The Meeting Of The Face And The Gaze

A reminder to fellow writers:

Don't feel too guilty about loving a heroine you painstakingly created just because she's not a paragon of virtue. That's especially if you've thrown curses into the blazing Sun for her, and cried by her side at the edge of a dusk-lit world.

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𝙱𝚕⧲𝚌𝚔

Element hybridization-expansion idea: Racing honchos amused by a woman angling for the male-dominated world of Formula One trapped her in a

Spell Salvage

The spiritual malleability of soft clay is no different from that of baked clay. What a substance can harbor is only limited by sentient will, including ours—and his.

An old clay figurine sage sat on his breezy porch, watching children play in the square, while yet another family moved into their village. He smiled as he remembered a time when he was dreamy, energetic, and ambitious, just like them. But those days were long gone. Now, he had seen the pain of war, the misery of poverty, and the fear of death. And he had learned that the only way to overcome these things was to let them go. Letting go was the most tender kindness you could show yourself.

With the arrival of new families over the past years came new little clay figurines that also turned alive when no human eyes were set upon them. A few of these figurines were kind and respectful, but most were not. The robber figurines were the worst. They were always picking on the old figurine sage and stealing from him the mineral rocks and plantings clay figurines would painstakingly gather for energy boosts and comfort, taunting that his mantra was letting go anyway, so why did he care if they took his things? Eventually, even the kind figurines started to pick up the habits of the robber figurines despite themselves. Amid the rampant greed and selfishness, the sound of sageliness had the tune of major fraud. If the halos were not lying about their motives to the halo-nots, they were lying about the nature of the world. Yet, should a sage genuinely believing in his own teachings really be faulted? But we digressed.

The old sage chuckled and gently chided the robber figurines, some of whom bristled at being seen as inferior to a decrepit chap when life and their circles had been washing over them with the tenets that might was right and wantonness was sense. Patting one robber figurine's shoulder, the sage genially offered his remaining little vintage collections to the gang to inspire magnanimity in these lost souls. Collective silence fell over the robber figurines for a second. The sage nodded with a warm smile. But then the robber figurines broke out into uproarious laughter.

They threw his stuff wildly around his place like a lunatic circus band. A couple of sharp items tore through the thatched roof. The old sage looked on with jovial eyes. What were possessions in a transient life? He left it to the young 'uns to reach this realization themselves someday since preaching did not help them.

One day, a clay figurine found an ancient piece of paper describing a lengthy spell that could return amnesiac souls trapped in clay figurines to their otherwise permanently comatose human bodies. Word spread around. The robber figurines succeeded in nailing the incantation of the spell. They became humans again, burned up the paper, and quickly took advantage of their new power. They began to bash, shove, and drum on the old sage, who was helpless to defend himself. The figurine sage called for help, but no figurine or human came.

After days and days of relentless abuse, the sage's body was covered in bruises, wounds, and scars. The ex-figurines relished their power over the old sage, and grew bolder, stepping up the severity of their abuse. As his strength and will continued to ebb away, the sage grew desperate, terrified that he might not be able to survive much longer under the onslaught of attacks. Yet, every night, he whispered to himself as rain and snow from his cracked roof seeped into the cuts on his body, "All is impermanent. Fate is in the mind. Let excruciating pain drain away. Let agony and misery be mere flurries. Untrap all negativity. Release all memories. Let go, let go."

One evening, the sage was so weak that he could not even chant anymore. He lay on the ground, discolored and broken, while a flock of larks flew overhead. Maybe, a harrowing ancient wind started to sing with increasing amplitude inside him, it's time to let go of letting go. Letting go was not always the sole or secure means of finding peace.

So he struck at the ex-figurines with all his unsteadily recovering strength the next time they came. They were stunned for a full half-minute. This time, a small, sensitive boy noticed the sage's plight and rushed to his side — only to be casually shoved out of the way by the ex-figurines coming back to their senses. Completely rehabituated to their human bodies after so many months, the ex-figurines were by now a formidable wall to a youngling unaccustomed to self-defense, and as good as invincible giants to a tiny, battered clay figurine. The loopholes of physics were already sealed up. In her indignant glee, one kid used so much force that she accidentally smashed the figurine sage into smithereens. Tinted fragments and powder that broke off from him coldly sailed through the sunlight before lying scattered in their little diorama of a world. The old sage was badly injured, and the boy knew that he could not save him.

