How I World-Build: Viestinta's Conceptualization

So I decided to write how I world-build, and began the last week with a short post on the planet that started it all, Heranyt. As I wrote, I realized that the full notebook of stuff I have on Heranyt... well... I don't have any of how I got there, not anymore. Heranyt appeared in a fever dream of gameplay ideas and philosophy and mythology and religion and, well.... I didn't really write any of it down. So this time I'm writing the process down and hopefully others will find it mildly entertaining, at the very least.

So here's the deal: Viestinta is meant to house two different games: Realms of Peril and Hearts of Wulin, which is Chinese melodrama. Sound totally contradictory? It didn't to me, so I figured I'd try and figure out why that idea was so compelling to me.

Realms of Peril is an OSR/PBTA merge that's meant to be an open table game. I've been slowly coming around to the concept, after multiple years of trying to run things with a larger than three player crowd... only to find that the campaigns just can't seem to hold together. Schedules get way too weird. In fact I find non-open table games to be so hard to run that I specifically designed Crescendo to be a resilient against schedules as humanly possible, but that's principally by having the group be incredibly small. If I want to play with a larger group, I'm SOL. Welp, as it turns out Realms of Peril has been tinkered with to get everything not open table to go away. It's got a really good basic resolution system, and you can get a character to the table within minutes.

Hearts of Wulin is a PBTA about wuxia fiction. It's meant to be have proud and restrained badass warriors trying to not get their hearts broken and failing. The game, like most storygames, is meant to be played out in shorter spurts, short enough to where people can safely commit for two to four sessions and then move on. A lot of PBTAs try to solve the logistical issues by making sure there's less logistics, just period. I like wuxia enough to get over my usual aversion to PBTA, and found that the game is actually very good and I can't wait to get it back to the table.

On the one hand you have a drop-in, drop-out game and a short wuxia story generator. That doesn't explain it at all, does it? 

Nope, I don't think so either.

So I decided to write down "the story" of the setting, the thing that I'll base everything else on. Maybe there's an answer beyond "I just think it's neat" somewhere in there.

I know I wanted to keep yuan-ti and dragonborn, so I renamed them to hserpa and drahskin.

The clannish drahskin and devious hserpa, after wiping out all other civilizations except for humans (which they enslaved), turned their millenia old magical and martial prowess on each other. Given their strengths it surprised no one that the war was rather even, although the collateral damage could be truly awful at times.

And then one day the khen-zai artifacts were discovered.

Deep beneath the earth both sides found great store houses of the ancient race: medicines, weapons, and other technologies that could have advanced their respective civilizations hundreds of years in a matter of hours. The Emperor of Fire and the Emperor of Scales met in secret to discuss what they had found. It wasn't a long conversation: they sealed their discoveries away again, and had those who found and those who sealed the discoveries killed. They then agreed to assign guards over these sites, with strict orders that all who were to be found on these "sacred lands" would be publicly executed in the cruelest ways imaginable. They figured that the upheaveal would destroy both their peoples utterly.

And then one day the khen-zai returned.

The fabled elder race, the ones who had become totally ethereal beings, returned with their puppet bodies, to reclaim what had been theirs. Their living chitinous warships pounded the planet with an orbital bombardment that the peoples of Viestinta will never forget, nevermind the planet itself. All the people who had died to protect the planet's way of life... all was in vain.

But then the unthinkable happened: the drahskin Amgala, hserpa An, and the human Gi broke into one of the vaults and, using Gi to pilot, flew a mech into the heart of the mothership, and killed every single of the weak-bodied khen-zai. They returned, triumphant heroes. The planet had triumphed.

Nope.

The khen-zai had actually captured Amgala, An, and Gi, and tested a new technology on them: menticide, the art of brainwashing. They forced the three to believe they had won and sent them back. The khen-zai, while they were originally annoyed that their engineered toys had survived in their absence, they were intrigued by humanity able to use their tech. They had run into it before with other humans, but figured it was a "local" genetic anomaly. They were wrong. So they decided to spare the planet, and see what would happen with this unexpected turn of events. They retired to the ethereal plane to enjoy their debauched cruelties, and waited. They were in no hurry.

The Emperors' long-standing deceptions were quickly discovered and punished. Humanity was freed from slavery, and a world-wide republic was formed, with the technology discovered in the vaults being used to build quickly. Those who were on board were benefited. Those who were not were ignored, ostracized, or killed if the first two methods didn't work out. 

