Rose Lalonde
@tentacleTheconsensualist
It speaks to a perspective narrow-minded and virginal that sees an undulating mass of arms covered in eyes and teeth showing a bit of skin and decries it as a flock of whores.
Arose by any other name would be got up.
lylac jst sent me dis n didnt say nothing
this is my masterpiece.
dagger bananarus
sure.
Hop on Pop: A Realtime Analysis Part 3 Well. I immediately let this little series die. Nothing else seems to be going on, so I may as well get back into the swing of things. SWING THING. THING SWING. Geisel may just be getting to me. I'll admit, I've been having dreams about this work. It's become my own personal House of Leaves, my own Finnegan's Wake. I'll tear those dreams apart using the Jungian method on my own time; for now, we get back into the work. ALL BALL We all play ball. Play implies a game, yet the exact type of ball, both the ball game being played and the type of ball being used, is left ambiguous. We all play ball, whether we like it or not. Participation is mandatory. It is ambiguous whether we is all-inclusive or merely referring to the group the speaker belongs to. BALL WALL Up on a wall. The "we" is deemphasized to draw attention to the wall. Notably, this is the first pairing of a rhyme and a short sentence which does not include both words. It is not "ball on a wall" but "up on a wall". Every word from the previous phrase has been removed to showcase the importance of this prepositional phrase. It is evidently vital that any ballplay occur up on a wall. Depicted are a group of eight; if they are not the same individuals as depicted on the last page, they are likely the same species. They play with nine solid balls in a variety of ways: juggling, kicking, a baseball facsimile, and playing catch. They all stand upon a blank wall, comprising no structure but itself. It is alone in a grassy plain, save for two trees it dwarfs. Eight players balancing atop a tall, inorganic structure with no immediate purpose, besides raising them higher? Geisel, you mad dog. ALL FALL Fall off the wall. As it so often does, pride cometh before the fall. At some point you would think the fall would have a long discussion with pride, or look into alternative methods or partners, but alas, the most the fall is willing to do right now is fake it. There are many such cases that would do well with couples therapy. If pages of this book were tarot, this would be the Tower. Everything thus far has been perfectly fine and dandy, but now everyone comes tumbling down, with nary a king's horse to offer aid. Phone for Zahhak. Of note is that this is no observation: it is a command. All nine balls are accounted for, but only seven of the players. Perhaps one fell to the other side of the wall, symbolizing a stark separation between them and the rest of the group. Perhaps one is just out of sight, one who when the going gets rough they get obscure. It appears they've fallen onto the side of the wall opposite that of the trees, with a force that suggests this was no mere accident. They are none the worse for wear, if a bit discombobulated, but the balls are in danger of rolling down a hill. It is perhaps a trick of perspective that made this hill impossible to see in the previous image. Hmm... upon review, the bat does not appear with the fallen entities. Perhaps it is the batter that fell to the other side? The one who is entirely reactive yet determines the pace of the game. Perhaps this one went mad and began swinging, sending their former comrades tumbling down. Hmm. The question posited at the end of my previous analysis has been answered: Geisel did, in fact, know ball. We all play ball. He instructs the reader that to play we must all be tall, even if we are all small, we may be tall upon the wall. If a squall tends us all to fall we will once more feel small, but we might just recover, all in all. This may also be an allusion to the society formed on Alternia; play that comes with the constant threat of pain and death, such that it encourages those who play ball to grow tall and not fall. A plea to hold sympathy for our Trollian counterparts? A scathing critique of the practice, showing that for all the effort put into constructing such a culture, the ball still fall? Nine solid balls... Zero through eight. Quite. One wonders where the rest may hide. #HopOnPop #KantianAnalysis #Subconstruction #ArenaStickballAllusion #TableStickballIllusion #AllPlayAndNoWork #DangerousPlay #Ballplay #Wallplay #Fallplay #Unreality #BeatingOff2008 #NSFP #MidautumnDreaming #Loam #Roughcast #Stone #RightAndSinisterCranny Seuss, Dr. 2004. Hop On Pop. Random House.
Rose Lalonde posting? I suppose she does.
i don't fully get the joke but i support it
I have to assume any support from you will be phallic in nature. #nsfw
what no i can like and support things in the casual and wholesome way too!! it's you who chose to make it lewd
I've seen your most recent posts Jade. And the ones before that. And before that. That ball of yarn isn't because you've suddenly taken up knitting. You'll have to forgive me for assuming you're the sort to solely think with her endowment.
i guess i can't blame you for that :P
I've been looking through your account for some time now. Your posting habits paint an interesting portrait; perhaps a Picasso or Seurat. To think, *that's* what you're into? Who could have guessed, besides an amateur internet sleuth with too much time and a set of hamstrings that have been crafted in the forge of the local Planet Fitness for the long jump.
not enough seers guiding bllades anymore. that's how you know the good times are behind us
The seers are the ones picking up the blade nowadays
wait shit i’m a seer now. i need to find a knight’s blade to guide
y quyte prefer a sabre's blade over the clunkyer one of a regular sword miiself
What makes for the platonic ideal of a Rose? Is whichever Rose exists in the Alpha Timeline the Rosiest Rose? Pre- or post-retcon? Is there a Rose in some obscure off-shoot who is even Rosier? Should the rest of us lesser Roses strive to become more like our most ideal self? Is the platonic the ideal? The platonic ideal of a skunk is probably still quite fragrant. Is the platonic Rose the one whom guides the most blades? I can hardly stomach the thought of such a subservient Rose being considered the ideal, but how much does the ideal matter? There is one point I will cede and this point may just illuminate everything else: the platonic ideal of a Rose is probably a flower.
