who doesn't think truth matters but just uses words to dominate his enemies, the argument of someone who doesn't make arguments but just takes advantage of any perceived weakness of his enemies. Note especially how he doesn't acknowledge one word of anything anyone says on this page - he answers Alison's <i>questions </i>with "you can't tell me what to do!"<br /></p><p>I have seen this sort of person on the Internet a lot even before Trump. They're actually even worse in fictional stories because I know for a fact they'll never listen to me calling out their bullshit.</p><p>P8</p><p>And if you can put them in a position where it's clear the bullshit won't serve them their only recourse is violence, and if they don't have a massive advantage to ensure victory they'll flee physical confrontation at any cost. Flying away without a word after getting humiliated in front of the news is actually less embarrassing for Furnace than trying to have an earnest conversation about what he wants and why he wants it, and he knows it.</p><p>So back to Violet. The first time I read Alison's line was when I realized that's what happened, and I've been impressed with Alison for immediately seeing through it and taking steps to prevent Violet doing it again ever since.</p><p>P9</p><p>Well this is a scene transition with almost nothing going on, but instead we get a lot of worldbuilding. Must be surreal to have life size window decorations of your own likeness staring you in the face, even without the teenage superhero phase Alison is trying to leave behind factor and also your own recorded one-liners playing and launching you into full sensory PTSD flashbacks.</p><p>P10</p><p>Ah, action scenes. Where, ironically, the action slows down exponentially. Artists flex their muscles so hard to make these things happen and in the end it's just a simple easy to follow sequence of physical movements that the eye scans over in a couple of seconds and then you move on. It takes so much longer to describe in simple words what's happening on this page than it takes for it to happen, even if you skip over things like what the murderbots look like, who the characters are, where it's happening. . .</p><p>So it turns out, even after spending considerable minutes poring over the artwork to like at least appreciate this page on a technical level, I don't have anything clever to say. Mega Girl strong. Quips witty.<br /></p><p>P11</p><p>And the quips get even wittier. Okay there's one thing to talk about here but I'm not even sure it's really a thing: To me, this page <i>reads like a comic book</i>. Especially towards the end. Did Brad (aka Sonar) really have a uniform with a big S on his torso? What he's doing with his mouth, and Alison in the last panel, are some gruesome "comic book with the dialogue finalized after the art" expressions. And "Sonar + Moonshadow"? The thing I think is happening is Alison's memory getting corrupted by comics. You wonder if this is how it really happened, or how much of it even happened.</p><p>I'm just noticing this now whereas the comments field got there nine years ago. Wow.<br /></p><p>P12</p><p>At least Violet is sorry (or she's worried about losing her super useful friend) (or even her super famous friend) (I shouldn't be so uncharitable to her) (she could even be really scared about upsetting the untouchable) (maybe the last part doesn't strictly work as a parenthetical to the first) (but I'm fine with it because this is hilarious) (oh no I can't stop it) (okay I'll stop).</p><p>It <i>was </i>inconsiderate and she <i>probably </i>gets that, but Violet <i>also </i>has a certain amount of je ne said qui wants to be near famous people (okay I guess she does have a hobby!) <i>and </i>at least I'm reading her expression as more freaked than apologetic. Maybe she's not completely good or bad.</p><p>I'm more into the preceding phone conversation honestly. The world of Susan Green, where getting news from her daughter that didn't make national TV or special reporting where they interrupt the ongoing program is unexpected.</p><p>And I'm into those comfy pants. (ohoho I wish) (no I did just mean it literally) (not that I wouldn't) (pls don't punch me through a wall Alison) (wink, unless, wink wink) (don't start this again).</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-1/page-13/">P13</a></p><p>Maybe we just take Alison's word that she could tell she scared Violet. And the <a href="https://i.imgur.com/rNSpv7Y.png">fear of scaring people</a> is at least as bad as the fear of hurting them if you're a person with a sense of responsibility.</p><p>My process of reading this page: "Who is this Rich? Did Brennan just pick a name out of a hat to give Alison a bit of a social network?" (Checks cast page) "Oh right, the computer wiz guy who's pointedly not biodynamic who I should probably have remembered exists. They really thought of everything, at every step of the comic's creation."</p><p>I recently watched <i>The Terminator </i>and was once again blown away by the elegant way the movie does its infodumping. It gets away with having Reese just exposit at the audience for like fifteen minutes, explaining the science fictional gimmick of the story, the world of 2029 ([sweat drop] yes the distant future) and Sarah Connor's part as mother of the messiah almost entirely without interruption and it never feels like we're just being told a list of facts - I certainly never thought of it before I saw the DVD with commentary track explaining it - because he yells it out in considerable distress, mostly in the middle of a car chase.</p><p>But this exposition may be even better. It's reasonable for these characters to have this conversation, it's framed within a highly distracting scene of Alison being vulnerable and adorable, we're told a bunch of interesting and important-sounding stuff and yet only want to hear more, and the most crucial information is delivered without any words. Brennan and Molly, you've done it again! (I can't keep praising every single page of the comic, there's hundreds of them.) (But it looks like I'm gonna have to try.)</p><p>Also I think the word is "chromosomatically" stable, not chromosomally, that's not me being pedantic bur rather the comic further being excellent, using informal speech in dialogue, showing us Dr Rosenblum is <i>not </i>too pedantic or in love with fancy words to go there even though she does use a lot of fancy words and highly precise language.<br /></p><p>P14</p><p>Another detail that fills out the exposition and turn it into rich, meaty story is the relationship between Alison and the Doc we're being shown. They're quite at ease navigating an uncomfortable topic and at the same time mapping out the boundaries of their tolerable levels of discomfort; they're casually touching - even in the middle of discussing exactly how easy it could be for Alison to badly hurt someone with the merest twitch of her muscles at a moment's distraction, Rosenblum isn't worried about Alison putting an arm around her shoulders.</p><p>Alison must have been extremely well behaved for a fourteen year old who's recently turned into the strongest person who's ever lived. But the point is, it's wonderful to see this trust. Probably the government didn't ask them to <i>tell </i>the biodynamics about the government monitoring their sexual habits, but the Doc elects to be honest with her patient even if it gets her in trouble with the suits. Like, if you wanted you could probably twist that disclosure into an espionage charge, depending on how explicitly the government wanted it to be secret. (And it's hard to imagine they wouldn't want something so gross and invasive kept secret.)</p><p>Anyway, hooray for Roosevelty paraphrasing and fabulous inventions like "autonomic somadynamism."</p><p>P15</p><p>Good for Violet to get one appearance where she isn't actively terrible on one or more level. Just a little annoying because she clearly doesn't believe Alison would ever not a) be friends with a guy and therefore have sex with him and b) be embarrassed and lie about it.</p><p>It's pretty funny to see Pintsize introduced like some kind of playboy, chilling around in the back of a limousine that has a fancy sound system and room enough for him to put his feet up on a footstool, and working Alison on a hands free phone while waving to the crowds. Given how extremely serious he later turns out to be about superheroing and given the gravity of the situation with these villains and the situation where he's probably been trying to get Alison to put the costume back on <i>constantly </i>for the past year but now it's serious, it's incongruent enough that we could take it for an early misstep in the character's design. But then, it's just as likely he's just budgeting his time very well and this is five minutes where he doesn't have anything more useful to do than whatever this drive-by celebrity appearance thing is, possibly just taking a moment to decompress by acting like Bruce Wayne.</p><p>Well, he must be relaxing his brain or he should realize the argument for Alison to do this job instead of the military is keeping the danger to the public low and probably saving millions of dollars on the deployment of forces, bombs, tanks, property damage etc., not to mention nobody knows for sure if the tanks and airstrikes <i>can even win</i> against Cleaver. You know, rather than "you're Mega Girl!"</p><p>P16</p><p>Indeed, it has the opposite effect of convincing. It should have been a pretty obvious question about the common good where we know Alison would do the right thing but you turned it into (from Alison's perspective) a chance to go back to playing cops and robbers. You ruined it Hector.</p><p>A bunch of questions left unanswered, which I guess happens when you're having a fight and talk past each other. But at least we know we'll get back to them.</p><p>I feel like it's becoming a trend with these pages leading into a flashback not having a lot going on. (At least not a lot that we're expected to follow at this point in the story.) Makes sense in an ongoing narrative, you don't want to go through a whole separate thing going "come on let's get back to the other thing, I want to know what's going to happen" the whole time. Especially if you were reading it at a rate of one or two pages a week, woof.</p><p>P17</p><p>And speaking of pages that don't have a lot to comment on in themselves. Umm. I notice the Mega Girl costume could not be better designed to display Alison's freckles, even the ones on her shoulders.</p><p>The big reveals of Menace, and his surprise surrender and subsequent mysterious disappearance, and the introduction of the big ass conspiracy that's probably designed human civilization from the ground floor up to and including the creation of the biodynamics to provide themselves with a controllable means of sustenance and/or reproduction all. . .begin.</p><p>Not much else to say on this page.</p><p>P18</p><p>I'm starting to think the mark of really good exposition is when you dig into every single part of it presented or hinted at and it doesn't seem like nearly enough. So many things we're told here and still only more questions. (Why does everyone have an "awareness level" listed with their powers? Okay I just got that, it's how much they and the people around them know about their powers, with level 1 being the worst (for the conspiracy)). There's only three files here we get any details of and I count at least five more.<br /></p><p>It could be less than ten, I guess. Just a handful of kids killed because they could have threatened the hold of the world in the hands of the powerful. Because they were too strange, too wondrous.</p><p>Patrick was probably watching when they started killing them, finding out that there was other special kids in the world that he could have much in common with as they were killed. Would have been hard for him because he does care about other people so much. Patrick is a decent man, a humanitarian man.</p><p>(That's from <i>Apocalypse Now</i>. Whatever reason my mind might have to associate Patrick with Walter E Kurtz.)</p><p><a href="https://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/issue-1/page-19/">P19</a></p><p>"Everyone who could have saved the world is dead" is not exactly on the level of <i>Lucifer </i>having Duma, the angel of silence, speak for the first time in the history of the universe to say "<a href="https://i.imgur.com/sBF0INf.png">no</a>", but it's probably in the top three of lines that make you go "holy shit."</p><p>"What are you going to do, throw poverty into the sea?" is also a sweet line that almost gets lost in the shadow of the previous quote. In the words of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@filmjoy">Mikey Neuman</a>, THEME STATED. The whole page is just banger lines and thesis statements. Maybe a weakness is that we don't see much of a reaction from Alison, she just seems to progress from being stuck on antagonizing Patrick on the principle that she's the face and he's the heel and not taking any of this in to possibly stunned silence. Probably not enough space on the page, not if you want it to make a kind of nuanced shift of everything Alison believes.</p><p>P20</p><p>And hot damn, we went through all that in under twenty pages.</p><p>Hehe, Freeze Ray ice cream. (A Ben & Jerry's bucket costs at least the equivalent of $5 around here but probably the big city is different.) (Obviously it is, it has indoors bank machines in shops!) </p><p>Haha, mentothemagnificent@yahoo. Really it's endearing Patrick thought up that silly email probably when he was like ten years old and alone in the world fighting a murder happy conspiracy. Yahoo is just a funny word to me, I associate it much more with the ridiculous insult than the corporation.</p><p>I like these quiet, contemplative scenes. Garth Ennis does the best I think, like <i>Preacher </i>would take a whole issue and just have characters take it easy and talk of unimportant things and reassess their emotional status bilaterally. Hard to imagine a 24 page monthly comic doing that, let alone a webcomic.</p><p>It's just hard to say anything interesting about such pages.</p><p>P21</p><p>Everyone should have a John in their life. No nonsense, no bullshit, no tolerance for unsafe or unrespectful behaviors, just unconditional, angry support and professional mentoring in your field of work.