Those who weren't in the sprouting cities languished in small shanty towns, holding onto a way of life that, with the constant allure of the cities calling the young away, became insular, toxic, and more than a bit racist. But they see the error of abandoning the old ways. Or at least they think they do. The worst thing is not death or discomfort, but losing the meaning that comes only with death and discomfort. We'll see how long that lasts.

So that's a good place to stop. There's a lot of this that jumps out at me, and why two games are contained within it. On the one hand you have the newly formed Parliament, with all the hope of the good and the apathy of the evil intermingling, and it being hard to tell the difference at times. A new era has dawned! It is up to those in power to make sure that new dawn is worthwhile. There's all the idealism, honor, folly, and passion of such an enterprise, contrasted against the bloody and benighted past that may not be so past, but an ignored present situation that may kill everyone. And, to me, that speaks Hearts of Wulin.

On the other hand all you have to do is learn about real-world cases of mothers in the Appalachian Mountains giving their children Mountain Dew (which dissolves their teeth) instead of water, because there is no infrastructure to produce clean water there, to see the downsides of such a venture. A good drive through Steubenville, OH, a decade or so ago, would have shown a place dying because it wasn't a part of the global initiative.  And in these places one must survive however one can, whatever that looks like. Even if that means breaking into tombs and stealing tech and robbing the globalists at every opportunity to live... all the while espousing values that are not practical to hold anymore, because the world no longer works according to blood and sweat, but rationalization and passion. This desperation screams out Realms of Peril to me.

So the setting, unlike Heranyt or Rakkaus, now serves two functions: playing an open table sword and sorcery game, with people dropping in and dropping out, and short but intense personal stories that may or may not involve excessive mounts of idealism and doomed romance. Those things don't seem so separate to me anymore. And in fact, at least for me, it may not work out any other way.

Viestinta is a world in the midst of bifurcation. On the one hand you have the prosperous elites who no longer really know they're elites, having to deal with the consequences of globalization and the deadening effect that has one one's soul. On the other you have those left behind, who are trying to scratch out a mean existence in a world that has forgotten them.. and the horrors that live so close to them. It is a world of rapidly growing magitech and skyscrapes with squalor not even one hundred miles away... all watched over by the curious and otherwise-bored khen-zai.

That's a chilling set up.

We'll start focusing on importing real world stuff next time.!

Reforging All the Things Under Heaven and Earth

 So the original idea of All the Things Under Heaven and Earth was never truly hammered out. I just started writing, opened up a Facebook page, then a Patreon (go join it!) and just sorta trucked along, reviewing and meditating on things. I didn’t really know exactly what I was doing or why I was doing it, although to others it seemed obvious enough. Good for them! 

Afghanistan happened, and I got through the short-term fallout. But such things always have long-term consequences, both subtle and obscure. The immediate long-term was I dropped Burning Wheel, which I had been doing quite happily multiple times a week. The emotional energy I had used to such great effect dried up almost instantly. After two years I have begun to get my feet back under me, but it has been extremely difficult.

What, specifically, you may ask? The sudden realization that nobody, left or right, was ready to take the obvious path to saving Afghanistan: permanently colonizing it.

“Whoa, Nathan, imperialism is bad!”

If you’re reading this on the internet you need to shut up. Now. The microchips necessary to read this post around the world require a globalism only made possible by the might of the United States Navy. That’s it. No, don’t hide behind “I don’t approve!” By reading this post you gave money to the thing you profess to despise. Money speaks volumes louder than words. And your money approved.

The fact is that the US, despite profiting quite nicely from this arrangement of hiding its military power behind economic supremacy, refused to use its power responsibly and thus doomed many to death and slavery. 

This realization totally changed my relationship with the world, and thus with this blog. I shut down the Facebook group and Patreon. How do you relate to a country that won’t take responsibility for its actions? How do you take said country’s rapidly deteriorating popular culture on the terms of a Catholic or Orthodox Christian who wishes to hang onto faith?

No, I don’t mean the proto-virtue signal all conservative Christians mean when they say “the Faith”. I mean the actual faith: that live coal that burns in your chest, allowing you to tank crap that would drive others insane, that maddening ray of light that persists even when you wish it wouldn’t. I mean the light that its absence thereof reduces doctrine to totalitarianism or worse, wokeism.

And with that question what I have always done with this blog jumped into stark relief: how does a Christian geek maintain both, when both are so important to him? All the things are Christ’s, so you can be both, with a real live faith.

