Remnants of the Goth Challenge

Because I am determined to finish this no matter what.

Day 26: Show a photo for every year that you've been into Goth:

Wait, I was supposed to be keeping track? XD

Day 27: The worst thing you ever did to a newbie:

Why would I go out of my way to wind up somebody who's done nothing to piss me off? The worst thing a 'newbie' is likely to do is call something Goth when it's not, which is hardly the end of the world. All you need to do is say "Actually, (band) is (genre), not Goth". Problem solved. No more fuss needed.

I'm not a fan of the idea that newbies are fair game just because they're new, or young. I've seen a lot of people try to justify blatant nastiness towards them with comments such as "they won't learn if you don't tell them they're wrong" and "the subculture doesn't exist to coddle you, I went through it, you should too." Neither of these excuses stand up. Rudeness isn't necessary to correct somebody who has made a mistake, and you can't expect people to meekly accept unfair treatment. I've never seen anybody asking to be coddled, either- the "we're not here to coddle you" line always seems to be used whenever somebody expresses fear of hostility. There's a big difference between wanting Goth to be a magic happy-clappy fantasy land, and wanting Goth to be generally non-judgemental towards newcomers.

Day 28: Do you consider yourself an Eldergoth?: 

... No. Definitely not. I'm way too young.

Day 29: What do you think will happen to Goth in the future?:

At the moment the subculture seems to be widening its' boundaries. The 'Goth is what you make it' school of thought is growing all the time, and it looks set to eventually eclipse the more purist views of Goth. While it's impossible to know for certain what the future holds, I can see the definition of Goth becoming more hazy in the next few years as more and more people start to accept modern interpretations as legitimate. There also seem to be quite a few people around now who are opposed to subcultural elitism, so with any hope there'll eventually be a bit less of it.

Day 30: Make a list of blogs you regularly read and link to them?: 

Not counting blogs I've linked to in earlier posts:

http://gothconfessions.tumblr.com/
http://thebbrants.blogspot.co.uk/
http://anonymousgothcat.blogspot.co.uk/

The first is a very diverse and friendly Tumblr community, the latter two are mostly personal blogs. Go and have a read. :)

Some notes on Cruxshadows.

So, last night I saw Cruxshadows play at the Talking Heads. At the moment the words I really want to write are "Squeee", "Fuck, yes!", "Yay!" and, er, "*.*", but I'll try to articulate my thoughts a bit better than that.

I'll start at the beginning. Note to anyone going to a gig alone: Arrive shortly before Open Doors, not half an hour before like I did. Waiting on your own for a long period of time isn't the most fun of activities. However, it does give you time to people watch, and one of the things that struck me whilst I was hanging around was the massive differences in the ages of the other fans. There were people around my age right up to people in their 50's and possibly 60's, which I thought was just fantastic.

We went in a little late for some reason, but none the worse for it.

There were two support bands: Dreams Divided, who I didn't realise were playing until they got on stage and introduced themselves, and AlterRed, who'd been booked from the start. Despite their last minute appearance, the former band did better than the latter, partly because they had an entire entourage with them, partly because they're known locally (or so I hear), and partly because the frontman was very good at rabble rousing. Or maybe it was just because they were on first, and managed to catch the crowd when we were raring to go. Either way, AlterRed didn't really get a very good run of it- they had very few of their own fans in, and they had the awkward slot between the first support act and the main act, which everyone seemed to want to save their energy for. The microphone also decided to throw a wobbly just as they were starting up, ruining their entrance a bit. They handled everyone's lack of enthusiasm pretty well, but I felt a bit bad for them nonetheless.

Because I believe in always supporting the support act whether you know of them or not, I started nodding along the second Dreams Divided came on. I didn't want to dance- partly because I had a half-drunk bottle of Budweiser in my hand, partly because I can't dance. However, it wasn't long before I realised that nobody else could either, so once I'd got rid of my drink I gave it the full drunk Uncle treatment. I kept this up for the next three hours. It was great fun and I regret nothing.