</p><p>Well, Alison isn't exactly a career firefighter. I think she does this mainly to receive training in emergency response actions. Being prepared in case disaster strikes and there isn't anyone she can punch to fix it. The special skills she brings to the field of firefighting don't make <i>much </i>of a difference from an experienced firefighter, like, maybe one time out of a thousand it might be helpful to be able to wade through a fire where you can't see or hear anything but don't get burned, or holding up a burning roof in a spot where a crane can't fit or something. One time in ten thousand maybe she'll be able to save someone where no one else could. Important work, sure, but Alison at this point is trying all the time to think of where her particular gifts can do the <i>most </i>good on a societal level, and being a marginally better firefighter than humanly possible can't be the answer.</p><p>But starting with learning as much as she can about how stuff works might be. Firefighting is even a kind of lateral move from her earlier career as super-cop. She's already thinking a bit outside of the box. And never losing sight of her obligations to the box. (The box is society.)<br /></p><p>I wonder if the "World's greatest fireman" mug is passed around the station on a schedule, on a merit system or in a series of increasingly elaborate heists that everyone plays along with in good humor. Okay Brooklyn 99 did the last one but I still want it to be that one. No I don't think it could just be Unnamed Firefighter #1's own mug that his kids gave him or something as simple as that.</p><p>And, I just noticed the drawing of a burning house saying "thank you." Pretty advanced stuff from what I assume is a child of about five, dealing with the mixed feelings of terror of the house fire and gratitude towards the rescuers who maybe pulled them out of the fire or at least tried to save their home, and putting it into a painting and giving it to the firefighters. I might feel weird about putting it on the wall, but of course, I'm no hero.</p><p></p><p>P22</p><p>The ability to instantly categorize and internalize the entire contents of the minds of everyone nearby doesn't save Patrick from academics making him feel stupid and out of his depth, apparently. I choose to take this as a criticism of academia.</p><p>So is Alison really this happy and surprised about the most obvious gift you could give to the most famous woman who's ever lived who's currently working on learning about feminism, the state of the world, what needs to be done to change it and how to do it, or is she just being nice? That "How did you know?" is obviously sarcastic, but it's probably more a little mind reading joke/flirting than a comment. I find it likely it's either a book she has long made plans to read but not found the time to even purchase, or a book filling a key part in her field of interest that she didn't know existed; which in either case it's a very good gift and she genionely appreciates it.</p><p>I'm not sure how important this is. I think it's just every time Alison and Patrick interact I struggle to figure out what level of sincerity the spoken dialogue is on and to what degree they're thinking about how he's reading her thoughts as they form.</p><p>And that's the end of chapter 1. Let's see if I can break this up into manageably large posts.<br /></p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2023/12/rereading-strong-female-protagonist_17.html">Link to part 2</a><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-72978272034673839142023-08-13T21:37:00.001+02:002023-08-13T21:40:03.910+02:00 I don't want social skills<p>I want to understand the needs and moods of the person I'm with, understand what's expected of me in the situation I'm in. That's it.</p><p>I think having a general, default set of rules to apply in every situation and with every person, while it would make most things easier to figure out, would also make me arrogant and insensitive and limit my ability to interact with unique, outlying individuals and events.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-87533761146272384242023-02-28T17:22:00.002+01:002023-02-28T17:22:40.116+01:00I don't have much to offer. Truth and love and time and stories, that's about it.<p> Single white disabled trans lesbian searching for friendship, or more.<br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-19298278037844000492022-09-07T22:33:00.001+02:002022-09-07T22:33:09.244+02:00<p>There was an old lady from Perth<br />Who was born on the day of her birth<br />She was married, they say<br />On her wife's wedding day<br />And died on her last day on Earth<br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-88462975183589486152022-07-10T11:41:00.006+02:002022-07-10T11:41:42.417+02:00The book of hope is less than two pages<p>
How to hope: A self-help guide</p><p>
Hope hurts, but it's worth it. There. Can I get publisher money now?</p><p>
I found a large, thin book in my mailbox today called "How to
hope for children". It didn't have any words on the back of the
cover or any signs of a publisher, and it was covered in clear
plastic which prevented opening it up. I put it in my pocket and went
on my way, thinking about what kind of useless clichés it would
probably contain and what weird government initiative had led to
delivering this thing to presumably every household in Sweden. We got
a manual with basic instructions in case of war or crisis the other
year, it's not unreasonable to think they would have come up with a
bunch of exercises designed to keep kids hopeful for the future,
times being what they are. I thought I should try to write this thing
you're reading now, because I know a thing or two about real hope.
We'll get to that.</p><p>
When I got home I checked the mail again (useful reflex I've
developed while living alone), and further down I found another,
smaller, thicker book called "How to hope". But this is not
an anecdote about how skimming my mailbox created a mystery that
inspired me to write; it's an anecdote about the deliberate,
carefully thought out ways in which organized religion targets people
at their most vulnerable. On the back of the adult's version I could
read "How to hope" was in fact the New Testament and this
was a project by a coalition of the town's churches.</p><p>
So I threw the books in the trash – disassembling them for
recycling seemed like too much work, and we need so much trash to
burn for the heating plants we buy it from Norway anyway – and sat
down to think about how to explain hope.</p><p>
Hope, trust, love, life: These things are all both feelings and
actions, all closely related in my observation. Dear and necessary
cousins that I have had to spend a lot of time constructing for
myself as an adult, after a childhood where I discarded them before
understanding what they were. Or caring, or feelings in general. Or
other people.</p><p>
I lived alone with my mom, and after a dream I had where she walked
away I couldn't trust her like a child should. Especially since she
tried to assure me it wasn't real and she'd never leave me. I was
maybe four years old and I didn't quite know the difference between
dreams and reality, but I knew people shouldn't say one thing and do
another.</p><p>
And that was that, until I was maybe twenty-two and I figured out
reality doesn't actually work if you don't trust people on some
level. You have to trust people when they tell you you're not
dreaming, for instance. Otherwise it's a short road to full
solipsism. I knew that in my head, and then I could start figuring
out how to trust people, how to create and maintain the condition of
trust.</p><p>
You just decide. It's scary to trust, because it hurts when they let
you down, but there's no big secret to it.</p><p>(There's a secret to being brave, but this margin is too small to
contain it.)</p><p>You just decide to trust people, as much as you can, over and over,
because you have to. Because the alternative is dying. I think you
have to want to not die enough, but that's it.</p><p>You're allowed to be biased towards life over death, because we're
alive. I think that's the least controversial statement I have made
in my life, but it bears repeating. It bears thinking carefully
about. Something like seven percent of all humans who have ever lived
are still alive today; I think we are more important than the 93%
dead ones. I think the perpetuation and improvement of human life on
this planet is important. And among the conditions for life that can
be improved – conditions we as individuals have some actual power
to change for ourselves – is our mental condition. The way we think
about things, what we prioritize.</p><p>You decide that life matters, that trust matters, that love matters,
that hope matters. You decide to act according to that belief. And
the world will reward you for it every day.</p><p>I won't bore you with the details of how I figured out each of those
feelings and actions for myself. You can either take the time to
figure it out as I did, or trust me. (See what I did there?) If
you're reading this you may have been expecting a novel-length
thesis, but I believe in keeping lessons short, plain and to the
point. There's only so many different ways I can say the same thing
and at 800 words this text already feels like masturbation.</p><p>So, just as plainly as I can: You don't get hope from a poster of a
cat hanging from a tree branch. You don't get hope from a magic man
in the sky who's promising to save you. You don't get hope just
because you have it hard. You don't get hope in your pocket as
something you can pull out just when you need it. In fact you don't
get hope for free in any way whatsoever.</p><p>You have to build it yourself. It's is a lot like food, now that I
think about how to explain it.</p><p>First, you need effort to make it. You can make it from scratch,
hunting and foraging in the wild, if you can put in a lot of leg
work. Or you can pay someone to make it for you if you're lucky. But, secondly, you need to choke it down. That can be hard if you're
starting with bad ingredients or you're poorly equipped for cooking
or you're a picky eater. But both cooking and eating are skills you
can develop – that you have to develop in order to survive, unless
you're gifted with more resources than most of us.</p><p>Also it's easier and more pleasant to share cooking duties and meal
times with a group of people. I highly recommend doing that if you
can.</p><p>But that's all I can say. You decide to feel hope, and to hope. You
insist on hope. You rise into the air on wings of hope and you lift
as many people up with you as you can. And when you get knocked down
in the mud you cry and then you stand up and build up your hope again
because the alternative is to wallow in the mud forever, until it
gets too heavy to breathe and you die.</p><p>Hope insistently, trust implicitly, love deliberately, live like you
mean it. This is neither poetry nor philosophy, nothing romantic, just
basic survival tips. You should do these things because it's healthy
for you. Because sometimes you need to eat salad.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-84072221805016682242022-05-31T11:46:00.005+02:002022-05-31T11:53:57.383+02:00I've decided to start shitposting more<p> Being 41 years old, and having been diagnosed with an autism-related disorder for about 20 years, I think it's time to say something about what being autistic is like.</p><p>It's like there's a way that the world is supposed to be, that everyone actually knows it's supposed to be like, even if a few millionaires and fascists think that it shouldn't be that way because it would interfere with their claim to power. And then there's the way the world is, which we all know falls sorely short of what it should be, due to a lack of organization. Yes, in fact, it's not that we don't have the resources to keep everyone in food and shelter and give them education and healthcare and a sense of belonging in their community and all that, it's just that these resources are badly organized. I don't think that's a big secret. And then we have people who give up, who let this disorganization and injustice and oppression slide because - well, they always have a multitude of reasons. Millions of reasons to give up. And then there's me, being annoying and being excluded from my community because I don't know how to give up. Because I keep expecting people to keep their word, to live by the rules they set. Because I keep believing other people matter just as much as I do.</p><p>That's what being autistic is like. Being made to feel bad because everyone else is busy with their own problems and you're the only one trying to fix everything. Being excluded because everyone else wants to reduce the forest to its generic forest-ness in order to diminish its importance and justify tending to their own tree above all others, and you're the only one who can see the forest is made up of nothing but trees.<br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-7501648132198880182022-05-29T22:17:00.006+02:002022-05-29T22:17:46.602+02:00<p>Expect the best from people, and when they let you down, you live with being disappointed. Being disappointed is not going to melt you like the fuckin Wicked Witch.</p><p>But if you treat people like they matter, they might just try to act like it.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-71028944646547449912022-04-13T23:48:00.003+02:002022-04-13T23:48:46.858+02:00A review<p><br /><br /> I can only vaguely remember how it started, in the manner of dreams.</p><p>I’m on a school trip to Prague or something. A large city I’ve never been to where only most people speak a language I only mostly recognize. My high school class - 12 or so kids I respect and sometimes envy as a close-knit, loving group sharing a fascinating language of internal references, as well as obvious, fierce loyalty to each other - and I are staying in this strange old house filled with secret passages, without adults or any clear purpose. Not overly different from other school trips we’ve been on.</p><p>But somewhere along the way, as I tag along a group roaming the streets and finding a wonderful candy store where the pretty clerks give us sweets for being foreigners, I make an unlikely friend. They’re so much cooler than everybody else and we all get dragged along their reckless, brutal, infrastructure-destroying, cop-evading adventures because we want so badly to impress them.</p><p>Me as much as everybody else, although I have a special bond with them. While my classmates despise me for being different, I fascinate them. And I love them for the way they see all the way through me without judgment.</p><p>(Are they a boy or a girl? I don’t know. I want them to be a girl because that’d make them more attractive to me, and that’s why I’m terrified to ask, because it would sound like I’m reducing our special bond to just sexual attraction,, and reducing their awesomeness to just their sex.)