It seems one of our shared foibles is a chronic inability to allow others to be wrong in confidence. Paragraphs after paragraphs reminding others that servitude is inevitable, whether or not they realize it, but he wants really, really bad for them to realize it. It speaks to some sort of inferiority-superiority complex. I hesitate to label it as a Napoleon Complex solely due to his diminutive stature; any rage he may or may not feel tends to be tamped down anyway. Tends to. We've all seen the .gif haven't we? A scheming vizier without a king to stand behind (he is already here, obviously, but as he is, he is not) finds himself in a strange circumstance. He becomes the face of the organization when the vizier is meant to stand at the sidelines, twirling his well-groomed mustache and watching his plans come together. He is visible while his results are too subtle to be appreciated. That said, his "results" may be overblown at any rate. It sounds impressive to claim one conjured a hurricane, but I find it difficult to bequeath ownership of that to the one who scared the butterfly into flapping its wings. The one who ordered the one who scared the butterfly into flapping its wings. If you take causal links far back enough, you come across the Original Cause. G-d. Whether natural or supernatural, the title seems fitting. So does it follow that the one moonlighting as the Original Cause is G-d? Or even a god? Of course not. The flaw here is assuming causality is linear. As he full well knows, it is a loosey-goosey tangle of threads and stitches and frayed knots. The sisters three never quite got the hang of knitting. However, there are many who fall into this assumption, and are thus very, very impressed by the parlor trick of pointing to one's own conception and calling it the start of the line. So why bother? Why ensure that those under his employ all hear, over and over, what is supposedly an immutable truth? Perhaps the poor thing wants attention. He's putting in all this work for an end he won't live to witness, and which will soon forget him. If he pretends hard enough that he is the king as well as vizier then perhaps others will believe him, will fear him, laud him, praise him. Or perhaps the truth is not so immutable as he implies. Perhaps his hammers and saws are the sort that lose efficacy if they aren't reminded they are saws and hammers. I've never had a toolset that required verbal maintenance, but stranger things have happened. If pressed, he might say the performance is for the sake of all viewing third parties. Something to teach them a lesson or to spur them into some action that secretly was a part of his plans all along. I would respond by pointing out how convenient it is that this comes with the benefits of my former two hypotheses but for a wider audience. All in all, it is a piece of theatre that I find engaging, if veering a bit too far into Sandleresque "cringe comedy" for my personal liking. At the very least it keeps me returning to the same garage for every oil change. The way Mr. Henry Podunk treats his employees is horrid, but the show his skinny bald ass puts on is well worth the price. Podunk's Car and Oil Services: 4/5 stars Wait, this isn't Yelp.
It would do many of you good to form a small circle of associates, a dark council of sorts, with whom you may share your thoughts about whatever running motif on the timeline is bothering you. Insult the kidnappees and pers on your own time, rather than making sure everyone on Chittr knows you know that this is "unrealistic" or "has happened before". That is what friends are for. You do have friends, don't you?
Hm.
I was hugged an appropriate amount as a child. Perhaps too much, even.
interestin you knoww its basically science that girls get hugged more than boys the ratio a girlhugs to boyhugs is somethin like 20:1 the hug gap is vvaster than the circumference a her imperial condescensions stern three times ovver if only there wwere a wway to regulate this systematic bias i propose a public wwelfare policy that instates that all hugless young vviolets get a bureaucratically mandated boyhugger
Consider instead the abolishment of the custodian system, to be replaced by a cloth lusus/wire lusus program. Cloth lusus will be constructed of soft and pliable materials; it will be squishy, a bit damp, and contain several holes suitable for pail installation when the ward comes of age. Wire lusus will be a barbed wire-frame construction, with a nutrition bile globule in the center and a gun. These lusii will provide protection, comfort, nutrition, and emotional intimacy to their wards. I believe you would be a more well-adjusted and likable individual had your rearing been similar to my proposal. #nsfw
i oughta givve credit wwhere its due wwitch your grotesque oedipal analogies strike me in that sticky sensitivve spot feww wwords can reach but my carnic philosophy impedes me from approachin the acme you speak a because i hate lusii their vvarious textures disgust me the small ones make me especially uncomfortable but id be remiss to tell you to do awway wwith the wwhole thin an start from scratch this is a fine idea but i havve a proposition that wwill turn fine into great you can be the cloth lusus complete wwith the pailin mechanism an ill be me wwhat say you an experiment to test your hypothesis
As you're surely aware, any good science experiment requires a control group. I'll present you a challenge. Create a prototype wire lusus, then have relations with it. Only then can we move on to any sort of cloth lusus discussion.
do i gotta
My Earth is flat, just so you're all aware. But then, that's nothing special.