Storytime: During the first interval I went and asked one of the bartenders if there was anywhere I could leave my bag. I got given some directions to a cloakroom, but following them turned up only a locked door, so I went on a bit of a search. This involved a lot of wandering around looking awkward, and, because I didn't know the layout of the Heads, walk up the stairs, where it turns out you aren't supposed to go unless you're actually playing. I realised this the second I reached the top steps and saw there was nothing up there except an empty cupboard and a room full of band members, and began the slow walk of shame back downstairs, feeling like a character in a dodgy sitcom.

I also got hijacked by two great people! After my failed Cloakroom Quest, I got talking to Rosemarie and Amy (of Stripy Tights and Dark Delights, on which she has posted a proper review and a wonderful assortment of photos- go and have a look), and I ended up just... staying with them. We spent the rest of the show dancing around in a corner, next to a woman who had glowsticks and very impressive hair falls.

So Cruxshadows came on, and my favourite song got played, which I was very happy about. OK, that's a mild understatement there. Everyone has songs that are personally very significant to them, and Quicksilver is one of mine, so hearing it played live was really quite special. I think I actually spent half the song with my eyes shut, trying to take it in properly, as cheesy as that sounds.

... I was also mouthing along badly. Maybe that balances it out.

Throughout their lengthy set, they played a good mix of 'old favourites' and songs from their upcoming new album, which I without a doubt will be investigating when it's eventually released. The quality was consistently brilliant throughout, with every member performing perfectly, and the usual levels of crowd interaction were present. Full introductions, walking amongst the audience whilst singing, pulling chairs into the middle of the audience and standing on them whilst singing, daft dances with fans...

Just what you'd expect, really.

I don't think I stood still for a second for the... well, however long they were on. Needless to say, I was exhausted by the time they left the stage, and was too busy trying to catch my breath to join in with the shouts for "encore". These shouts were eventually successful. After about five minutes (which I'd spent trying fruitlessly to get a drink), the band wandered back onto the stage and picked up their instruments once more.

They performed two songs, and during the second one, Marilyn my Bitterness, Rogue started pulling everyone in reach up onto the stage, and within a minute most of the audience were up there, myself included, jumping around under the lights. This was brilliant fun and  probably the highlight of the entire thing. It's also given me a new addiction to that song- I've spent significant portions of today playing it on a loop.

The bands had intermingled amongst us right through the show- I had various Cruxshadows standing next to and behind me whilst Dreams Divide were on, The Dreams Divide entourage themselves blended in so well I didn't even realise they were with the band at first, and even members of AlterRed weren't safe from my dancing- according to Rosemarie, one of them got a faceful of my hair. I'm also convinced that everybody in the building got a hug off Rogue at one point or another. I got hugged after confusing the hell out of him- he'd been looking right at me when I'd appeared at the top of the stairs like a stalker, and after much mental debating, I decided to go over and apologise, even though there was a good chance he'd have no clue what I was on about (this was the case, as it turned out- but I think he got the general gist).

(I can't work out whether that particular event had good connotations or bad ones. I mean, on one hand, I had the courage to go and talk to somebody I wouldn't usually feel able to approach, which is good and, along with other events of the evening, suggests that I'm less shy than I thought I was. Seriously, If I had a pound for every time I'd caught myself thinking "My fourrteen year old self would never have been brave enough to do this", I'd be a lot better off. However, I approached in order to needlessly apologise for a minor mistake, which is something I'm trying to do less. Step forward or step back? You decide.)

Anyway...

The atmosphere was very friendly, very lively, generally wonderful, people were  striking up conversations with strangers, and it seemed as though everyone there was having a great time. The crowd was quite small, but in a way that was a positive rather than a negative- it meant more space for everyone, and more audience interaction between the bands and the fans. I have decided that a Cruxshadows concert is where I want to take anyone who believes that Goth is miserable and devoid of fun, because the entire show was anything but.

Until the next time... and my already long-overdue post about World Pride shenanigans. Deadlines? What're they?