This blog is, and always has been, one example of a journey one Christian nerd, trying to figure out how to keep that flame going. It is a bit raw, esoteric, and ugly. But it is mine.

And this is what you can expect from it, from here on out:

- RPG play reports. Apparently I do a good job at these. They take some work, but they are satisfying to write.

- Board game reviews and musings. These will range from "Do I think it's worth your time to buy?" to esoteric and weird ramblings on how those mechanics make me feel.

- Sorta political posts on maneuvering through the culture war without actually becoming a conservative or a progressive. Like it says on the tin. Will be now be labled "How to Not Sell Out"

- Christian living, specifically on sacramental and helpful stuff like dealing with family members. We'll be calling these The Lens.

-Comic reviews. As the Big Two continue to collapse and the shills continue to scream about it, I'm going to be reviewing comics from indie sources and maybe cover a mainstream comic or two that epitomizes why the sales ain't going well.

And really anything else I"m wanting to write. It is a blog literally called "All the Things Under Heaven and Earth", after all! I may someday actually do those Taco Bell reviews I keep thinking about doing. God I love Taco Bell.

Anyways, that's what we can expect going forward! Let's do it! Thanks for being here, whoever reads!

How I World-Build: Heranyt

 

So the other day someone messaged me asking about The Wanderers' Psalms. I'm still sitting with that one, because, like, I don't really think about it much these days. Crescendo has consumed me for two years and it's going to for quite a bit of time more. So I was quite shocked and very pleased to talk to someone who actually reads this little shitling blog. After a few minutes I decided to ask this particular person what they thought of me actually talking about world-building and all that. I've put up some theory on here, and always felt very weird about. I don't really see myself as having any actually unique opinions on worldbuilding or really anything else like that. Well, this individual said I should take a shot at it.

You know who you are.

Thank you, I'll give it a try. That's really all I can do.

I begin with a game system in mind. In the case of Heranyt, the central planet of The Wanderers' Psalms, that was Burning Wheel originally, but now Crescendo is in the stable too. The point is the that the setting has to be capable of supporting the type of gameplay and stories that the game is supposed to tell. And what stories do these two games tell? Self-discovery, mysticism, and desperate struggle. So the foes of the setting need to be existential, a persistent and eternal threat that one can only evolve in response to.

I always begin with a story, something to focus the setting around. This little tale takes the basic actions I want the setting to continue encouraging. Players respond to context, not directives. So it's important to make that context as clear as possible. I usually set up five differing parties and try to have them all doing the types of actions that are important in the setting. In Heranyt's case the tale is a mythological struggle between the Outsider (a singular God) and his creations, the khen-zai Verzhoben and the demonic Eous, with the Eternal Flame and Telos to aid him.

Once upon a time Verzhoben decided that he did not wish to serve creation, but to master it. He corrupted himself and the ensivalo, along with all their slave races, extinguishing the First Flame. When they did so, the ensivalo realized they cared nothing for their own genetically engineered creations, and left them, to parts unknown. Without the First Flame the races fell to barbarism and undeath.

The Outsider intervened. He incarnated as each of the races -elves, orcs, minotaurs, dwarves, dusken, wolves, dryads, and humans - trying to get them to accept him… only to be killed by each of them, in turn. The humans didn’t even let The Outsider survive childhood. But as the last incarnation of the Outsider was killed, a pillar of blue flame leapt from the corpse and burrowed into the planet, straight down to the core… where the Eternal Flame now rests. The undead plague ended. The insanity ended. Some were nostalgic.

Led by Eous, some began to try to extinguish the Eternal Flame, to no avail: the Outsider’s will was behind The Eternal Flame. Telos, Eous’s right hand man, turned on Eous, founding a resistance group, Those That Sailed. Unable to extinguish the Eternal Flame Eous forced the flame within him, which he could not extinguish, to turn to his mind, to his goals. And thus the first Anti-Flame was born. Others followed suit, drawing power from Herna, the Abyss.

Telos and the Eternal Flame begged The Outsider to force the Anti-Flames to relent, traveling to the very heights of Seitseman to plead their case. No one knows what was said that day; Telos and the Eternal Flame will not speak of it. But Telos, along with Those Who Sailed, have spread throughout the world, working towards an end goal that none know of. Someday we may know of it.