</p><p>Anyway the whole class ends up extremely late for going to the airport to get home and runs off leaving me to pack my stuff and try to clean up the awful mess at the house, but my friend is there to help me.</p><p>This help involves first leaving the mess and getting a cab ride so fast the car slams against house walls and lane dividers at every turn, and then annoying the clerks at the candy store until they get so angry they demand compensation for all the free candy. I have only a wallet full of useless Swedish coins, but the woman takes them because the point is just to punish me.</p><p>And I’m beginning to question if my friend is really cool and adventurous or just self-destroying when they steal us a couple of racing motorcycles and force me to follow them through the streets as fast as they can possibly go or get stranded, arrested or probably killed by the growing wave of car wrecks we leave behind us.</p><p>And they go down in a suicidal corner turn, and even though they stand up it’s so frightening I wake up.</p><p>Now the fun part of the story, I had this dream about 3 hours after marathoning Our Flag Means Death.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-13871606572331420992022-02-08T16:50:00.007+01:002022-11-16T16:19:47.809+01:00One more scary story, for the dark<p>One day I thought, has no one ever combined the gritty world of Noir detective fiction with the gritty world of professional janitors? Then I thought, they probably have. But then I thought, pretty much the only janitorial-focused work of writing in existence is the autobiographical <i>Reports from a Soap Bucket</i> which I'm told is actually not well written or interesting to read beyond the novelty factor; I may be the only person in the world who can combine good writing and knowledge of Noir tropes with nearly a year of experience studying, training and working as a janitor.</p><p>(I lasted five weeks in the job, by the way.)</p><p>So then I tried to write this story, and I was soon sucked into the dark world of sex and violence and heartbreak and poverty and endless nights and moral failure and run-on sentences you can suck on like a bottle of cheap hooch until your insides are on fire and you can't breathe.</p><p>Anyway. I hope a few nods to <i>Disco Elysium</i> I couldn't resist isn't enough to paint me as a full time fan writer, even after <a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2017/03/short-story-peacekeeper.html">The Peacekeeper</a>. I've probably got it out of my system now. The game is so good, though. And I hope I don't have to explain these characters are <i>supposed </i>to be gross, awful, desperate people, redeemed only possibly by occasional brief glimpses of kindness or courage, no one fully right or good, no one beyond all hope.</p><p align="center" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">STAINED<br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.32cm;">(When
the clean snow falls to the earth)</span></span></div><p></p><p align="center" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
can smell dirt. Not in some cool way like seeing through people's
lies, just literally. With my poor vision cleaning would be hard
otherwise. I go over the office room's wooden floor on my knees with
a rag and a bucket of water and it passes the time. When I lean over
the bucket to wring the rag a hot tear falls on my hand and I realize
the water has turned cold.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The
office is so big and time goes so slow. I stand still on my knees and
watch the lights from down on the street playing over the room's
shadows, where the walls are almost covered in filing cabinets and
bookshelves. The sound of a car stopping, more than the light, tells
me I'm about to have company. Not hurrying, I wipe my hands on my
jeans, wipe my eyes with the back of my hands, wipe my glasses on my
shirt and sit down behind the desk, in the big wing back chair, and
put my feet up between piles of open books and take a square whiskey
bottle from the right side top drawer. The booze is just stage
dressing, but I take a big gulp to get in the right mood. It might
not matter that much to give the right impression, but I don't often
get the chance. And I really need a job.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Footsteps
creak in the stairs. A comfortable heat spreads in my belly and I
sink down in the chair and take another swallow. My throat protests
against the taste but I keep my face straight. Hanna would drink like
it was the smoothest water.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
a dark silhouette appears in the lit frame of the glass door. The
client stands in the hallway and hesitates for a good while. Of
course it could just be because the light is off inside. 'Come in', I
say, when they raise their hand to knock.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A
lady steps in front of me with a dripping wet long coat and a lumpy
hat. I like her as soon as I hear her voice, bright, brittle,
vulnerable. She hesitates like the words would show her naked. 'Hi,
I'm, Janus recommended you. I'm Freya. Are you, hm, the sister who
does the cleaning?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Mm.
Hanna Marks.' Misleading, of course, but not a direct lie. I offer
her the bottle. 'Here, you look like you need something to warm you,
or, if you want to hang up your coat it's behind you.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Oh,
thanks', says Freya. She hesitates, indecisive, but only for a split
second before turning to the coat hanger in the corner. 'One second.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Under
her hat she reveals a river of long blonde hair, and under the coat a
black dress that looks nice enough for a wedding or funeral, and a
pair of heavy boots. I take another sip of whiskey and enjoy the
show.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'So,
Freya', I say, leaning into the whiskey growl in my voice. 'You can't
be out in this weather just for fun. What can I do for you?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's,
the police won't help me', says Freya, sitting down in front of me,
taking a drink of whiskey with a face like someone trying not to
think about germs. 'My sister has been gone for twelve days and the
police won't talk to me.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She
says more after that but I don't quite listen. I note down names and
descriptions, habits, haunts and behaviors, but I hardly register
anything. I'm already on the case for several personal reasons and I
just listen to the enchanting sound of Freya's voice and try to
prepare myself mentally. I'm going to have to need to be a detective,
or at least look like one. It wears on your brain, heart and often
hands. But I have to do it. I want to hold Freya and stroke her hair
and promise it'll all be right but it's better if I just find her
sister instead. I decide that's more important than paying the
electrical bill. Should tell a little truth, build some rapport.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
don't know what's going to happen', I say, when she asks if I'm going
to find Fredrika. 'Someone who's been gone for that long, you know.
But I'm going to do everything I can. I, my sister disappeared over a
year ago. Janus doesn't know that. But you understand I take it
personally.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Aw,
I'm sorry', says Freya, and puts a hand on my shin, a simple
comforting gesture that hits me with unexpected feelings. I adjust my
glasses and look for her eyes but I can't think of anything to say
before she does. 'But you're saying, which sister are you again?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I'm
Charlie, the janitor', I say, and give up trying to meet her eye.
'I'm sorry, but Hanna is gone, and well you know, got to pay the
bills.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Yes
I understand, I can't, what do I have to complain? But it's, nothing
personal but it feels like Fredrika is going further and further
away.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
know the feeling, I don't have much confidence in me either. But,
Freya, you should be clear how little I have to lose. When Hanna
disappeared I wasn't desperate, I thought she would come back, I had
other things to do, the trail went cold. Since then I have found ten
missing women, out of ten I've been hired for. It's all I do. I'm
going to find Fredrika or die trying.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">At
some point I've put my feet on the floor and stepped around the desk
and now I stand next to Freya wondering what I'm doing. Freya touches
my hand and looks up to me with a pleading face.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I,
thank you', she says. 'I didn't mean, you give me hope. I'm just
scared. So um. What will you do?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
have a couple of ideas. I'm going to think them over. But I see no
chance that you would, I think it's better if you don't know any
details.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Freya
gives me a hug when she leaves, on top of a cash advance. Later I
will remember now one has touched me since Hanna and cry to myself
but I'm still playing the role of a tough cold blooded private
investigator I think she needs.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
now I'm alone in the dark again. It fits my thoughts. First and
foremost I have to sharpen up, get just as sharp as I can live with
being. I'm going to have to clean up trash. So I put the janitor gear
away and sip more booze and stand in front of the window and look out
into the night. Between the heavy window blinds and the heavy rain I
see almost nothing but blurry lights in the dark and it doesn't help
me make any concrete decisions. I have to get out.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Fast,
before any practical thoughts get in the way, I throw on my own rain
coat (and old friend, comfortable, ragged in the edge, washed out
from black to the color of rain) and leave the empty building. The
rain fills the air, cold and clean. My plans clarify immediately,
while survival instinct wakes up from the cold and the weight pushing
down on me and the noise making my ears almost as useless as my eyes.
And I go to work, marching down the street with an unstoppable grin
on my lips and a forced hatred warming me from the inside. But it's a
long walk to the populated part of town and when I'm enlivened enough
I jump on a bus.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I'm
not completely alone. There's the driver, of course, but she's
working and not to be distracted by conversation, and four drunks
looking more than halfway unconscious. I walk past their smelly
gathering and I try to feel sorry for them but I think I'm only
jealous that they don't have to care about any missing girls, jealous
that they have each other for company and support.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">And
I sit all the way back and brush water out of my hair and look for a
napkin in the coat pocket and wipe my glasses. It seems the shadows
creep closer in the edge of my vision but when I put the glasses back
on it stops. And I watch the sprawling treads of water and light
running over the outside of the window and resist the urge to wipe
down five dirty stains on the glass – I'm not a janitor today, and
never without being paid – and wait for time to pass.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">At
last the speaker voice announces I'm in the right place and I step
out into the formless dark, like jumping off a boat into the sea. I
walk past a kebab wagon and realize the only food I've had today was
a piece of bread, no, that was yesterday. I wonder if I should risk
getting slow and sleepy from filling my belly or get weak and
distracted by leaving it. Seems best to wait. Find something cheaper,
when I know I have time to sit and digest the food. Trust the cold
rain to keep me sharp. So I go on, twelve blocks from the closest bus
stop, crooked winding streets, decorated by alternating wild grown
and sick-looking trees, surrounded by crumbling houses. The light
gets weaker and weaker until I walk through almost complete darkness
and then I see my first stop, a bar with a poisonous green neon sign
blinking in front of me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
pause in the doorway and wipe my glasses and discover I'm shivering
from cold. But there's Susanna, behind the bar, as she's always been.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Hello,
is it little Karl Marx?' she says. 'How goes the revolution?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's
dark and cold', I say. 'Do you have something hot to drink?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'The
brewing machine is running. Shall I make you a cup of chocolate
milk?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
today I need coffee. Strong coffee with liquor in it, please.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'You're
working?' asks Susanna, in a tone like she was asking if the cancer
was back.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">I
give a numb nod in response, while I sit down (with a view over the
entrance in the mirror behind the bar) and receive a large mug of
smoldering witch brew. The heat burns my fingers and mouth but I hold
it tight and drink it slow and let the warmth spread in me and watch
while Susanna serves the other two patrons (I don't know their names,
but I have seen them both here before a couple of times). Strong
Susanna, with the huge arms with which she has been holding me since
I was little. I brace to listen to stories about Hanna for twenty
minutes, not because I have all the time in the world but because
it's beyond my powers to stop her. And of course it feels good to see
someone still remembers my sister.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But
instead when she gets back to me she only asks what's new.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Well',
I say. 'Have you heard anything about any missing girls?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I've
heard Paulsson might have heard something.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'That
fits with the information I have', I say, and drink more coffee. I
don't make a face and I feel a certain amount of pride for that.