Also, squeee! *.*

Auschwitz 2

It was a 24 hour day. I was up at one in the morning, and out of the house by half three, wearing about three layers because we'd been warned countless times that Poland is cold, my remembrance poppy, and my old school boots because New Rocks and customs can equal inconvenience. By six AM I'd arrived at Gatwick airport, met up with Chris, the other Itchener, battled through security and was sat around reading the welcome pack for forty-five minutes or so because really, what else could you do?

The plane left at seven. We were given breakfast, which I didn't find that bad and then wondered what the hell was wrong with me, this was plane food. At one point, our entire row was asleep, which was just as well really. We'd have been dead by the end of the day otherwise.

Touchdown at 10:00 local time.

On the coach to Oswiecim, the Polish town that was renamed Auschwitz during the war, we were advised to try and get some sleep, but being the geography geek that I am, I put my glasses on and tried to just sort of... take in Poland. The area we were in was a bit run down, full of shabby buildings, some with cracked walls and broken roofs, and most of the countryside looked quite desolate, but it was quite a nice place nonetheless and I barely took my eyes off the scenery for the hour we were on the road.

Eventually the buildings became more numerous and began to look larger and neater. In a bay in a narrow street, the coach finally stopped, and we filed off into the centre of Oswiecim, which was a very calm, well-kept place. We followed the road upwards and stood at the top of a bank overlooking the river Sola. We were informed that this had once been the site of the town's largest Synagogue, which had been destroyed totally by the Nazis shortly after the outbreak of the war. In later years, numerous artifacts from the Synagogue were discovered buried underneath the site, having been rescued by local Jews as Nazi anti-Semitism closed in around them. From there, we went on to the surviving Synagogue, which weathered the war due to being converted into a storage area for the invading forces, and is now being used as a museum documenting the plight of the Oswiecim Jews, of which there are none left. Here, Rabbi Barry Marcus, who had organised the trip and was a very dynamic speaker, gave us a bit of background, describing what happened in the town, and telling the story of the last Jew to live in Oswiecim, who had returned from captivity to find himself alone. Every day up until his death ten years ago, Shimshon Klueger opened the Synagogue door every morning and shut it every night, just as if it was still in use. He lived behind the building in very poor housing, and spoke to no-one.

By the time we got back on the coach, the atmosphere already felt different.

The plan for the rest of the day was thus: We would travel across to Auschwitz one, the first part of the camp to exist (and the camp to bear the infamous Arbeit Macht Frei sign), and then to Auschwitz-Birkenau, the second and largest part of the camp, and the part used primarily for mass slaughter. There is a third camp, slightly away from the other two and used mainly for labour, and several other mini-camps, where inmates had been shipped off to work in specific areas, but time was very much of the essence, so we wouldn't be visiting any of those.The first thing that struck me was just how close to civilisation Auschwitz one was. We were all expecting the coach to turn off down an isolated road, trundle off into the wilderness for half an hour and eventually arrive at the camp in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't like that at all. We were driving along, past houses and shops and garages... and suddenly there it was on the right. A bored looking woman with a high-visibility jacket directed us into the coach section as we went to park.

Actually getting into the place took a bit of time. As there are usually multiple tour groups about, tour guides have to speak to their groups through miniature radio headsets in order to prevent them from needing to shout over each other, so we all had to be fitted with one of those. It was, as you'd expect, a solemn atmosphere right from the start. From the moment we stepped through the doors, nobody really spoke. We loitered around in the entrance for a while, adjusting our headsets, before being ushered off down the path, under Arbeit Macht Frei (a replica, we were told- the original had been stolen), and into the camp itself.

 

                                                                                    Above: Walking through Auschwitz One.

The weirdest thing about walking around Auschwitz one was how, well, nice it looked. The buildings themselves were the incongruous but functional looking giant bricks I'd expected, but the camp in general had been prettied up. I have no idea when or why this happened- for all I know the camp always looked like this- but somewhere along the line somebody had decided that what a place of mass death really needed was gravel walkways, well-kept trees, and cute little pewter lanterns everywhere. It was half barracks, half Manor Gardens. The effect was really disconcerting. If I hadn't known where I was, I'd never have guessed. Inside the

The name 'Klara Goldstein' is readable
on the foremost suitcase. 