From a distance, the sage raised his crumbling hand slowly as if he could stroke the boy's red face. "Cry not, child. It's okay," he smiled weakly. "I've really let go of everything now."

The old sage took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He dreamed of the children playing in the village square. In this dream, at this moment, they would eternally play, learn, and grow. And with that, he died with a faint, peaceful smile, surrounded by the birdsong of the forest. His entire body would eventually molder into dust that the wind would carry away, some to the distant, mysterious hills and glistening lakes, some to putrid ditches close by.

The clay figurine sage who was too late but did remold himself time and again was gone. The wolfish ex-figurines had no trouble turning their crosshairs to other clay figurines in other villages.

Many thanks to a very nice meme creator and a co-pilot bot for inspiring and shaping the more uplifting aspects of this story.

“Banks used to be places for number crunching with this dry and boring image in my mind. After playing the role of the banker Hanzawa Naoki, I realized that they are really about interpersonal stories. In the sense that one can handle financial transactions in the hope of helping people, banking is a job that ...” [Read more at The A-Philosopher’s Chair: https://aphilosopherchair.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/simoleon-physiology/]

© All rights reserved. This is an original translation done by the admin. No reproduction in any form is permitted without express permission.

(via Simoleon Physiology)

A note of repentance!

Floral Bomb Bowling

Physical experience idea: For a touch of nature and a grit-cultivating element of unpredictability, players in medieval village garb or animal mascot costumes take turns to pick from a cart of transparent balloons stuffed with flower heads and petal powder. Complicated impact dynamics are introduced as the balloon selected for the turn may burst as it is rolled down the bowling lane. The elevated cost is justified because watching the jolly but starvation anxiety-inducing original game, Netflix's cabbage-bowling challenge (scroll to the bottom) for cast members of Avatar: The Last Airbender, sets off waves of warmth and guilt in relation to a tomato tennis tournament few know about. Food insecurity and crop wastage are real issues a double major in air-castle bending and soap bending readily overlooks until they see the real thing.

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Tomato Tennis

"Things are about to get wild! As players take their positions, the smell of old and rotten tomatoes hits our noses, and the sight of player

Note that Soap 4.0 is so far a text AI-free zone.

whalejellycs.github.io

Whale Map

Interactively explore satellite image distribution of four 🐳 species

Young-woo's tastefully assembled room provided the very first blueprint.

A Headful of Mountain Flowers

A Headful of Mountain Flowers

The most boorish and mercenary character in Hong Kong drama War and Beauty is also its greatest romantic. Eager to leave poverty behind and make a name for himself in the dog-eat-cat world of 19th-century Qing China, delivery agent Kong Wu has no qualms leaving a group of defenseless girls to the mercy of ruthless thugs so that he can complete his job. Yet when he discovers a silk handkerchief…

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Many people in the Asian drama-watching community know of 2011 Chinese production Scarlet Heart (available on Dramafever) as a girl-meets-many-boys time-travel romance, but the rich cultural tapestry within perhaps deserves more credit. Over 35 episodes, viewers are treated to an eye-opening array of Qing costumes, headdresses and jewelry as well as fascinating references to various Chinese teas and snacks. The talented but doomed eighth prince, for instance, is described as favoring “Rizhu Snow Buds” or “Day Cast Snow Buds” (a word-by-word translation; Rizhu is actually a geographical location)—a type of green tea which name is thought to conjure up an image of beautiful snow melting away with the rise of the Sun, leaving only sadness in its place.