'Thanks.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Charlie',
says Susanna, and I'm moved by the worry and compassion she shows,
also without changing her expression. It's something especially,
extra neutral in her expression I think, a conspicuous lack of
concern in her tone. 'Charlotte. You're not going to go after
Paulsson again? Do you think they'll let you live?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'That's
the lead I have. As long as I find her I don't care.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
I drink my horrible coffee and listen to Susanna telling a story –
the one where Hanna shot three men before they could shoot her with
just one bullet – and let a dark warmth grow out of my aching empty
stomach and watch the people coming and going in the mirror in front
of me and drink more spiked coffee and wait. And sometime, late at
night, he comes in.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
don't know who he is, I get no discreet signal from Susanna, but I
don't even need my glasses to see he's Paulsson. The judging,
superior smile (he actually bends his neck back to really look down
on us), the fearless posture with a hand on his hip where he usually
keeps his gun, and then the piles of money he spreads around him, he
throws a thick roll of bills on the bar as if to say hi and asks for
a private room and "many, many beers" and "a pretty
girl to serve them". But at least he doesn't complain when he
can only have Susanna, and a booth with low walls. He seems very
drunk already.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
answer Susanna's pleading looks with one I hope conveys determination
and wait a while longer, and then I wobble over to Paulsson and
pretend to be drunk and desperate for company. Neither part needs a
lot of acting. Kenn, police officer, is also glad for my company so
it works well. I pretend to not care a lot about his badge, aside
from a vague sense of appreciation, like an honest citizen who never
has any concrete dealings with the law enforcement. He treats me to
beer and is impressed that I drink it, as opposed to any "lady
drinks". It tastes even more gross than the booze, but not as
strong, so I keep my mask easily. I let time slip away and let Kenn's
hands wander over my legs until he tells me he lives not far away.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">Out
there the shadows are deeper than before and I start singing to keep
courage up (and to act like someone who has nothing to hide) and Kenn
joins in. 'She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes', we
wail, and I think the dark retreats, and the rain is less cold and
the strange streets don't twist as wild under my feet, but that could
also be because we lean lightly on each other.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
we reach his apartment, on the ground floor in a handsome little
block of three story buildings. He is unspeakably proud of the little
patch of grass looking like it's been flayed with a straight razor.
And inside, cold, stinging fluorescent lights like a surgery. I don't
understand what kind of creature could live like this. But here are
all the clues, and no witnesses. Kenn might be thinking along the
same lines, he has a huge erection and doesn't try to hide it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Fredrika
Ford', I say, with my hands on my coat. Last chance before I have to
take it off, so I have to try. It's a pretty safe bet. Paulsson is a
gang just like any other, if well armed with tax money, and gangs
watch their own's back more than they do anything else. And it works.
For a second he looks baffled – he doesn't understand what he's
hearing. Then the lights come on and for a short moment he looks as
scared and guilty as any human could be. Then he gets angry and
that's lucky because I was almost about to feel empathy for him. But
I'm prepared. My heart is hard, hardened by hate. In the moment when
he bares his teeth I crack several of them with a pipe wrench.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He
starts to scream, a thin scream of pain and surprise, but he damps
the sound himself with both hands over his mouth. I hit again,
destroy his fingers, lips, nose, more teeth. It makes him angry
enough to stop screaming. Sounds could call attention, and what he
wants to do with me takes privacy. He has no doubt he's going to get
what he wants. He thinks he's invincible. Very good.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
keep thinking it's good still though I don't get in a good hit on his
knee and he throws himself into me and pushes me against the wall and
something cracks in my back and I only barely get my naked hand in
front of my throat when he bends down and starts ripping wildly with
his tooth shards, growling like a dog. My knees don't hold his weight
and I slide down to the floor. He gets an elbow into the space
between us and falls on me and pushes it in with all his weight under
my ribs and something tears in my stomach and now I'd like to scream
but I have no air, just the taste of coffee and copper filling my
whole chest. He stands on his knees and throws himself down again and
the elbow digs into my ribs and I don't want to move anymore.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He
stands again and I drive my knee up between his legs with everything
I have left. It's a pathetic, obvious attack and he blocks it without
any effort. He laughs and splashes blood over my face. But he both
twists his hips and lowers both hands to guard himself and gives me a
wide opening to swing the pipe wrench into the side of his face. I
aim for the temple but I think I hit closer to the eye. But it still
produces a hard crunching sound and a wide stream of blood and makes
him stagger further back. I think he tries to scream again but only a
dubious grunt comes out. I hit again, harder, driving him back again.
Take the wrench in both hands and put it down in the middle of his
forehead and finally he falls off me. I can stand up, my body isn't
heavy at all now. It doesn't seem to have any weight. But I can feel
things giving away, in my abdomen, my thighs, one ankle, both
shoulders when I raise the pipe wrench again and again and hit him
until he stops moving.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
try to move gently, not tear anymore at my body, but it's hard. It
seems sort of far away. And it's heavy dragging Kenn to the radiator
in the far end of the hallway. But there I can stick him in his own
handcuffs and threaten him with his own kitchen scissors while I sit
on his chest to keep him from catching a breath.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Give
me names', I say. 'Or I'm going to snip off your dick and choke you
with it. And then I dump your body in the river and look through your
apartment and find your friends anyway.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Have
to kill me either way', he says, slurring, gasping, probably brain
damaged, yet irritatingly clear-headed. 'Why should I snitch. If I
knew anything.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Obviously
you want to give me something to go by. There's a risk I give up and
just disappear. You want to give me the name of somebody you're sure
will take care of me like an interfering little amateur who thinks
she's some kind of hero deserves.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Good
idea. Okay, the one you're looking for is Colonel John Harley, he's
on my computer.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
laugh, relieved, grateful, and I give him a warm smile. The bitter
hate in his face lightens and laughs too, utterly surprised. He must
think it's so unexpected, a moment of pure humanity. Then I jam the
scissors into his eye – the left one, with the blood in it – and
twist, and jump up and down on his chest to not give him a chance to
scream. It takes a long time before he stops wiggling in panic and
lies still and trembles.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'It
wasn't me', he says, in a broken falsetto. 'Please I don't even know
what they did. Please.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
know you don't know', I say, which is probably a lie. I lean over
him, close, eye to eye, with just the bloody scissors between us.
'But you know who knows.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He
only stares, petrified by fear. He seems to have forgotten what's at
stake, he's just scared of dying and can't see a way out.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Names.
You have one eye left and then I start in on your dick. Or should we
save the eye for last? You can pick.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Nuh,
nuh', he says, and closes his eye, and I let out a snort of
frustration and start cutting up his cheek with the scissors, slowly
towards the eye, but I have misunderstood him. 'No! Ne. Netley.
Netley is the one.' No resistance, just shame. He's closing his eye
because he's crying and doesn't want me to see it. I stand up and put
my foot down on his throat with my weight on it and save him further
suffering. Or I think he quickly loses consciousness, but it takes a
minute of spasms and bowel evacuation until he's dead for sure.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">So
first of all, before the smell sets in, I take his keys and wallet
and free his hands and wrap him into the rug he lies on – it's a
small entrance mat of some green plastic material, not very soft, and
it the effect is comical as an attempt to hide a body, but I hope it
can soak up some spillage – and I carry him out on the street. If
anyone sees me I'm going to tell them I murdered a policeman and now
I'm trying to hide the evidence. Maybe they want to help, maybe not
and then I'm going to die tragically of an inexplicable heart attack
in jail tonight, but I have no better ideas for getting rid of the
body, and if they find a body all the Paulsson in the country are
going to drop all other work until they find me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But
I don't see anyone out in the rain, and I carry the body on my
shoulder for two blocks until I can't stay upright and his feet
scrape the ground and I realize I don't know where I am. But I have
somehow made it straight to the river anyway. Maybe followed the
smell without thinking about it. I hoist the body over the low
railing into the deep quiet stream and it disappears without much
sound. They won't dredge the river even if it's the most obvious
place to look for a disappeared cop. They can't risk the wrong bodies
coming up in front of the cameras. The carpet floats up again and
whirls lazily downstream, a limping artless dance on the black water.
I follow it with my eyes much further than I should, long past the
point where I'm sure I don't see anything but tricks of my mind.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">And
I straighten up my aching back and take a deep breath. The rain
smells so clean. I want to stand here forever, clean and wet and cold
(I don't even regret not putting my coat on), and not have so much
work left to do. Without warning a blade of pain cuts through my
stomach and I fall down and hit both my knees and fold over and puke.
My stomach muscles protest hard but they can't relax and a dark fluid
spurts out of me, mostly old coffee, some old beer, hard to say but I
think there's no blood in it. At least not much. I take that as a
good sign.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There's
enough blood in the apartment anyway. When I get back the next step
turns out to be cleaning up the worst spots – somehow I have
managed to smear blood and shit over the entire hall floor and it's
about more than cleaning evidence, I can't work in this mess. Kenn
doesn't have much of cleaning equipment and I work for over an hour
and a half with hot water and an almost empty bottle of vinegar and a
lone towel I have to wash every five minutes. It takes another hour
to clean the bathroom after cleaning and to wash myself and I'm so
hungry I want to throw up again before I get a chance to look in the
refrigerator.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There
is more beer, fortunately. Among the best things to have when you're
on the road to genuine starvation. Disgusting as it may taste. And
the hunger feels like a hole in me that's bigger on the inside than
outside. But I stop myself after just a few careful probing sips to
see if my body can take it without more pain. No new suffering
happens so I put most of the contents of the fridge on a couple of
sandwiches and eat while I look through Kenn's computer.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He's
logged in to everything, of course. I copy an address book from the
computer desktop to my notebook, there are many enticing names
besides Netley, Adam and Harley, John. Kenn's family – three
sisters, parents, grandparents and cousins and more – I can't
imagine any use for. I check a link to the police database but I
can't think of any relevant information I could find there, and if I
go looking for friends and family I figure it will leave some trace.