Prayer shawls taken from
Jewish victims

buildings, however, there was no getting away from it. The glass cases containing suitcases and prosthetic limbs, shoes and prayer shawls, made sure that everyone knew exactly what had happened where they were standing. Some of the exhibits were particularly striking: The room of hair, for example, houses the shaven hair of the prisoners. In a tank at one end, ponytails and plaits remain intact. One of the first rooms we went into contains canisters that once held the deadly gas used to kill the prisoners, and one of the last held clothes, shoes, and toys that had clearly belonged to children.

Children's belongings

Due to time constraints, we were hurried through all this rather quickly, with the guide's voice piping constantly through the headsets. Despite this, we were able to take in everything. Before arriving in the camp, I hadn't really known how I'd react, whether I'd feel absolutely nothing or burst into tears after five minutes. What I got was neither of those things, but a feeling of unsettled detachment as I struggled to properly comprehend where I was and what had once happened right where I was standing. I walked around in a haze, and after we'd left the barracks and gone back outside, I found myself walking ahead of or separate from my group on  multiple occasions.

Tribute Wall: In memory of
murdered prisoners of war.

Looking over Auschwitz's last
standing gas chamber

It was the outside that held some of the most poignant parts of the camp.  A row of candles placed in front of a wall which had once been used for shooting prisoners against formed a memorial. Above it was a flag, blue and white striped to resemble the camp uniform, but also bearing the red triangle the Nazis used to signify Prisoners of War, which most of the camp inmates were. Back towards the gate, two sets of gallows could still be found; one of which had been used to hang Rudolf Hoess in 1947.


The most unsettling part of Auschwitz one was, of course, the gas chamber. Auschwitz One hadn't really been a death camp- that had been Auschwitz Birkenau, but all four gas chambers there had been demolished by the Nazis towards the end of the war, leaving the small chamber at One the only chamber still standing.

These canisters contained the gas used to
kill thousands

It was one of the strangest experiences of my life. You think you'll feel something, but it's almost impossible to get your head around the fact that seventy years ago, right where you're standing, thousands of people were being systematically murdered. As I looked up at the hole in the roof where the gas had been poured in, I became more detached, except now the detachment was accompanied by a kind of dry horror. It's difficult to explain in hindsight. I think it's one of those things you simply have to do to understand.


One of the oddest things about the trip in general was that all this was being accompanied by a very businesslike atmosphere. We walked out of the gas chambers, handed in our headsets, and scrambled back onto the coach, where our team leaders gave us a jovial briefing and a weather forecast (cold). We'd gone from death camp to basic, day to day organisation within just a few minutes. As we drove onwards past the shops, garages and houses of Oswiecim, there seemed to be a clash of worlds, and this made the whole experience feel even more surreal.

It didn't last long, however. Five minutes after getting on the coach, we were getting off again, at Birkenau. This time, there was no denying where we were.

Unlike Auschwitz One, Auschwitz-Birkenau had been built for purpose. It didn't have the deceptively innocent look of the first camp. Here, there were just wooden blocks, guard towers, and chain fences, as far as the eye could see, in every direction. It was one of the bleakest places I'd ever seen. Hardly surprising, really, as this was the largest purpose-built death camp run by the Nazis during World War Two. Four gas chambers operated here, burning up to . As the Red Army advanced into Poland towards the end of the war, all four were destroyed.

After disembarking, a local journalist who'd tagged along took Chris and I off for an awkward photo in front of the fence with two students from another nearby college and MP John Denham (who'd also tagged along). We were then shepherded to the watchtower and given a small Jewish candle each, with the instruction to stash them away somewhere as we wouldn't be needing them for another four hours. This wasn't a pleasant prospect- the temperature was dropping rapidly and staying outside for four hours was probably not going to be fun.

Nonetheless, we hooked up headsets once again and made our way into the camps. There were no decorative plants here- unlike Auschwitz One, Birkenau had been left exactly as it was. We often found ourselves jumping muddy ditches because nobody had bridged them, and while there were paths, the quality of them varied rather. Even the buildings themselves hadn't been adapted. There were no exhibits in here- they contained the skeletons of what had been bunks, and holes which had once been used as toilets. They were dirty, rusting and not a great deal warmer than outside. It was close to a time capsule, and here, you got a fragment of understanding as to what living in the camp may have been like. You looked at the bunks and pictured people sleeping in them.