I always take this story at face value. I do not subvert it, I do not challenge it, I do not in any way shape or form tinker with it, because once you do that the setting begins to fall apart. Your mileage may vary, but I don't really suggest it.

At any rate, I then look this story and start asking what sort of world would be centered on such a story. I close my eyes and just try and picture the place: Aztec pyramids, cold lands with iron trees, rings made of destroyed continents where the elves may yet fly in their ships... I just start writing down. Once I got some images written down I make a map and situate these images on it.

The next part is the hardest one to quantify, because it takes a long time and it's generally the one I don't remember all that well. With the images in mind I start researching real life cultures and religions that would fit... kinda. I read up to my heart's content, until something sparks off and I can just start creating on my own. It's been more than ten years since I did this with Heranyt, so I'll be more specific with the process in an upcoming series on worldbuilding, but basically at this point I'm not so much using the real-world inspirations strictly, just to push my subconscious just enough. 

And then I rinse and repeat. For years. With each thing, whether it be history, a piece of geography, a race, I ask myself: "Does this support the central mechanics of the game I want to build this setting for?" And if the answer is no I throw it out immediately. Focus. Focus. Focus. On the fact that you are not making a work of fiction, but a backdrop for a game, where the stories depend upon mechanics and the world those mechanics evoke together.

We'll get into the weeds more for the next post, as a I start to build Viestinta.

What Is The Orthodox Way?

Lent is coming up, and we all know what that means: all the goody two shoe Christian pricks will start asking the one question that doesn’t actually matter, which atheists rightfully mock as ridiculous, especially because it’s such coming from such a sincere place, thus making said Christian sincerely ridiculous: what are the rules for fasting, so that way I can do the Christian thing? Eastern Christians will reference the Typikon and its silly intricacies and whether or not fasting from oil means olive oil or just all oil. Normal Catholics will just fast from chocolate. Traddy Catholics and Western Orthodox will put us all to sleep with an explanation on how to abstain and how to fast. It all eventually starts coming down to technicalities, as everyone figures out how to strain the gnat.

We’re going to tell a story I think pretty indicative of the saints, the people who actually stuck the landing, Saints Dorotheus and Dositheus. 

 Dositheus was a soft rich kid who sat around all day, eating and drinking. He wasn’t a bad kid, nor was he a particularly good one. He was just a soft rich kid. Had he lived today he probably would have had “Fur is murder” bumper stickers and would have drank free trade coffee with a paper straw and looked like a scruffy lumberjack (without being able to change a tire).

Three of those five apply to me. I’m not telling you which.

One day Dositheus happened upon an icon of the Last Judgment, and found he couldn’t look away. 

You’d figure someone as seemingly self-centered as Dositheus wouldn’t give such a thing a second glance. But he just kept staring at it, unable to move. A young woman came up to Dositheus and looked at the icon with him. Dositheus asked what the image was about. He’d never seen it and it was so striking! The young woman explained the icon to Dositheus. It’s not known exactly what she told him, but considering that the Scriptures openly say that one goes to Hell for not forgiving sins and taking care of your fellow man I’d imagine that’s at least part of what she talked about. Whatever she said, she made a huge impression. Dositheus, struck by the explanation, asked her how he specifically was to avoid Hell. The woman told him specifically to stop eating meat, something Dositheus was probably quite fond of, and to pray.

She then vanished; it is speculated that it was Mary, the Mother of God, who had appeared to Dositheus. I am inclined to believe such a thing.

Whoever it was Dositheus was convicted by the conversation, and began to fast from meat and to pray. A lot. Eventually his family and friends told him such actions were for a monastic, not a laymen. Dositheus, trusting in the woman who appeared to him, went to Palestine and asked to be a monk.

He looked so soft they thought he was a thief trying to get sanctuary from his pursuers. Nobody who looked like Dositheus could possibly want to be a monk. So the monastery tapped St. Dorotheus to figure out Dositheus’s angle.

St. Dorotheus was the no-nonsense head of the monastery’s infirmary. The abbot figured if anyone could crack Dositheus it was the cantankerous nurse. St. Dorotheus, after cross-examining Dositheus within an inch of his life, concluded the young man was the genuine article, appearances be damned. When St. Dorotheus  reported this to the abbot he was informed he was to be the Dositheus’s elder, the man to whom Dositheus reported. 