I start reading him email but there's too much noise and not enough
signal. And I peer into a chatroom in an open window where Paulsson
seem to discuss all kinds of horrible little ideas and little crimes
as if they thought they were invisible. I write down the complicated
web link for later use. Maybe some journalist would like to know
about it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Last
of all I think to check Kenn's wallet, but there's nothing I need to
know anyway. Membership card for a gym, what should I do with that?
But I pocket an identity card, five credit cards and two thousand
marks in unfolded bills. If I wanted to sift through police
corruption there's surely a month's work left in the apartment, but I
think I'm finished.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">Kenn's
gun lies next to the computer screen and it's tempting. I can probably
need it, and it would be reasonable if he brought it with him if he
suddenly left to start a new life. But on the other hand there is no
plausible reason some dishonest person who's made him disappear
wouldn't just as well have taken it. Leaving the gun in place makes
it look less like a crime, or at least a crime done by some more
resourceful actor that wouldn't need to loot the crime scene.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">I
could sell it tonight and buy food for a month for the money. If I
didn't have money for rent and food for six months in my pocket I
would, but now it doesn't seem worth it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">So
I put an hour into cleaning up my tracks. Almost forget to clean the
computer, even though I have a thing on my keyring for just such
occasions. A pocket memory with an entirely legal program for
paranoid characters that I've downloaded illegally because I'm extra
paranoid. It's for cleaning up viruses and malware, but one auxiliary
function is cleaning the computer's operating system's own threads to
track recently opened files and such. I remove all records of the
computer being used in the last day – there's few – and then I
have to trust the program is smart enough not to leave tracks after
itself.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">Cleaning
your tracks is sort of like painting yourself into a corner in
reverse, I philosophize, as I sniff every surface in the apartment
for the freshest dirt and dab it away with a damp napkin. Maybe
there's some related but deeper metaphor in the difficulty to track
my own scent with the same nose as the flesh that produces the smell,
but I can't think of it and I keep working inwards in a fan pattern
towards the door.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">And
in the end I can simply walk out with a half full plastic bag of
trash – a towel, two beer bottles, paper napkins, hair, gravel –
that I can easily put under my coat, and lock the door. The keys and
the wallet I throw in the river and the trash in a garbage can on the
way to Susanna's. And I walk in wide detours and let the rain wash
over me and think it could wash my wounds away so Susanna doesn't
have to worry.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It
doesn't work. When I reach the bar Susanna's alone there and she
dashes up and embraces me hard and I think I scream, before the
shadows creep over my eyes, all the way into me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">No
time seems to pass and then I'm embedded in warmth and light and some
soft, slow touch. I assume I'm dead. I'm sorry for Freya and
Fredrika's sake, but I did all I could and I regret nothing. If this
is death, if this endless comfortable rest is all there is, I can
rest in peace.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">And
I wake up a little more and discover Heaven is in Susanna's apartment
behind the bar, in a regular bed – though it is a very soft and
comfortable bed – and the warmth and light is the sun coming in
through the window, and the soothing touch of the angels is Rossi's
hands stroking my belly and poking carefully in the soft parts.
Looking for internal bleeding.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Um.
Am I naked?' I say.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
got excited when I saw you lying out cold and defenseless', says
Rossi. 'Couldn't help myself.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Rossi
is a nurse, like her mother before her. Two generations of women
who's rallied at every hour of the day to keep Hanna alive, and now
me. She always makes me laugh with her non-stop flirting and I laugh
again now, though it hurts. It feels good to be alive. I tell her so.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
wish you thought about that earlier', she says. So sad. 'I'd really
like you to be in hospital, Charlie. Yeah I know, you don't have
time, that' just my stupid concern talking.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
really don't have time this time', I say. 'And Paulsson can't hear
about anyone being beaten up.' Rossi knows exactly what that means
and her shoulders sink and I desperately want to make her smile
again. 'But you, you're not stupid. I love that you care about me.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
hate that I do', says she, but she smiles a crooked smile anyway.
'You self destructive fools are so much work.' She stands up from the
side of the bed and looks away, far away. 'I have to get out of here.
You're about to force yourself to your feet and continue doing
whatever mission of violence you're on and you're going to ask me for
painkillers and speed and why not cocaine and I can't do it and I
have to get home anyway, I've been working for twenty hours.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'No,
don't go, please', I say, without a thought. I reach out with a
bandaged arm and take her hand and I think if I tried to hold on to
her harder she'd tear away but my grip has no power and she stops. 'I
don't want to do what you said, I promise. I can't even stand up. I
just don't want to be alone.' I don't know what I'm talking about.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Okay',
says Rossi, with a sigh, and she brushes her free hand over her face
before turning back to me with a big grin. 'Okay. But I'm just going
to use you for your hot little body and curl up and sleep.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">And
she makes me drink water (though I try to protest I've absorbed
enough rain through my skin) and undresses and lies next to me,
unbothered, like when we were small, before she got so beautiful it
hurts to be close to her.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Today
I don't care. I cling to Rossi and I don't think about the thin layer
of bandages separating us, I just shiver in relief to be touching
her. 'I know, I don't know what's wrong with me', I say.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Stress',
I guess.' Rossi breathes evenly, pointedly evenly, and strokes my
hair. 'You killed somebody tonight, didn't you?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's
not that, it's, yes, but it's the shadows, something wrong is
happening and I can't tell you cause you'll just say I'm drinking too
much.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Alcohol,
drugs, stress, grief, loneliness, malnutrition, yeah you must know
there are many obvious explanations if you've started seeing things.
But.' Rossi sighs again and turns on her side and pulls me close in a
hard, relentless, cautious embrace. 'It must be terrible. If you see
something that can't be there. Doesn't matter why you do. It's, you
have the right to be scared.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I'm
not scared now', I say, in an unsteady voice, pushing my forehead
against her neck. 'Thanks for staying.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'If
it can keep you in bed for a week so you don't die, sure.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But
by nightfall I have to go out again. I try to explain Fredrika can't
wait but my two allies only sigh and shake their heads. I understand
well if they have to give up hope, I say. Obviously I don't care
about myself, I can't exactly ask anyone else to. And I give Susanna
Kenn's cards, she knows who wants to pay for such instruments, and
most of his money, I do have a long bill to pay, and if anything's
left over she's still the best one to look after the money until I
have time to spend it. Or do something good for the community with
them if I die. And Rossi gives me another hug, and two pill jars.
She's not happy about me forcing her complicity in my self
destruction, as she calls it, but she would rather see that than see
the next dirtbag I have to fight beat me to death.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'One
more thing', says Rossi and stops me in the door with a hand on my
shoulder. Susanna looks very busy behind the bar and Rossi pulls me
to her and lifts my chin and leans in close and I can feel her breath
on my lips and I see something strange in her eyes and I wait for her
to kiss me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Hanna
saw things too', she says. 'She told me, tried to tell me. I don't
know if I should tell you this but. It had something to do with
twisted shadows. And then she disappeared. Same week. If, if you want
to talk you can call me. I want to know where you are every second if
you, if you can. But if you just see something that scares you we can
talk about that too. If you need some connection with reality.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Okay.
I don't know when I might be close to any phone, but, I can try. You
deserve that.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
the cold and dark and rain swoops in around me again. I start
thinking about what I've done wrong and what I could do different.
Did I really do everything I could when I let Kenn get on top of me?
I could have been harder. More sharp. Could have caved his head in to
start with, not try so hard to keep him in a condition to talk. Could
have got him on his back without violence. (Maybe. It's hard to even
imagine the world where I hate myself enough for something like
that.) All the softness and light, all the love I've seen today, I
have to let it wash off. You can't care about other people and
effectively destroy their body at the same time. It's heavy. Sad.
Lonely. But I let go of the part of me that shies loneliness and I
can almost see slimy tentacles of hate and darkness slither out of
the shadows and grab hold of me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">The
fear I've lost my mind or have a brain tumor or something even worse
drives me forward at full speed for maybe two minutes. Then I take a
pair of pills to speed up my body and my brain and numb the pain and
the road back to the bus stop still seems too long.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A
real detective would maybe take a cab ride, but the thought doesn't
even occur to me before I'm seated on the bus. I'm not even sure if
they go to this part of town anyway. And the place I'm going is right
along the route of the number 8 bus, if memory serves. (And I have no
idea how much it would cost out of the hundred marks I have left.) So
I lean back in the stillness at the back of the buss and rest my eyes
and my thoughts rush and crackle with images of police stealing women
away in electric clarity and I live and breathe hate.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
I switch buses at the central and eat a hot dog while I wait and get
on an overcrowded bus where I have to stand and jostle people and I
don't lose the thread. I step off when I see the big bright sign I
expected and I go into Netley's favorite bar. Maybe it's just the
association that ruins it for me but it seems like an unusually
unfriendly place. Bright colors, strong lighting (but at least it's
warm yellow lights), not much decor beyond some football shirts on
the walls that tell me nothing.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Can
I have a beer and a whiskey for ten marks?' I say, sitting in front
of the bartender where there's plenty of empty chairs.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The
barman, not at all surprised to have a new customer, shrugs a
shoulder (almost imperceptibly, it's not a gesture meant for me, just
a reflex) and serves me without a word.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">I
drink slowly and work at not looking around. I'm not curious, I'm not
a newcomer, I'm definitely not looking for somebody. Just an
anonymous alcoholic with moderately clean clothes enjoying a fluid
dinner. After three glasses of beer, when something disco starts
playing on low volume in the bar's sound system, I stand up as if to
stretch my legs and throw a relaxed happy mildly bored look around me
and walk a lap around the premises. It's built like a U, one long
room housing the bar and the entrance and with bathroom doors on the side, and around the
corner there's a second long room with two rows of booths, and around
the next corner one more room just like it. No overview, but there's
only one way in and out, so it works. I visit the bathroom and take
my pills and return to my seat with my back straight to the door and
pay to use the phone so I can tell Rossi everything is quiet, and I
keep waiting.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The
bartender is replaced and I sit still like a solid lump of hate
frozen in time and nothing happens for so long the sun has time to
rise and I have to consider my options. I won't need sleep for a few
days, but I need more money to keep existing in a public space
without drawing attention, what was I thinking when I took so little
with me? I thought I would probably be sucked into a darkness of
violence, torture and possibly heterosexual sex, obviously. Down
there money doesn't run out so fast.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
guessed wrong. It happens sometimes. I could have gone out to chase
the man on the street but now is likely the wrong time for it. And
I'm not going to go to his home and try to navigate around his wife
and kids. But if I just wait here he will turn up sometime. So, a
trip back to Susanna's – she has been questioned about Kenn, of
course she recognizes him, he comes there to drink most every week or
every other, haven't seen him since last week, oh so he's police, she
hopes everything is all right – and back home to the office to
change clothes, and a solid meal at the finest hamburger joint in the
city five minutes away from there, and then back to my post. It feels
weird to move outside in the sun. Dangerous. I'm sure I can feel someone has
eyes on me but I hope it's just paranoia or else I'm hopelessly
outmaneuvered and might as well lie down and don't get up again.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
walk slow and pick random directions in street corners and the
feeling is constant. I rush suddenly around a corner and into the
closest shop but I see nobody following me. Not a lot of people on
the streets anyway. The shop sells clothes and I take the opportunity
to buy a pair of socks and there's nowhere anyone can watch me from
behind and I still feel eyes in my back all the time. A rain shower
falls when I walk through a park and rattles above me in the trees
and it immediately feels better with the lower light and the water
blurring the contours and I decide it must be the sunlight making me
nervous and nothing else.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">At
dusk, again in the bar without any character, I continue playing
uninteresting. I think I must be good at being invisible, nobody at
all bothers me, though I see several women around me being less
fortunate. The hate flows more and more for every one who walks out
of there with a man without great enthusiasm. They're certainly not
in danger, I tell myself. It just reminds me of Fredrika.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
I'm lucky. Shortly before the dawn I hear Netley's name when a group
of five Paulsson come in, laughing, loud. I'm in the middle of a
swallow of whiskey and I finish it without moving another muscle.