Other parts of the camp had been left intact too. The railway was still there, and one of the cattle carriages used to bring in prisoners from all over Europe had been placed beside the platform. Again, it was all to easy to see what had happened exactly where we were standing: Jews, Gypsies, Prisoners of war, disembarking, and then being roughly divided up. Many adults and almost all children would be sent to one area and then taken straight to the gas chambers: Those who looked strong enough to work would be sent to another area, where they would live a while longer providing slave labour for the Nazis.

Birkenau as seen from the top of
the Watchtower: This was the best I
could do, I'm afraid.

Then, to let it really sink in, we were taken back towards the entrance and told to form a queue. It took me a while to work out what was happening, but eventually I realised we were being sent up to the top of the watchtower, in small groups due to the ever weakening foundations. As I reached the turnstile at the foot of the steps that counted people in, and got waved through by Rabbi Marcus, I wondered how exactly the camp would look from the top. Would it be bigger than I'd realised? Smaller? Would I be able to see over the trees at the far end? As it turned out, there were no real surprises, but the view was haunting nonetheless. I'd expected to see barracks stretching almost to the horizon in every direction, but actually looking at the bare landscape,  peppered only by imposing guard towers and wire fencing, really brought home exactly what the camp had been used for. It was really strange when you looked further into the distance and saw a few modern houses, sitting just outside the camp boundaries. How the local population felt about living so close to places like these had been a subject of much discussion throughout the day. I wondered how long it took them to get used to it.

Back outside, we regrouped and headed into the camp once more. Sunset was beginning, and the sun was a weirdly symbolic blood red. The  temperature was dropping fast and nobody really wanted to be outside anymore. The cold was overpowering to the point where we were all losing concentration on the history and the only thing on our minds was getting indoors. This was us wearing several layers of winter clothing. The prisoners would have only had their camp uniform, plus they'd have been much physically weaker than us to begin with if they'd already been in the camp for a while. In between wondering how much longer we'd have to be outdoors, I found myself questioning as to how anybody at all had survived the conditions here.

As night finally fell, things got creepy.

By this stage, we'd moved towards the far end of the camp, and stumbled across an area which was full of remembrance shrines. Candles of every colour stood out against the pitch black sky, and illuminated the flowers, letters, and carved stone slabs that lay beneath them. It was... pretty. And about as devoid of threat as anything can be. I was standing in Auschwitz-Birkenau, and yet somehow the atmosphere felt peaceful and respectful. I fought hard to make sense of this. Birkenau was a death camp. Candles or no candles, it wasn't supposed to feel peaceful. I concluded that I was clearly just a bit screwed up, and decided not to tell anybody else present, lest they mark me down as a semi-sociopath or something.

We weaved around this end of the camp, passing the ruins of the four gas chambers (although some of the steps up the entrances were still distinguishable), hearing a story about a rebellion attempt and how it was quashed when the Nazis told all the prisoners present, whether they were guilty or not, lie down, and then shot every third person. We walked through the woods. I thought these were pretty too, in the dark. I worried for my brain.

 My memory of this part of the day is a bit hazy, because all anybody was really focusing on was getting indoors. Eventually, we got our wish. A large building, I'm guessing an information/conservation centre, stood about as far from the gates as it was possible to go. It had previously been the place where new prisoners who'd been selected for labour rather than death had been brought to be processed. They'd been stripped and showered in one room, then their heads had been shaved in another, then they'd been given the camp uniform to put on and sent out to the barracks. As we slowly followed in their footsteps, the guides made a point of emphasising that thousands of people underwent this process every day when the camp was at its peak.

A large part of the project was making the Holocaust human. Although facts and figures were mentioned a lot, putting names and faces to victims and perpetrators alike was a large part of  what they did. This was why, when we went into the last room, we were given plenty of time to look around what it contained.