St. Dorotheus protested: he was a nurse in an infirmary ward, with what time did he have to attend with a young man who looked like he would be blown over like a leaf? But one of the monks was an acknowledged prophet, a man with genuine clairvoyance; he told St. Dorotheus that he was necessary for Dositheus's soul.

What happened next will hurt soft modern ears. Back in the day violence was not perceived as the horrific evil that it is today. If you can't get past that I do not recommend reading anything, or going outside, or especially going on a farm.

Now, keep the following in mind: nobody really liked St. Dositheus. He was this upper crust kid who just sorta bumbled around the infirmary, eating the fish heads that his elderly patients wouldn't touch. He barely showed up at church, and when he did he was late. Monasteries, being the pressure cookers that they are, take these small things and make them a big deal. Contrary to the popular Christian perception monks are usually very petty creatures, taking big offense at the smallest things. To be fair, it's hard not to when your around the same idiots day in and day out; I'd be a lot more petty about it if I was in their shoes, for sure! But the fact remains: St. Dositheus stuck out like a sore thumb in an environment where even the slightest differences breed deep resentments. Sometimes this would get the better of St. Dositheus and he would yell at his fellow monks. He usually didn't do anything too over the top, but the young man seemed to have a particularly fragile constitution about such things, because he'd go into a closet and ugly cry. As in, howling cries. For a sharp word to monks who were petty little things.

Sound ridiculous to you?

The monks agree with you!

They'd go to St. Dorotheus, y'know, a busy nurse, and tell him that his spiritual son was sobbing in a closet and nobody could get him to shut up. Imagine standing by the dead of a dying man and someone comes up and goes "So that soft idiot that you're taking care of? Yeah, he's sobbing in a closet and we can all hear him." Would you be nice to him?

Don't lie.

St. Dorotheus went in and mocked St. Dositheus for his absolutely ridiculous constitution, telling him he was a soft fool and that he was a bother, all of which was true. This would make Dositheus howl louder, of course, which made Dorotheus even madder, of course, until finally the elder's anger would turn to pity. "Get up. God forgives you, Dositheus" he would say. And Dositheus would dry his eyes and come out.

This was a regular occurrence, it went on for years. Dear God that  sounds annoying. But each time Dorotheus would mock his disciple's soft constitution until he'd run out of steam and then try to comfort him.

In all things Dositheus was obedient to Dorotheus. He remembered what the mysterious woman had told him, and fate had brought him to Dorotheus, so he accepted all this without complaint. Dorotheus, for his part, slowly and patiently accepted most of his charge's habits. He helped wean Dositheus off of most of his dependence on food.... although he never got through about stealing fish-heads off the plates of the elderly. That one never they never got around to. Dositheus had one job, far as Dorotheus was concerned: stop being a crybaby wuss. So when Dositheus took his hand to trying to interpret Scipture Dorotheus beat Dositheus, telling him understanding the Scriptures could wait until after he stopped being a crybaby and actually had something in his soul worth a damn. Dositheus accepted the beating.

I'll repeat it for our soft modern ears: he accepted the beating. 

He wasn't scared. He didn't cave in. Nothing like that. He accepted the beating as a continuance from the visitation from the mysterious woman. In fact he accepted everything like that, as a necessary part of what he was told to begin with. It is hard to imagine such a thing, but he did it. And in that was Dositheus's real virtue: he trusted in the truth given to him and trusted that the circumstances he was in flowed from that moment. And that's really the best anyone can do. He just held to it like iron.

So it continued like that, day in and day out. And then one day Dositheus began to spit up blood. His constiution began to fail out. Dositheus then made a decision that I'm not sure I understand, but I'm not here to judge it: he told Dorotheus that now was not the time to take it easy on him. Dositheus wanted Dorotheus to continue with his harsh treatment of him. He had intuited that somehow Dorotheus's rough but loving attitude was what he needed, sickness be damned. Dositheus figured that if he was going to die (and spitting up blood, with medicine at the time, certainly that was a reasonable thing to suppose) he was going to go out holding to what he had been told. Dorotheus, after questioning his disciple, promised he wouldn't take it easy.

It didn't last that long: Dositheus became bed-ridden as his illness became worse. He didn't want to quit, but he was wearing out. Dorotheus didn't leave his side. He asked the abbot for permission to stop fighting, to stop trying to live. The abbot told him to try to hold out for a little while longer. So Dositheus tried. And he failed. He couldn't pray, he couldn't focus, he was in agonizing pain. He begged for permission to stop trying to live; he couldn't fight anymore. The abbot gave his permission to Dositheus. He died a few days later.