Hanna would be proud, I think.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">By
the sound I can hear them going all the way into the back, but
nothing else. It could be good to hear what they say to each other
when they think nobody is listening but there's no way to get close
to them without being noticed. You must never believe evil people are
necessarily stupid.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
it's not necessary to spy on them either. I wait and at last, close
to lunchtime, they leave, all together, and I hear them stand up and
have time to empty my glass and pay without hurry and cross the
street where I can sit at the bus stop before they turn the first
corner.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">They
can't know anyone's following them. They make so much noise and move
so slowly I can stay two blocks behind them and follow their every
move. But I pull closer to hear better. If they split up before I
work out who's who I have to gamble and maybe lose time and unbroken
bones on the wrong man. But I judge by the tone of their conversation
they have no such plans and they continue going slowly ahead and
drinking and we're getting close to the empty city where nobody's
going to notice any screams even in the middle of the day and that
suits me fine.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">I
manage not to think the words "It's too good to be true",
if nothing else. But they're not far off by the time I come close
enough to see them, halfway through a narrow crooked alleyway, and
see there's only four of them. It surprises me but I only think it's
not too bad, four still gives me good odds to find Netley. I don't
think I should have heard some brighter voices, like people usually
talk when they say goodbye. Not until I hear the voice immediately
behind me, low and full of threat and authority.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'What's
all this then?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My
belly is full of ice but I don't show any reaction. I only turn
around and follow the voice up and look him straight in the eye and
smile an easy and expectant smile and straighten my glasses and say,
'Adam Netley? Is that you?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Yees?'
he says, with all the authority of someone who just walked into a
glass door. His chest deflates and the hands on his hips fall ever so
slightly. He was sure he'd laid a perfect trap and got his pursuer
just where she wanted them – how could they know, insists my
sister's bitter voice. How? – but now he's not sure what's
happening at all and it gives me time to pull the pipe wrench out and
I bare my teeth in another kind of smile even as I swing the weapon
directly at his temple, in an arc from below and the left. A strike
that should be hard for him to guard against, but he gets his right
hand up (he's too fast!) and I only hit the back of his hand. It
makes a hard sound and it hurts like fuck but it does nothing to make
him fall down. Instead he shoves my face with his left and I fly down
onto my back and can only focus on not hitting my head.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Dennis
called me the first night you showed up, if you're wondering', he
says while he and his four large friends form a circle around me.
'The bartender you ignored. Damned weird girl, he says. Hard to miss.
Never seen her before. Just might be there to snoop around something.
He works for me, you understand. I own the place. But now the
question is, who're you working for?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He's
fast and trained for violence. They all are. But they don't want to
hurt me so much they won't get any information and they think I can't
hurt them and they're cocky enough to give me information for free
just to brag about how smart they are. All that is enough if I'm fast
enough. It has to be enough. I have to be fast enough.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Netley
stands closest, by my feet, certain I will have to try kicking his
legs. I flex my leg for exactly the kick he expects and throw myself
around onto my belly and up and spin around and get some glancing
hits in on outstretched hands with the wrench and the flapping fringe
of my coat but I'm only moving out of the circle. Someone catches my
arm but I twist free just from my momentum and then, when only one or
two of them has had time to take one step after me, when they
probably begin to think I'm going to try to get away, in the moment I
get eyes on all five of them, I attack. No style, no strategy. I just
swing my pipe wrench as fast as I can and hammer their fists and arms
to reach their heads. It has to happen so fast they fall before
they're ready to really fight, ready to go as far as I am.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">The
two closest men, taking my aimless blows while I'm taking theirs,
slump down bleeding and I climb over them and get an easy shot in the
temple of the third one while he's busy pulling a gun. Netley has his
out and aims at me but he thinks I'm going to give up rather than get
shot and I hit the back of his hand again and he's the first one who
screams and the gun goes flying. But immediately after that, while I
let my poor arm relax for one moment and I'm stupid enough to blink,
the last man hits me with a truncheon and strikes my upper arm so
hard I lose feeling all down my side and lose my breath and lose the
wrench. I bend down to take it in my left hand that still moves and
he hits me in the back. Maybe he's aiming for my heart or maybe he
just screws up, but it only hurts and I don't care. I spin on my
heels and crush his nose and it looks like he's losing faith, he
bends over with his hands over his face and after a hit in the temple
he lies down.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Netley
grasps for his gun, apparently more handicapped with his left than I
am, and I easily reach him and break his remaining hand against the
ground and give him a light tap in the neck I think will calm him
down for a minute while I make sure his friends are dead. I break the
skull on the first one, who's struggling to his feet, and the second,
lying still and staring at me and crying like a child. Number three
and four I think are dead or dying already, they're definitely no
threats right now and if they make it they'll probably have brain
injuries that will have a practical demoralizing effect on their
gang.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
when I get back to Netley he's curled up with his hands pressed to
his chest. He's babbling things like 'You can't do that, it's not
possible' and it feels promising. I break his knees with four blows
and he doesn't even try to resist.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Quiet',
I say, and ram the pipe wrench into his mouth. He pulls away and hits
his head in the asphalt and I try again and get the front teeth in
his lower jaw in the wrench's grip and twist. It's sloppy and messy
and the teeth don't even come free, but they get twisted around and I
crush a great deal of gums. And I sit down on his hands and grip his
nose with the wrench and lean in so he can see me properly and
continue, 'stop whining. Yes it's real, I've killed all your friends
and now I'm going to kill you too, so sorry to ruin your fantasy
about being invulnerable. But now the question is, do you want Sandra
and Felix and Lina to throw up when they see your body? Or are we
going to be reasonable?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'You
don't touch my family', he says, showing a whole other kind of fear.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'No,
I'm not going to touch your family. But you have to ask nice. You
have to understand you're not in charge here.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He
blinks. Once more he's not sure what's happening. I turn the wrench a
little, just so it hurts. 'Please', he says, and closes his eyes. He
says nothing else and I respect his discipline. He doesn't waste time
on questions. He understands I'm going to answer them. He understands
I'm in charge.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Good',
I say, and take a breath. 'Where is Fredrika Ford?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'She's
dead if that makes any difference.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
it makes no difference to our relationship. I need names and places
of course.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">He
gives me an address not far from my office. 'But I want to say one
thing. Last request?' he says in a flat voice and opens his eyes. He
looks desperate.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'By
all means.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'You
can drop this. Drop the Ford girl. It's done, you can try to get
revenge or whatever the hell but it won't change the fact. You think
I say this to protect my colleagues but I want to protect you, you
seem like a decent person. Heart in the right place. Which my
colleagues lack. And you're just going to die. They, they aren't
human. They probably have eyes on you already but if you give up
maybe they'll leave you alone. But if you fight these. Creatures.
Then you'll die.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Hm.
You, Adam, can you convince me I don't need to kill you? If I tell
you to leave town today?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Uh.
I, I don't know if that's possible, you're a cop killer and I can
identify you.' He turns his head, thinks, breathes in deep, a breath
full of helpless hope.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
think, Adam. You disappear, I never existed. They'll think you're the
killer.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Yeah
maybe, but my.' I can see how he decides to abandon his family and
live as a fugitive rather than die. How the decision kills him just a
little. 'Okay. It's tricky with my legs and all but you'll get a
number to call, they'll take care of me no questions asked and nobody
will hear from me again. Do you believe that?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
believe you. You've got an honest face. But if instead we say you're
on my side, we put you in a wheelchair and you and me go to that
place together and put a stop to their shit? I mean you don't like
them more than I do.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No.
No, no you're not listening.' His eyes grow wide and he lies still
and I'm ready to believe he meant that warning earnestly. It sounds
unlikely but at least he seems to believe it. And it happens while
I'm still formulating that thought. Netley's eyes keep growing, they
puff out, the run out of his eye sockets. I throw myself off his
chest to get away, pure flight response. He screams, the kind of
screams not even the empty city could ignore, but it stops almost
immediately. I fall on my back when I try to sit up with my hands
behind me for support and find the right arm still doesn't move and I
turn on my left side and watch Netley's bleeding corpse with the
swelling pulsating purple eye full of thick veins squishing his face
down over his jaw to make room and turning around and sticking on me
and staring at me with a pupil like a dribbling shapeless puddle and
it follows me when I stand up and walk up and strike a hesitant blow
with the pipe wrench and the eye sucks in the long piece of steel
that shouldn't fit inside the man's head and I run and I hear a
bursting, wet tearing sound and I don't look back.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
would absolutely take a cab now if I could catch one. Rossi's
apartment is twelve blocks away, or thirty minutes by bus. I'm
obviously irrational, I think as I swallow two painkillers and one
amphetamine and run straight there. But I can't stand the thought of
sitting on a bus going the wrong away all the way to the central
before I can get on one going the right way and then sit still for
fifteen minutes more and do nothing. Without even knowing if she's at
home at this hour.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">So
I run as fast as I can for forty minutes. It works fine after a
little bit when I hurt in every single place and don't gain anything
by limping or keeping my arm still or not breathing too deep or
worrying about the ache in my heart. And the shadows get long while I
run and I get there and run six flights of stairs up a house that's
had a broken elevator for fifteen years and pound on Rossi's door and
try to keep breathing.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'It's
me', I call when I hear some movement in there and then Rossi opens
the door and she has messy hair and a bathrobe on her and a gun in
her hand and not quite open eyes and she's completely alive and
unharmed and I fall to my knees.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I'm
not too bad', I lie in a wheezing voice while she hunkers in front of
me and grips my chin to look at my pupils. Oh my soul, the pupil. All
the souls of humanity. 'I'm okay. Just out of breath. You need to. I
might have given your phone number to the enemy. Not sure they'll
figure it out. Or they'll bother to look you up. Or think they can
get to me through you. But.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'But
they might come at any moment. Okay. Let me think.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'If
you've got anything here at home that could lead to someone you like,
that can give the police a trail.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Exactly.
