Is Anyone Else Obsessed With How Subtly Important Eye Contact Is In Goncharov?

Once again our paths converge. Welcome to this humble emporium of wares, named after one such commander of runes, dubbed the "dollar general." I stand as thy guide amidst these mundane treasures. I ask thee, what purpose bringeth thee to this realm of commerce today? And should thou be in need of aid, callest upon me with thine inquiries.

In light of recent events, let’s not forget that H. Bomberguy is responsible for driving a formerly-beloved transphobic TV writer into a downward spiral that cost him his career and his family… all by playing Donkey Kong.

one of my favorite parts of moby dick is when ishmael wants/needs to tell us something but he desperately doesn't want to have to talk about it, he just buries it in a bunch of irrelevant information.

at the very beginning, he goes to church. a place filled with "silent grief... insular and incommunicable." and he sees these marble tablets on either side of the pulpit and says 'I don't really remember them all that well' (which is likely a lie. at the least it's extremely out of character for a man who directly quotes the internal monologues of other men) and proceeds to give three paraphrased examples. the first tablet is for a teenager, lost overboard off patagonia. the tablet was paid for by his sister. the second is for 6 men, taken by a whale they were hunting in the pacific. the tablet was paid for "by their surviving shipmates." the third is for a captain, killed on his own boat by a sperm whale off japan. the tablet was paid for by his widow. all seemingly normal.

except they're not. the first one is a red herring, seemingly irrelevant to our story. but the second? a memorial for a crew lost to a whale, left by their surviving shipmates? that's exactly what we're reading. the surviving shipmate is ishmael. he's all that remains. and then he pivots, drawing our attention to the much clearer parallel- the captain who loses his life on his own boat to a sperm whale. and we all immediately go "oh I know who that is! ahab!!" and ishmael succeeds. he needs us to see the sailors remembered by their surviving crew, but even more he needs to not address it. he needs us to not ask him about it. he wants this story to be told but he doesn't want to be the one telling it. he wants to pretend to be someone else, to be someone other than the one who survived. and for 135 chapters, he gets to be.

made another one

part of what delights me about the goncharov joke is the inconsistencies. because it’s not an actual movie, different people are imagining different versions of it. some posts claim katya dies, others claim she fakes her death and survives. some ppl say there was real passion between goncharov and katya, others say it was a loveless marriage. the outlines of the film are the same, but the details are different. i like to think that they’re all true. somehow, impossibly, everyone’s posts are accurate, even when they directly contradict each other. goncharov is large, it contains multitudes. 

hiiii mdms (moby dick mutuals) do you guys know about power moby dick (funny name). it’s an online annotation of moby dick that provides explanations for allusions and definitions for outdated terms/whaling jargon. it is so fun i am clicking around and exploring and learning a lot of new old-timey maritime words <3

GONCHAROV (1973) dir. Martin Scorsese

“It funny because for many years people thought Goncharov was the main antagonist of the film, after all, he’s the one everyone’s out to get, right? But it seems people are starting to understand that in actual fact, it is time that is the main adversary in this story. There’s never enough of it and that torments a lot of characters, especially Goncharov, because he’s fighting so desperately to find his place in a world that is so keen on keeping him ostracized.”

[template by @bitchronan]

All the “Elon Musk is Bob Page” posts made me do this in like five minutes

(Based on this)

A Snowy Day in Liurnia

“Mother says you’re not to be trusted,” the young girl said, twirling a finger in her red locks. The woman laughed, her large hat flopping about strangely in the girl’s eyes. It made her smile in spite of her uncertainty. The crone knelt down somewhat to meet her gaze, cold blue eyes crowning a warm smile.

“Thine mother speaks true, my dear. Trust is a thing earned, not given. Though, in time will thou too grant it?” She said, as a weathered hand reached out and pat her head, softly. The girl stepped aback, not in fright but surprise. The woman’s touch was frigid as ice. It was true then. She really was the snow witch.

“…are you the reason why it’s snowing now? The manor’s never seen a blizzard before…” the young Ranni asked, taking steps forward again. The snow witch smiled further, a spark of mischief to her grin now. 

“Tis not easy to get the attention of the Carians, dear. A full moon oft outshines a dark one, after all.” She let out a laugh, shrill as the icicles hanging from the manor’s eaves. Ranni smiled, laughing too. How had this stranger crept inside the castle’s walls though? Rennala and Radagon were vigilant as any since the war had ended, but a snowfall had drawn the attention to the now frozen lake beyond the walls and the Academy. 

A fog had crept in that morning, and with it, a stooped figure tending to the trees in the small groves tucked away in the Carian Manor. Ranni had ran out to explore the growing drifts, but had found the curious figure plucking snowflakes from the air as one might take fruit hanging from a branch. 

“Tis a good omen though, young mistress,” the hag said, finally putting away her little game. An omen indeed, a guiding light of the moon had brought her here, and the one to answer the call had surprised her further. The daughter of Rennala and Radagon themselves would be her student. 

“An… Omen?” the girl stepped back, fear tinging her voice. The snow witch merely laughed again, this time loudly and the snow gathering around them seemed to sparkle with each note of her voice.

“Oh, mine apologies dearest, tis not what I meant. A sign. A very good, sign. Thou art steeped in sorcery, thy blood calls out to it and it responds. Thine path is bright, perhaps brighter than most,” she stooped down again, this time resting fully on her heels. The odd down garb sparkled like starlight in the grove, bringing the young Ranni closer still. 

“…if you… really think so. The Academy teaches sorcery…” was all she could manage to say. The snow witch tilted her head at that, her smile going from one of mischief to something dark and bitter, as a sour taste received when sweetness was expected. She relaxed however, recalling her purpose here.

“The Academy is most equipped to turn lesser minds into vessels, ready to receive instruction from thy mother and her students. Thou, however, deserve something better than that. She will teach thou what she must, but I have a question for thee.” 

Ranni looked up as the snow witch stood, her cold, blue eyes almost glowing in the shadow of her strange hat.

“What is it?” she squeaked, feeling a tinge of fear. The hag shut her eyes, smiling that softer smile again. She tilted her head before extending a hand.

“I can teach thee not of Glintstone, but of ice and cold. Of the chill of night and starlight.” She whispered, lowering herself once more to meet Ranni’s gaze evenly. The young child furrowed her brows, a hand brushing damp bangs back from the wetness of the snowfall. 

“A chill night? It’s so cold now though!” she complained, folding her arms and pouting. The witch giggled at that. She was indeed the perfect student. 

‘Oh young Ranni, thou shalt learn beautifully,’ the snow witch thought.  

gotta admit, I'm impressed with their dedication to the bit