And you know what? The monks said good riddance. The weakling thief was dead! Sad that he went out that way, but the place became a lot quieter, and thank goodness! Did I mention monks could be really petty creatures? Did I mention that they're not that different from anyone else? Well, one day a visiting elder from another monastery asked God to show him all the saints, the holy ones, from Dorsitheus's monastery. He saw a particularly young man that wasn't represented in any of the icons. He described the young man to the other monks and they realized he was talking about Dorsitheus... much to everyone's extreme surprise. He was a saint? What in the hell??? But Dorotheus agreed with the vision. Dositheus had a strenght he had hardly even showed to his elder, nevermind to anyone else at the monastery. The abbot, who Dorotheus had kept in the loop, agreed with him. They told the full story of Dositheus's vision, the efforts he went to stay true to the Theotokos, his unflinching acceptance of himself and the monks, and his unwavering resolve to do what was within his power. 

Dositheus did not become a saint by doing great things. He did not become a saint by being well-loved. He didn't even become a saint by really being good. He heard his call, trusted it, and followed it to the very best of his ability. He didn't understand much beyond what was right in front of him and after awhile he didn't even try to do that much. He tried to do what he could for those around him within the context of his call, even as he died. Nobody appreciated it. Hell, hardly anybody saw it. But he did it anyways. What he resolved to do was small. How he did it was worthy of the mightiest of warriors. He's been on our calendar ever since.

That is the way of the Church, of the saints, of the Fathers, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

"Yeah, that's nice Nathan. He was visited by the Theotokos. I've not been, so what's this got to do with me?"

Okay, fine.

We'll go back to the monks, 'cause it's documented better and you can find it more easily. Specifically St. Joseph the Hesychast, a modern saint who lived on Mt. Athos. There was a monk who lived on Mt. Athos, the center of Orthodoxy, who was a raging drunk. He yelled at people, never showed up to services, and was such a pain in the ass that the monks actively rejoiced when he died. As in, openly. "Yay, the jerk is dead!" Are you seeing a pattern here? You should.

St. Joseph said he watched the angels take the drunk's soul to heaven.

That demanded an explanation. Turns out the man had been made a drunk by his parents; they had deliberately addicted him to alcohol. The man had no choice in this, he was actively screwed over by his parents. Seeking help he found his way to the Holy Mountain, begging to be made a monk. He had torched his own life and could not recover. The elder he was assigned to asked the man how many drinks he had to have in a day. The answer was in the thirties. "Subtract one drink from that, and when you're okay with that let me know" said the elder. The man was told he didn't have to go to church, nor did he have do anything else. Whatever happened, he had to just keep to the drinking rule.

In the decades that followed the poor man went from thirty-something drinks to two. Two in a day! That's incredible! But even one drink was enough to get him rip-roaring drunk. He never totally conquered it; he died first, his body probably worn out by the years of interior warfare. But every day he resolved to do the rule that he knew could cure him. He didn't have a kind word for anyone because he'd been so screwed up that kindness was impossible. But he wanted to be better and did everything he possibly could to be so. He trusted that God had given him what he needed and that was enough.

So what about you?

We all have something like that. I promise you that we all do. Maybe you know someone that fills your soul with light when you look at them and you've resolved to love that person the best you can. Maybe there's a project that you have to do, against all sanity against all reason against all hope it must be done. Maybe someone really screwed you over and it may take you the rest of your life to get over it; healing is a titanic effort. Trust me, I know how that one goes. You don't have to be visited by the Theotokos or see God 's light with your waking eyes or see the world where all go to dream but can't remember or anything like that. Every human being has something in their soul that vexes them, something that they must contend with, something that drives them forward. It is a deeply personal thing and others may find it to be madness, in fact it's my experience that everyone else finds it madness. But it is yours.

"What's that got to do with the Church? And fasting? And prayer?" Well, it turns out that, whatever it is that's on your heart, it's sent by God, somehow, some way. God sent these things to you, whatever they are. The Church guards the archives of what we have discovered so far when people chase the thing God gave them: the doctrines, the scriptures, all of it is there so you can keep the dialogue with God going as you do the thing He gave you. That dialogue looks different for everyone, from blind acceptance to blinding anger to perpetual mourning to joy to all the other emotions a human is capable of.

It's a toolbox. Not a straitjacket for your brain.