No, I can take everything with me and we can get a hotel room and
figure this out. Your treat, of course.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Haha
I'm, haha, I'm good for it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">In
the space of a breath Rossi packs a small backpack on her bag, a
large medical bag in her hand, a portable computer on a shoulder
strap and an umbrella on her arm and we leave.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Do
you want to hold the gun?' she says. 'I bet you're better at shooting
than me.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'If
you've had any training at all you're ahead of me but also I think my
good arm is broken.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Ah,
I knew something was wrong when you didn't immediately offer to carry
my heavy bags.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'If
only I could save your fragile lady hands from, no but I remember
now, I lost my trusty pipe wrench, we should stop by my office.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's
nearby I seem to remember, but how much janitor work did you have in
mind to do?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
wanted to come up with some picturesque hint but I was just unclear I
see now. I want to have a hammer in my pocket in case I have to beat
someone to death.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Rossi
loses less than half a stride but she looks at me with a sad face and
I feel a crack open in my hard armor and I try to fight it. Can't
afford to feel emotions, not now, not just yet.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'But
you don't want the gun I'd rather get rid off', she says.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
it's better you have it, just in case. Almost certainly no one is
coming for us you know. I hope this is completely unnecessary. But
just in case you should know. I'm so sorry to get you involved.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We
hit the street just then, and the rain has started. Clean and cold
and dark. I stop and turn my face up and drink up the feeling of
being free. Invisible. The rain might really be something, something
to protect me from that stuff. That eye staring at me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Come
on', says Rossi, and pulls my sleeve. 'I forgive you but you have to
tell me what's happening with, with your case or mission or, what's
happening with you.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
blink and nod and stumble along with Rossi at my side. She looks like
she wants to support me and I struggle to walk straighter. Getting
stiff and it's hard to move even though my body twitches with energy.
My thoughts fly light as air but run together like porridge. I guess
I'm out of adrenaline but still have a lot of amphetamine in my body,
or something.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">Rossi
lives only ten minutes away from me, but once we get there and I get
my hammer out of the janitor closet I'm done. I give her the money
and suggest she can just get a cheaper room for one and I can just as
well stay here.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I'd
rather stay with you', she says. 'If you're sure you don't have some
suicidal plan to let the bad guys come to you?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
no, they don't know who I am. The only lead they have is my call to
you from the bar.' The only lead humans should have anyway. 'I can't
think any place would be safer than here. As long as you can do
without electricity.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
have safety candles in the closet and a sink in the bathroom and a
thin worn mattress in the corner and it's enough. I light a couple of
candles and put them on the floor and work a molar loose with my
tongue while Rossi fills a bucket with warm water and I collapse into
bed and she comes to me like an angel and takes the hurt away with
her skilled careful hands. I tell her everything while she unwinds my
bandages and washes my tender skin and feels out cuts and bruises and
cracked ribs and sprained shoulder and somehow it hurts less just
because she touches me and gives names to what she finds and kisses a
bruise on my cheek and jaw and my swollen lip it doesn't hurt at all.
And I float in a sea of warmth and safety and comfort with soft
candle flames dancing over my eyelids and everything is real and
nothing is real and I can tell her about the huge purple eye
intruding into the world in front of me. I don't know if it sounds
ridiculous or pathetic or insane but I can talk about it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">When
I'm talked out Rossi asks if I have any liquor close at hand. If my
immediate and exact answer worries her I can't tell. She brings the
square bottle and drinks deep in a way I haven't seen since Hanna and
her eyes glitter in the murk as she puts it down on the floor by the
mattress. 'I'm so sorry', she says, while she climbs over me and lies
down close and holds me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
know, it's awful. Or what are we talking about?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'The
missing girl. It, I don't know how you're feeling really but I know
it was important to you to find her.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Yeah.
It's still important. I don't know she's dead. I want, I can't
contact Freya until I have evidence.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Ah,
right. I'm just trying, don't get me wrong, I admire your obsession,
but I don't understand where it's coming from. You care so much about
finding her, about speaking for this girl who doesn't have anyone
else to speak for her, it's great, but you don't care about her,
about that she's dead.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I,
no, you know, it's my job. How's the hospital by the way, we never
talk about you.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'It's
hard. But I'm helping people. There are similarities of course. But,
but I wanted to ask, you said you just turn off your ability to care
about people, to do the job?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Yeah?
It's not healthy obviously, I know that.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No
but could you turn it on again? Now you're on a break?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's
hard. It's harder to shift back and forth than. But it's close. I'm
close to my feelings, I can't resist. Not when I'm with you.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
appreciate you're trying to flirt but it sounds a little, a little
too intense.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Rossi,
I've met some kind of monster god from another dimension and I'm
almost sure they're really out there looking for me and they'll
probably kill me in a matter of hours. You have been the most
beautiful thing in the world to me since I was like nine years old
and, and I just wanted to say that. While I can. I'm very attracted
to you.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'How
can, wait. Wait. I remember. I was, hm, twelve. You were so weird.
Started staring at me and agreeing with me about everything. And I
liked it. Guess I was self absorbed. Ha, remember the time I was
Frankenstein, I mean, I was the monster and you were Frankenstein?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
had a lot of fun with your body parts. I think I had my first orgasm
adjusting your breasts.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Oh,
yes. It felt so good and I was scared to move, just lied there and
felt like a pervert and hoped you didn't understand what was going
on. I, you were always so small, it felt sick.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Haha,
I'm not that short, am I?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'No,
not anymore', says Rossi. She lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses
the knuckles, so light, so gentle. 'I can, I'm trying to be serious
here, it's not easy.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'I
trust, if you say one thing I still trust what you do.' I turn my
hand and touch her lips with my thumb. 'This is so real. If you stop
joking I'll get scared.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'You're
scared you're hallucinating, you're scared it's all real, which way
is it going to be?' says Rossi in a voice thick with held back
laughter. I giggle helplessly and push her away with a shove lacking
any strength and she lies on top of me to tease me and laughs and
takes my hand in both of hers and leads it to touch her sex and the
laugh turns into a trembling sigh and she curls up to my chest and
talks in a low whisper. 'I've waited a long time for this too, and I
have, you don't know her, but you should know, Helen, another nurse,
we, it's nothing official but we're fucking, I understand if you
don't want to get in the middle of something, we have to go behind
her back and I don't care.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Oh,
I didn't think. Are we assholes if we do this to Helen?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Yes,
I guess so. Even if she never finds out. We just have to live with.
I'm a cheating whore.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'It
doesn't, don't talk like there's something wrong with you. You're
better than me. I'm a killer and a, uh, who sleeps with someone
else's, who cares about her. Person.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Haha,
do you have any more convoluted way to label yourself? Well when you
put it that way I think it's best if we stick to the word you used
from the start.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Asshole?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'And
possibly jackass.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'How
about palooka? I so rarely get a chance to use that.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'That,
and maybe even pylon.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
laugh with Rossi's fingers in me and it's unreal and wonderful and
she massages me so slowly and carefully and she makes us both come
together so softly precisely and controlled so I won't hurt and in
the middle of the orgasm she whispers 'Hanzo main' and I laugh so
hard it hurts anyway.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">A
time without time passes and Rossi and I share our own little world
in dying candlelight and it's dark and wet and clean and warm and
still like water, so simple and naked and close to the skin and I
want it to be forever and when the memory of a human face turning
into meat in my hands come and I cry Rossi holds me and the violence
is real and it's far away and I can breathe for the first time.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
I write a letter to Freya if she should come to the office before I
do, just to say according to my sources Fredrika is dead and so are
many of the responsible cops. And life is new and fragile and
brilliantly beautiful and I walk carefully on sore legs when we go
out in the rain again for food and information. 'When we tell our
grandchildren how we met', says Rossi with a bracing arm around my
back, 'can we say I fucked you so hard you couldn't walk straight
after?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'It's
true, at least some part of the pain I'm having is because of the
sex. But it's nice. I wouldn't mind adding some further aches very
soon.' I watch her as she walks so close to me, she seems wet despite
the umbrella covering us both and I can see her smooth pale skin
under the clothes and she can see the way I look at her and it's the
first time I see her blush. 'If you want, I mean, you had to do most
of the work, but it wasn't terrible for you right?'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'You
have much to learn when your body has recovered, you know that
obviously, but, hmm, let's say my work to teach you doesn't seem
heavy.' She closes her eyes and leans briefly against my cheek and
gets a serious look. 'I, I like you, I like being with you. I love
what we did because it felt like we were so close. I'm happy just to
have this moment with you even if it's all going to end soon. Don't
worry about mastering the acrobatics.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Mm.
I feel the same. So you know. I'm going to make an effort to not die
if I can. I love you, Rossi.' I squeeze her hand at my waist and she
loses her breath and it's so good to see and I smirk and I think she
knows precisely what's coming next. 'But I do have to point out it
was a damn fine somersault you did in my pussy.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We
laugh so much I almost fall over until we make it to the hamburger
shop. But we manage to sit down and once Rossi has made her phone
calls (to skip work and to say goodbye to Helen) we share four of my
"usual" – a cheeseburger, a chicken burger, a tray of
fries and all the soft drinks you can drink – and watch the news on
the TV on the wall and on Rossi's computer. Paulsson apparently still
hasn't found their fallen brothers and in the private chat room
people don't sound worried about them missing. It's frustrating, it
would probably give some clue to what I'm hallucinating or not
depending on what they say or don't say about the bodies. But on the
other hand time and the rain helps to cover my tracks.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
then we have nothing more to do but eat fat and sugar and hold hands
and share funny stories about unlikely people we (Rossi) have met at
work and put off what's coming next to enjoy life for as long as possible. For
a while I can let Fredrika go, not feel her corpse hang over my head
silent and dead and waiting for someone to answer for the crimes they
subjected her to. For a moment I can feel pleasure without guilt. Or
at least I can pretend. It helps my body needs all the rest I can
give it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'So
I'm going to play it very carefully', I say, at last. 'Have to check
this storage building out but I'm going to do it slow, as safely as
possible. Probably just walk past outside to begin with and then
start thinking about what's next, you would maybe like to get us that
hotel room in the meantime, it won't take me long.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'I
know you just want to protect me and it's not altogether brain dead
machismo, you're better at violence than I am if it's going to go
sideways. I appreciate the thought. But I'm not going to let you run
off and get hurt and eaten by space monsters without supervision.