Several large boards, each covered in photographs. Family albums, mostly, from before the war began. Set of pictures of a person, whose name and description was given in the middle of the images, having fun with friends and family, holding their children, going to work, totally unaware of where they'd end up. You always know that the Holocaust ripped families apart, but now we could see. We'd look at the photos, read the names of the people they contained, and then read about how two of them had died and the others took forever to find each other after the war was over. It's the kind of thing I think there should be more of- it's so easy for atrocities on this scale to end up as numbers in a textbook, but everyone involved was a person, and the more we remember that, the harder it is to allow the Holocaust to become an irrelevant abstract. This point was drilled home yet again by Rabbi Marcus, who herded us all back together for some readings given by a few volunteers, and then a sermon. He talked at length about the importance of not forgetting, then asked us to join him in prayer. The prayer was, of course, Jewish (and in Yiddish), but he made it clear at the start that we could adapt to our own beliefs where necessary.  I'm an atheist with no God to worship, so I chose to treat it like a two minute silence and just listened and remembered.

On the now intensely cold walk back towards the watchtower, I fell into step with Chris, and, he too admitted to finding Birkenau weirdly peaceful. I was relieved it wasn't just me, but not especially surprised, as by this point, it had started making sense. These days, people come to Birkenau for education and remembrance. Despite it's past, it is now a place of respect, and feels less dangerous than pretty much anywhere else I've ever been. It's a very strange contrast, and one I still have trouble fully getting my head around- but there it is.

By the time we left, there were over 100 more pinpoints of light standing out against the night sky. Battling against the wind, a few matches were passed and we finally lit our Jewish candles. It took most of us two or three goes, and trying to manoeuvre our candles together in a way that would allow the flame to travel across the wicks was incredibly tricky, but eventually, we managed it. We set them down in a sheltered spot right outside the watchtower, which felt incredibly symbolic, but it's only as I've been writing this that I've fully realised why. The fact that a place of genocide is now full of endless memorial plaques, stones, and candles... the fact that remembrance services are now held in the room where prisoners were once processed... the fact that the watchtower once used to aid mass murder now shelters tributes to the victims from the wind. It all adds up to one huge statement: The power Birkenau was given by the Nazis has been taken away.

The sun sets on Birkenau

A week after the visit, I attended a second, follow up, conference in London, and was assigned for created a presentation for Holocaust Memorial Day in February. The one thing that had irked me about the project was the way it seemed to focus exclusively on Jewish victims, to the point where it was difficult to remember that other groups had been involved at all. To me, it felt as though the Roma, Disabled, Gay, POW, Polish and 'Undesirable' victims were being forgotten completely. Therefore, I made sure I included as many groups as possible in my presentation. I also included lots of personal stories, from all kinds of victims, because if there's one thing this experience has taught me, it's the importance of remembering that the Holocaust was made up of individuals.

Jitters

I have far, far too many things to worry about.

A2 Exams: 
Pretty self explanatory, really. Made worse by my total and persistant ineptitude with 'Exam Technique'. For two of the subjects I'm taking, passing the exam is very dependant on writing in the way the exam board want, and I've never really managed to work out how to do that. In class practices, I'm the person who explains instead of contrasts and loses tons of marks as a result, and every year worry I won't be able to remedy that for the exams.


Financing College next year: 
I won't be getting EMA next year, and it's only just dawning on me how hard it's going to be to afford food and transport if I can't get a job by Autumn. My family's financial situation isn't brilliant as it is, especially now with my brother starting a vocational college course that needs tons of special equipment, and I hate the idea of making it worse. For the record, this won't spell disaster- worst case scenario is that I have to bring all food from home and only use the college bus (even if that means waiting around at college all afternoon), but it's a situation I'd like to avoid.

Getting a job: 
Recently I've realised that I've been putting jobseeking off due to anxiety surrounding employment. Why am I anxious? I have no clue, but needless to say, I need to learn not to be pretty quickly, especially as I've been feeling lately that my family's finacial worries are something I really ought to be helping with.