So, whatever it is, whatever it turns out to be, that's the Way. For you. There's a 4,000+ year old toolbox that's been compiled and is kept in a more or less coherent order. If you dig you'll find something.

So if you have to ask if, when the Typikon (a relatively recently compiled book -with multiple versions- in the life of the Church, and a recent edition of that book at that) forbidding oil means all oil or olive oil... well hopefully you can have a good laugh at the question. The question, the one you have to figure out with your priest, parish, and family, is "How can I use the fast to further the calling God gave me?" There is an answer to that. 

But it has very little to do with what's in the Typikon.

And probably even less to do with chocolate.

The TRUE Lesson of Love and Thunder

Within ten minutes I shut Love and Thunder off. I'd not expected to find it enjoyable, and so I walked in with lower expectations. Oh my dear Lord, it was so much worse than I expected, as an adaptation. Gorr's opening was so spiteful, so gross, so mean, that I almost shut it off on reflex. But I sat through a few minutes more, saw what I expected to see about Thor, which wasn't a bad thing per se, but it certainly didn't undo Gorr, so I shut it off to go to bed.

I woke up, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Thor's set up was interesting, Gorr's scene had totally spat upon the source material in a way that's becoming more and more common these days... did I want to endure the idiocy so I could get an actually interesting story with Thor?

And then my comics came in

About twenty or so comics, for about thirty bucks, thanks to Alterna Comics. So I decided to read some.

God, Red Koi hasn't been bad for even one issue. Even ones that I like less, like the most recent #6, are at worst entertaining and interesting. Weland does some world-building, which I didn't want, but I'm sure the series will be more interesting down the road for the effort. The Swan King's an awesome character, I just wish I could have seen more of Eiko, that's all. Otherwise it's a solid story with good art.

You know what I didn't like? Void Walker.

This was a series that went too hard on in media res. They were trying to do emotional beats along with worldbuilding and twists.... pick two. No, you don't get all three. Just two. The series tried to bite way off more than it could chew. But isolation all the pieces were excellent! There was good backstory, fantastic worldbuilding... it just should have been eight issues, not four. Hell, you could have gotten away with a full twelve-issue run. I won't be keeping these comics. They're not worth rereading to me. But y'know what? I'm not particularly mad that I spent the money. It was an honest effort on the part of the team, and even an honest failure is something enjoyable, on some level.

And then I read Tinsel Town, and really liked it!

This sucker is a historical fiction about a token female cop in the early 20th century becoming a real one. This is not the sort of thing I'd normally read, but I figured "Why the heck not, it's ten bucks". And my goodness it was great! It's not some standard idiotic woman acting like a man in order to get what she wants, but a genuine feminine character who happens to be tough as nails and isn't going to back down on anything. It's a wonderful read, having a great balance of action, romance, darkness, and historical commentary. Not at all what I expected.

I've not read them all yet. I've now got all the issues of Downcast, which I've been enjoying, and I just threw some series in, just for a random lark. I later caught up. Wow. It’s a good science fantasy slow burn, with some really awesome worldbuilding and character work. The plotting is extremely well done and rewards rereading. I’m definitely hooked now. When’s the next issue???

So I went back to my novel, Interlibrary Loan, Gene Wolfe's last book! It wasn't really finished, but it's a powerful book about eugenics and hope and love and the ultimate rejection of the rotten bifurcation of modernity, with one of the most powerful and puzzling endings I've ever read. Flawed, but oh so beautiful.

And then I realized I had the original Redwall still checked out from the library. It's been years since I've read it, so I tucked in immediately. The prose is a bit clunkier than I remember, but it's Jacques's first novel, so y'know, it's gonna happen.

By the time I thought about that abortion of a movie it had been well over seven hours. I chuckled when I thought about it. I had no need for the movie. I've got the original run by Aaron, sitting in my short box. And that is an amazing run. I love it so very much. It's goofy and sincere and dangerous and menacing and campy and oh so very genuine, all at once. Sure, Aaron's a miserable leftist without a clue, but my God he wrote a good Thor arc here. I'm really blessed to have it. I mean it: the Gorr comic arc is absolutely amazing.

Oh, wait, I was talking about the movie, right? That's what this post was about, right? I think? I got distracted by having fun. It almost feels like that's what's missing from a lot of modern mainstream comics too, y'know? Man, not like Superior Spider-Man back in the day. Slott was firing on all cylinders back then. I got that back in my box too and...