I'll go with you, it'll be faster, the two of us have a better chance
to see what's what and we just walk past the place and then right
back, and then we pack up and look for a hotel and fall asleep
together in a huge hot bath. Nice and easy.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">'Yes,
okay, it's, I prefer your plan.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">The
storage building is on the street Netley named, but if I didn't know
I'd not guess what was there. I might not even guess anything was
there. A low square structure takes up the whole block, anonymous,
invisible, a smooth facade with a few boarded up windows, a smooth
door without handles, no signs or marks of any kind. A very telling
absence of things. Rossi and I walk around the building without pause
and only on the way back I figure out all the streetlights were
off. The lights are often unreliable here, maybe less than half tend
to work, but a whole block without any light is another telling
absence.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We
decide we need to rest properly before we even try to think what's
next – I have no ideas at all – and we walk quickly back and
fetch Rossi's stuff and pack me a (light) bag and take a bus to the
other end of town where we get a room for sixty marks. The lady in
the lobby who takes our money seems so stoned she might not remember
us. Nobody knows we exist, even less where we are, and it seems worth
the cheap ragged room without any of the luxurious bathroom Rossi
wished for. I open the window and the rain is present in the room and
we snuggle up close under layers of blankets and we're alone together
and safe and warm and for a while we don't care about anything else.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I
think I wake up from a dream. I hope I wake up because I see an eye,
purple and swollen like a bruise, staring at me in the dark and I
don't understand if it's a memory of a dream or my imagination or
something worse. Rossi sleeps deeply and I sneak away from her and
walk out into the rain on my own just like I promised myself I
wouldn't. I wonder if the eye controls my mind. It seems less than
clever to do the things I do. Unreasonable. There's too many
unknowns, I can't even guess how wrong it could go. How many are
waiting for me over there. But it feels impossible to do anything
else. Impossible to live with the eye out there for one minute
without doing something. Best that I die if I can't get rid of it.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">So
I ride all the way back to the warehouse and I mostly feel my way
through the dark and break up a window in the back – the hammer was
a good choice after all – and climb in. Inside is dark and tight
and full of dust. It smells terrible. Dirt and old meat and something
else I don't know what it is, mixed with flower scents that just make
it more horrible, dandelions and elder and I'm scared to sort it out
thoroughly. The smell is everywhere in any case, it doesn't help me
find my way. But from the echo it sounds like I'm in a small, bare
room and I find a door and it opens without resistance. A corridor
leads down in a scraggy curving track and the floor gets more and
more uneven. It's rock, I realize, a natural rock formation, with
boards laid here and there to even out the road over the most jagged
bumps. The edges give away some weak light, I think, or the dark has
given me radar vision.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">But
soon light and dark and form and substance mean something other than
what I recognize. Down there something waits dissolved in a bed of
dark light, black and white at the same time. I don't understand what
I see and I think my eyes protect me from understanding it so it
won't make me sick. A jellyfish congeals and opens a purple eye and a
gristly tentacle made of diseased wounded tissue reaches for me and I
want to run but I'm too slow. It touches me and sinks into my head
and I feel it move behind my eyes and it speaks to me.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">It's
Hanna's voice but it's not words. The monster tells me it's just good
business. It enjoys the gifts the humans bring it and it gives the
humans things they want and everyone wins. No one dies, not in the
way I'm thinking. To prove it the monster takes my eyes and trades
them for Fredrika Ford's. I fight Fredrika's twitching and blinking
and I wonder how much she can see. I only see shadows and the monster
still doesn't make sense but it's beautiful, huge and frighteningly
beautiful.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">At
last I can run. I run and don't look back and set fire to a dusty
pile of clothes in a corner before I climb back out the window
opening.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'There's
one gift you can give me', I say to myself when I sit down in the
bus, as the sound of sirens get closer. (The empty city might not
have real law enforcement but the fire brigade is more proactive.) 'I
want no more women to disappear. Not in my city.'</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">The
eye keeps following me like a constant memory at the forefront of my
frontal lobe and I start shaking and when I change buses I take a
little detour and buy two whiskey bottles and start drinking and the
eye catches fire and seems to shrivel and go away from my head and I
breathe out.</span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.32cm;">But
everything looks different now. It's so bright and sharp but the
colors are wrong. The glasses only make the world blurry and dirty
and I put them in my pocket. People look like shadows and bruises and
the booze is full of faces and when I look out the window at the
trails of light and water on the outside of the glass I see patterns
with far too much meaning. I wake Rossi up when I fall on stiff legs
into bed and cry and she knows immediately what I've been up to and
she's angry but she holds me anyway and when I say the case is closed
and we have only to follow the news to see just how many skeletons
come out of what closets but as soon as I've called Freya I won't
have to hurt anyone anymore she cries with me.</span></p><p>
</p><p align="left" class="western" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.32cm; margin-right: 0.3cm; text-indent: 0.32cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And
I hold Rossi and close my eyes and I wish I'll never have to stop
drinking and never leave the rain and never open my new eyes.</span></p><p></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-25445367906702920582022-01-31T11:57:00.004+01:002022-01-31T12:04:26.777+01:00Optic Drugs Attack Waffles #13<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.imgur.com/bY4DwrL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="524" height="800" src="https://i.imgur.com/bY4DwrL.jpg" width="524" /></a></div><p>Have you noticed a pattern, in the last 400 years or so, in the reasons why we're told hard work is virtuous and the world doesn't work unless every single person works full time?</p><p><a href="https://odaw.blogspot.com/2020/12/optic-drugs-attack-waffles-12.html"><--</a> --></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-2250299084554177212021-10-28T17:29:00.001+02:002021-10-29T17:03:05.707+02:00Further fears<p> I read this post somewhere suggesting autism spectrum disorders don't mean learning social cues slowly but rather learning what feels right according to a child's intuitive grasp of ethics and then protesting against having to learn it's inappropriate, that you should lie when people ask how you're doing, that you should act like nothing is wrong when someone's sad and so on. Probably not entirely incorrect.</p><p>And I think some of my problem is taking that too far. I think I've trained myself to believe doing things that feel wrong will help me fit in. Which is why I'm not writing or drawing, cause I fear indulging in my imagination as well as committing to a work ethic will make people think I'm weird. And getting drunk alone on a weekday and eating junk and sleeping badly is things I'd avoid if left to my own devices so the angels on my shoulders tell me it's probably safest to do the opposite. Cause the world has taught me it doesn't appreciate trying to act out any childish hero fantasies.</p><p>So I'm going to work more on not worrying about pleasing everyone even if it means losing the last anchors connecting me to humanity.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PGZA5BHXwt4/YXwNGHKHLsI/AAAAAAAAAio/RQR082oKFXoPLea3eE0VFtWjzknnI9p0ACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PGZA5BHXwt4/YXwNGHKHLsI/AAAAAAAAAio/RQR082oKFXoPLea3eE0VFtWjzknnI9p0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s16000/image.png" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-37595777751852040602021-10-24T19:51:00.003+02:002021-10-24T19:51:39.011+02:00Some very specific fears<p> It occurs to me for as long as I can remember I've lived my life in high gear, waiting for the road to cooperate by producing a steep decline for me so I can gain speed.</p><p>This is a metaphor. I haven't exactly figured out how to describe the desperate need that's informing this obviously irrational strategy. Something about needing change within me to come from within, rather than being enforced by outside circumstances. Shifting down to be able to climb a hill would be acknowledging that the hill has power over me, or even acknowledging that I made a mistake putting my life-car in high gear. Better to pretend I'm above such worldly concerns as speed than to show my ignorance.</p><p>Just the same old fear of failure infecting so many of us victims of capitalism. I remember thinking it was worth it to pay any price to buy just another second before anyone had to find out I screwed up from when I was five years old. Maybe younger. And how little we've learned since.</p><p>Anyway I've deleted almost all my videogames to have less distractions to turn to when I get scared my writing isn't good enough. It's early to tell but I'm pretty sure this will let me get my book done before wasting another twenty years.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-83229876191508180942021-08-03T15:44:00.003+02:002021-08-03T15:44:33.630+02:00So this blog got taken down for a few hours<p> Apologies to my approximately one regular reader who I've never talked to. It seems that updating the page with my personal info flagged the blog as a phishing site. I guess having your email address posted publicly could let people email you, which would let you find out their email address, a vital step in stealing their identity, I think.</p><p>At least that's my guess. No one told me what was wrong, of course. And I couldn't access the blog to fix it if I did know either. And I couldn't contact anyone to ask either. Fortunately, requesting a review gave results within hours.</p><p>The moral here is try to keep track of your blog ramblings and back them up if you think you might want to keep them, cause you never know if google will allow it or for how long.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-38335195027173129582021-08-02T18:58:00.001+02:002021-08-03T01:00:40.840+02:00I've invented this trick for expressing more subtle character in my paintings, I call it "clothes"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.imgur.com/pjlSYul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="800" height="358" src="https://i.imgur.com/pjlSYul.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>They both like getting rained on. One of those little things mother and daughter are delighted to find they have in common.</p><p>But they stay under the tree to protect the book so they can keep reading, by the glowing leaves.</p><p>It's a long story, left unfinished when Jessie drifts off, almost folded over herself. Jenny smiles and wonders how anyone could sleep in such an awkward position, knowing she would do the same if her spine allowed it.</p><p>She puts the book away and slides down in the moss, happy, at ease, ready to join her daughter in dreams.</p><p>Jessie's hair plays lazily with Jenny's hand, still.</p><p><br /></p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-31806289858822107012021-07-01T09:02:00.007+02:002021-07-01T09:06:00.044+02:00It's been a long strange night<p> I'm eleven again, but this time I'm a girl.</p><p>I'm naked and perfectly invincible.</p><p>I'm flying in the air over the playground by holding a balloon on a rope.</p><p>I tell everyone I have invented imperishable concrete: You only have to mix 100 cc of water, an equal amount of sand and an egg.</p><p>It works. It will make bricks that will outlast the sun, outlast proton decay, outlast bronze.</p><p>(Of course it works, how else could I fly by holding a balloon on a rope?)</p><p>They all understand it immediately. Adults are writing it down.</p><p>Happy to have changed the world, I fly higher.</p><p>People appear in windows in the endlessly tall buildings, worried and warning.</p><p>They don't realize I can control my descent by releasing my hold on the balloon.</p><p>(I'm sitting on a knot in the rope, it's perfectly safe.)</p><p>Eventually flying gets so exciting I wake up.</p><p>Later that night I had a dream that a dream told me NFTs were so easy to hack they're worthless, because it turned out they all could be matched to various Gundam robot designs, and it turned out to be true and I became Twitter famous, but who knows, maybe at least one of these is a genuine prophecy.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-20916624221663194192021-06-21T21:33:00.004+02:002021-06-21T21:33:28.009+02:00To never hope so you never have to be disappointed is a little like removing your skeleton because you’re afraid of breaking any bones<p> Been trying to construct this metaphor for like ten years</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-31222024595492704222021-06-03T01:50:00.002+02:002021-06-03T02:43:12.642+02:00Instructions<p> Remember you are made of mud. Literally, your flesh was made of dirt. You are recycled worm poo. </p><p>Remember you are made of mud, and be humble.</p><p>And remember you are made of stars. Again, literally. Your matter was forged in the fires of the stars.</p><p>Remember you are made of stars, and be bright.</p><p>And remember you are made just like everything else: </p><p>Part of the universe, condensing into being from something hotter and stranger, at the dawn of time.</p><p>Remember you are made of what is unimaginable, and be strange.</p>All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676801144811062760.post-87367296717502358162021-06-02T18:40:00.000+02:002021-06-02T18:40:13.678+02:00This blog wishes Donald Trump's blog a hearty "suck it, loser"All mankindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12039889504593776629noreply@blogger.com0