Sorting University:
From July onwards, I'm going to have to start trying to make friends with the dreaded UCAS. UCAS likes making people jump through hoops. Also, heavy student loans: I need one, but I really, really don't want one.

World Pride:
Although I've been planning on marching with AVEN since last year, I'm still very nervous at the prospect of going. Why? I'm not sure- the more I think about it the less there is to be worried about. I know my way around the underground, I have the money, and everything else can be sorted easily enough. Nonetheless, I often feel as though I'm only definitely going to this because I know I'll regret it for all eternity if I don't.


Explaining above to parents: 
I've been to London alone before, but knowing my parents, that won't stop the almost inevitable "That's not safe" argument. I'm also semi-expecting a "What on Earth do you want to go to that for" argument, a "What about future employers?" argument, and/or a "Those things are bloody stupid" argument, possibly even a "Will you just drop this silly 'asexual' business?" argument.  worst thing about this is that I'm not sure I could answer back to a few of these- particularly 'why do you want to go'. Right now, my choices are either be honest and argue, lie, or try to sneak out of the house at 6 AM on the seventh and not tell anyone where I am until I'm on the train. None of these are especially appealing.


Cruxshadows Gig:
A lot of people complain about not knowing any local goths. For me, the problem is slightly worse. I do know a couple of local goths, but I don't feel especially comfortable around them. Now, there's every chance this has more to do with me than it does with them- I do have trouble trusting people and I'm quite prone to seeing animosity where there isn't any- but the prospect of walking into a room convinced that the only people who recognise me look down on me isn't a very welcoming one, especially when one of those people seems to be pretty well established. Like AVEN, my decision to go to CXS at the Talking Heads was based on knowing I'd regret it if I didn't: Right now, I'm struggling to drum up enthusiasm.


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Day 25: Did you ever consider leaving the subculture?:


I've often wondered whether calling myself 'Goth' was a good idea or not. Truth be told, I only really use it as shorthand. I fit the definition well enough to consider myself Goth, and being able to answer "Are you Goth" with "yes" is far more convenient than the "Well, kind of, I mean, I take influence from Goth, but I don't really class myself as anything" ramble I used to have to go off on. Yes, sometimes I worry that I don't really fit, but the way I see, it's a word that defines me only loosely, not a doctrine I have to stick to. For now, I'm happy using it.

I remember reading an article by Charlie Brooker in which he said that, while some days writing is easy and the words just naturally flow forth, other days you have to fish every word, letter by letter, out of a giant tub of glue.

He also said that the best thing for transforming the tub of glue into a magic pez dispenser is a deadline. It's remarkable what you can come up with when you're racing the clock.

He was right on both counts. **nodnod**

I spent much of today hanging around a mini anime-convention in the Marlands shopping centre- and by 'mini', I mean a cosplay contest accompanied by a food-and-merchandise stall. It was kind of awkward, as my friend and I were two of very few who were neither in costume nor accompanying someone who was. Everyone else appeared to be seasoned convention goers, too, whereas as this was the closest either of us had come. Nonetheless, it was quite good fun, my Kuroshitsuji obsessed friend got a picture of a pretty good Grell cosplayer, and I now have 100% more addictive Japanese sweets than I did this morning. Think it's gone to my head a bit, actually- I spent half the bus ride home thinking about how I'd go about cosplaying as Delirium should the chance ever come up (Grubby old Jacket, multiple hair extensions, and a lot of fishnet).

Speaking of DC Vertigo creations, I now have the first editions of Y the Last Man (which I've wanted to read for ages) and Fables (which I haven't known about that long, but it looks like a promising series). Not sure when I'll get round to reading them, though- my queue of books is a mile long.

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Day 24: Name the best websites for Goths: 


Gothic Charm School would be the obvious one, but it's obvious for a reason. Most people have Stephen Fry down as the number one candidate for Benevolent Dictator, but I personally put Jillian Venters ahead of him.

The other one that's obvious- to my mind, at least- is Stripy Tights and Dark Delights (formally the Ultimate Goth Guide). Massive variety of articles on everything from in-scene politics to the best way to apply makeup. Check it out, if you haven't already. :)

The people I come up against whilst trying to be productive.