Certainly, too, the drama includes a great wealth of literary references, of which a Tibetan poem and a passage by Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi have been discussed on this site before. As a sample of the plethora of Chinese prose and poetry also woven into the script, below are the poems in scenes corresponding to some of those aired in the Korean adaptation so far:

1. The eighth prince sends the heroine, Ma’ertai Ruoxi, Song poet Qin Guan's “To the Tune of Magpie Bridge Immortal,” an extraordinarily spectacular and romantic poem that provides much comfort to couples in long-distance relationships. Its lines would solve the supposed mystery of the above headline. (Original text | Translation)

2. He next sends her “Fallen Low,” a succinct and highly rhythmic work which historically has different interpretations bound by the common theme of human-inflicted suffering. (Original text | Translation – one of the interpretations)

3. When Emperor Kangxi orders Ruoxi to explain why she calls him a good ruler, she quotes the lines "But alas! Qin Shihuang and Han Wudi [...] Look to this age alone”€ from Mao Zedong’€™s “€œSnow.”€ They may sound sycophantic to modern ears but mark the start of their friendship. If we put aside political differences and regard its mentions of archery and literary prowess as mere symbols of less advanced stages of human civilization, the poem is additionally a reminder that the best need not be in the past — €”the sources of our problems may also be the sources of our solutions. This is a dose of optimism the world at large can benefit from as it grapples with political, economic and environmental upheavals. (Original text | Translation)

It is unfortunate that time constraints prevent The Chair from listing the numerous other classical texts referenced and far more so that few Western-language drama review sites seem to take a profound interest in East Asian literature. The analysis of the portrayal of regional literature in East Asian dramas is a niche area in cultural critique is badly in need of new blood and, pun intended, a few more scarlet hearts.

Passing the Baton ...

"Spit out the worm."

That line from Six Flying Dragons is what we want to tell this increasingly feverish, belligerent and senseless world now. Less than half a day after the previous post on counter-terrorism was released, yet another round of attacks made the headlines. When life is this fragile, there is all the more reason to treat ourselves and one another more kindly.

The rest of this post and the title were meant as a preview of a Tree With Deep Roots post commemorating the end of Six Flying Dragons. A note of thanks to Tumblr bloggers for their support anyway.

Happy reading. And happy philosophizing on all things entomological.

Tomato Tennis

"Things are about to get wild! As players take their positions, the smell of old and rotten tomatoes hits our noses, and the sight of players dressed in animal costumes adds to the surrealism of the scene. The players hold their fabric rackets, ready for a game that's unlike any other."

"As the first serve is made, the ball arcs in the air with a juicy splatter, and the spectators react with delight, laughing and cheering at the unusual spectacle before them. The players dance across the court, moving with agility and grace, using their fabric rackets to swat the tomatoes in all directions."

"Look! The giraffe's tomato sails over the net and into the lion's court. The lion swings his racket, but he misses the tomato! The giraffe scores the first point."

"The lion is not happy. He roars in anger and charges at the giraffe. The giraffe is scared, but he holds his ground. The lion leaps into the air and tries to swipe at the giraffe with his claws. But the giraffe ducks out of the way, and the lion lands on his face."

"The crowd laughs. The lion is humiliated. He gets up and tries to hit the tomato, but he keeps missing. The giraffe wins two sets in a row, 6-0, 6-0."

"As the game progresses, the players' antics and shenanigans become more and more outrageous, with one player even taking a bite out of the tomato during a play. The crowd goes wild, cheering and clapping at every unexpected turn."

"After a hard-fought game, one player emerges victorious, holding a slice of tomato, their signature victory pose. The crowd erupts with applause, and the players take a bow, proud to have put on a performance that was not only entertaining but also offered a refreshing change from the traditional ball games where the ball is a clone standardized down to the millimeter level."

"And that's a wrap on another batch of exciting matches! You have been watching Splat!, a wackosome tournament that convinces kids to step away from their screens and explore the wonder and magic of the world around us. Raw messiness is our biggest star. It's a great way for your future Olympians at home to learn how to deal with unexpected situations and how to laugh at themselves."

"I'm your announcer for the day, Coco Reed. Over and ouch!"

Credits

Illustration: AI1-AI2-AI1 (Although WOMBO did not contribute anything to the image concept or composition, it was instrumental to the refinement stage in the middle.)

Narration: AI3-AI4-AI3-AI4 (Approximation) + Human dubbing

Game concept: @tomatodiscourse must have been an indirect source of inspiration.