Every Moment of You is a Copy

“If I were to meet a thousand copies of you, I might go mad for joy.”

Gene Wolfe, Interlibrary Loan

I was lying on my bed. It was 2006. Lyme’s disease had totally broken my grip on reality when the sun set. I would lie on my bed, wracked in pain to almost hallucinogenic levels. Lying there, I felt an exhaustion I couldn’t begin to tell a soul. My very core was tired. Exhausted. Spent. The woman I had forgotten I loved had been gone for years, and with it so had beauty and meaning.

It was 2023. I was making dinner with my wife, the woman I have loved since I was a child. I'm still scratching my head as to how I wound back up with her. Our kids were screaming at each other over some new invented conflict; The Second Gulf War would have been proud. It was pretty stressful, and I sarcastically thought about how all the pain and suffering I had brought me to this moment.

Wait, what is this? 

2023 stopped. He knew what this was. Or near enough. Hey, we probably don’t have much time. Take a look. 

That’s not her, 2006 balked. That can’t be. 

It is. 

Can I… can I watch? Please? You sure this is real?

If I told you would you believe me?

No.

Will you look anyways?

For the next thirty minutes 2006 looked, and 2023’s eyes watered. There were children! They were beautiful! They were noisy and a bit rude at the moment, but they were really there. 2006 reached out through 2023’s hands and touched them, marveling.

This happens, declared 2006. 

2023 said nothing. 

Is this real?

You touched them, did you not? Would you like to see the wife again?

There was a moment. And in she came back in, like a whirlwind. The children were driving her nuts. 2006 couldn’t handle it. There she was, and 2006 couldn’t handle the truth of it. It was too much. 2023’s body trembled. The link was beginning to break. 

Can I come back?

2023 smiled. Anytime you like. We’ll be here.

2006 trembled in the dark. Promise?

Promise.

2006 passed out in yet another Lyme’s funk. He woke up the next day, unable to remember the amazing dream he had. But he knew there had been one. Despite not feeling human, his step was lighter that day. Why couldn’t he remember that dream???

2023 turned to face the delightful chaos with a chuckle. He had asked for it, after all.

The Problem of Content

 

There is a lot wrong with how The Boys comment on society, and most of it is that they don't go nearly hard enough. Blinded by their progressivism they ascribe Disney's moves to Fox, which is just... manifestly wrong... but those are small quibbles on what is the most accurate take of the modern world I've seen in a popular format. Because otherwise The Boys is right on the money. See, we're not getting art from the modern age of streaming, by and large. I don't even know if I'd count The Boys as art, but it's definitely not content. 

What's content?

Let's go over what art itself is, first.

Art is nourishing to the soul. You interact with art and your soul wakes up a bit, becomes all the better for it, and is able to face the world in a better place. Art is not necessarily comfortable, but it is comforting. Art uses plot, technique, to communicate one genuine perspective to you. It is person packaged into an object.

So content? Content is just all the material stuff that art is, but without the soul: the plot hooks, paint strokes, all the stuff a soul would use to leave a bit of itself behind. Except there’s nothing really behind it. It may be well done, entertaining, and even moving… but that doesn’t make it art. And let’s be clear art can be really badly done. Art may even be harmful. But art is attempting to show something beyond itself. The object is commentary, is not an end in itself.

But content is soulless, no matter much you may like it. 

Sorry. 

Now, the issue I have isn’t about the existence of content. Comics and most popular culture is content, not art, almost by definition. Hell, that's what pulps really were to begin with: a ton of well-done content. Content streams themselves are not a problem either. One frequently needs to just be able to check out, even if it's for a moment, and content helps you do that. But the problem with too much content is that it numbs your brain and shuts it off. if you take in too much. The world has changed, and content has a reach that is getting much more pronounced than it ever has. And, since art has a pesky habit of actually changing people (which can dramatically change the type of content you consume) it behooves folks with influence to keep art as far away from people as possible.

If you doubt me and are reading this post on a phone I've got prime landscape in Florida to sell you. If you're not reading this on a phone the fact that the above sentence is thinkable is a problem.

Because, see, the problem is that art? Art needs needs interior space to grow. You need to be open to it. You have to seek it out. Content helps maintain a status quo, art always shakes it up. Whether for better or worse, art is problematic for those in power. And if you have a bunch of media giants having access to your eyeballs all the time, there's going to be a constant push to keep your eyes on their stuff.

Good graft, ain't it?