Inner Drill Sergeant: Grow up you worm! Get your lazy arse onto word and give me 1000 characters! NOW!

Inner Critic: (whispering) I'd stay on the internet if I was you... you know you'll only screw the essay up big time.

Inner Nanny: Aww, those weren't very nice things to say to yourself! You're clearly not very happy... maybe looking at nice things on the internet would be best right now.

Inner Total Bum: I'll work in a minute... just let me finish reading this... ooh, I wonder where that link goes...

Inner Political Crusader: Well, I was about to come off the internet, but then I found somebody being wrong. I am now positively entrenched in anger, and I feel that writing the offending person a billion page essay explaining why they're wrong is the only sensible course of action. Grrr.

Inner Suave Bellend: It's alright Louise, you've still got plenty of time to do that essay, why not stay online for a bit, Hmm? Come on, you know you want to...

Inner Jukebox: **begins singing the chorus of a Godawful song I haven't heard for years, over and over and over again**

Inner 'Maladaptive' Daydreaming: Hi Louise, it's only me... look, I know this is a bad time, but I got triggered unexpectedly by the word 'the', so I'm afraid it's no productivity for you for a least half an hour! Heeere we gooo.... la la la SHINY! :D

Inner Neurotic: But but but Personal Problems! We can't do any work until we've worked them all out!

Inner Idiot: I've got writers' block. Looks like you can't do that essay today. Sor-ee. :(

Inner Toddler: **after writing one word** This is boring, I wanna do something else. **starts to kick the metaphorical seat in front**

Inner Philosopher: Louise, your thinking is unfairly constricted by the techniques required in this essay. Therefore, I vote you don't do it for a while. You have far better uses of your time. Checking every blog you follow several times, for instance.

Inner Alice: Oh, this factual essay is so dreary... I would much rather read this book, all about a strange land quite unlike this miserable place.

Inner Perfectionist: No, don't phrase it that way, it sounds too informal! And that's the third time you've used 'the fact that' in three paragraphs. Not sure that that's proper usage of a semi colon, either. No, you don't need to delete that far! Come on, it's only grammar, what's the matter with you? Oh, and by the way, you aren't comparing thoroughly enough... ugh, I give up.

Inner Koala: Too... sleepy... can't... concentrate... zzzz

And all through it, the one sensible part of my brain, which probably has the patience of a saint by now, is like "Now, please, this essay really is quite important". Sometimes it wins. Usually though, it gives up, and no work gets done until Inner Clockwatcher springs up shouting "Louise, you have ten minutes to write this essay! Hurry up now, or else you'll be doomed!"

And then I write.

Yeah... I'll have this under control one day, I swear. :3

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Day 23: Your favourite artist of photographer?:


Well, I don't really take note of photographers, so I can't answer that one. Anne Stokes and Kirsi Salonen come to mind if I have to name favourite artists, although they aren't the only two whose paintings send me star-eyed. I'm a sucker for fantasy art in general. :3

Oh Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now...

I'm getting tired of the atmosphere of misery surrounding disability. The way every neurodivergence is automatically labelled an 'illness' or 'disorder', even when its effects are, in and of themselves, neutral. The cold, clinical formality and scary statistics that dominate discussion about disability whilst erasing the lives of disabled people. The general lack of optimism, humour and positivity that permeates most websites, articles, television programmes, and organisations.

Unlike most other minority groups, disabled, mentally ill, or neuro-atypical teens aren't routinely told that things will get better, or that their lives and concerns are valid, or that it's OK to accept themselves as they are. When you read about disability, the dominant tone is all too often one of pessimism and shame.

So, let's get a couple of things straight: Difference isn't bad. Impairment doesn't have to be the end of the world. Mental Illness is often a perfectly natural response to trauma. Addressing problems is vital, but letting them take over helps nobody.

Oh, and here's a link to the BBC Ouch archives, because a post like this really needs an example of disability discourse done right.

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Day 22: If you could attend any Goth Event, what would it be?:


While saying 'Whitby' and 'Treffen' is about as unoriginal as it's possible to be... Whitby and Treffen. XD