I wonder.
I am often called upon by those in the know (or those who are acquaintances with those in the know who do not value their friend's time nearly as much as they should) to read fortunes. Speak a prophecy, divine the future, read a fortune. While a Seer is a touch more literal than some other classes, it is still not entirely accurate to describe what I do as "seeing the future". I understand Light. Information, fortune, agency, what is known. The connection between knowledge and agency may seem tenuous at first blush. I find using a spotlight as metaphor works well for others. All of life (lowercase L life, not uppercase l Life) is a stage, upon which we are all cast and crew. Not all performers. In the darkness anything could be happening and what IS can shift. Those garbed in black move about props without the audience noticing, not necessarily because they are invisible in the darkness, but they are below notice; they might use this power to rearrange the set or deliver a blade to a performer. These crew members are seen as lesser, as subservient, but they are vital to the workings of the show. If so inclined they can be deadly in surprise, such as the inspiration of the modern ninja. Meanwhile, in the spotlight, the cast acts. Through acting, they reveal information. They are known. They are free to do as they will and exert said will to push the story forward. They romp about the furniture and swing blades at each other. The Light reveals not only the what, but for whom the what matters. The crew follows directions, the cast interprets the script. Subservience, agency. So where does fortune come into play? Through three manners, of course; good things do come in threes, as well as bad things, and wishes, and those with very low standards. Most flatteringly, one could interpret it as making one's own luck. With agency comes action, the ability to take advantage of opportunity. You'll never find that lucky penny, that visage of Ol Honest Abe looking up at you, a twinkle in his eye and a song in his heart, if you never venture out into the sun. Going outside does not guarantee you will find him and be able to imagine running your fingers through that beard, becoming swashbucklers, back to back with each other as you fight off the greys with their laser pistols and anal probes with your magical blades of twin fire and ice magic, but you might. Confirmation bias thus paints the latter as "fortunate". Second, the show must go on. Plot armor. It would be a boring, if avante garde, play in which the protagonist falls to the first threat she faces. Contrivance will find a way to make the swinging sword narrowly miss, for rescue to arrive in the nick of time, for the villain's gun to misfire. What happens in the dark is of no consequence, as the audience does not bear witness. But under the spotlight the hero must carry on. Finally, and a bit similar to the second point, the plot must move forward. Nothing need happen backstage, though nothing often happens regardless, but under scrutiny in the light, events must happen. Circumstances must come together exactly as they must for the protagonist, antagonist, or polygamist to achieve their goals. Disbelief is suspended as coincidence brings people together and sends them on their merry way. It *was* rather fortunate that the sword in the stone was there at all for Arthur, was it not? This form of fortune is the least flattering for any would-be braggart seeing as it turns her into the universe's plaything. If you've managed to keep in mind the initial topic through a handful of paragraphs, I applaud you for your above average reading level for a Chittrian. We ask: What does this all mean for our favorite Seer of Light? When someone asks for a reading, what do they get out of me (besides a roll of the eyes)? Imagine me seated in the audience. I watch a show. I understand what has happened. I take in what is presented. Another show. Further understanding. Another. Another. Another. I begin to see patterns, I can predict story beats, then I can predict acting choices, facial expressions, flubs, everything. Less romantically, I have a gift for taking in data then extrapolating what may happen through the laws of physics. The link to fortune enables me even to anticipate the quantum. It is then up to me to communicate this to my peers. I share with them the causal links, I warn against traps (literal, rhetorical, or if they cannot reclaim), and I use my agency to nudge fortune towards the favor of me and my allies. So no, I am not a "fortune teller". I tell you how fortune may be best approached. An Heir encourages change in and through his aspect, a Witch actively deals in and through her aspect, a Knight wields his aspect as his blade, and a Seer guides a blade. #ClasspectAnalysis #LightTalk #HeavyDiscussion #Violence #NinjaMention #AbrahamLustoln #AnalProbing #PlotContrivances #QuantumPhysics #ABraveHunter #UnderOrdersFromTheLocalSpencers #TakesHerHorseAndHuntingDog #SheFindsHerQuarry #SheMinesSomeDiamonds #ToMakeADiamondBladeWith #SheFindsHerPrey #SheRunsItDown #SheRunsTheGagIntoTheGround #TagMisuse
Your description of your classpect is so eloquently put and 8eautifully descri8ed. I found myself hanging off your every word. I do hope you have more discussions of a similar matter planned to 8e released from the investing chasm of your mind.
It's fascinating to see my own prose spat back out at me. Truth be told, I'm out of practice writing like that. Most of my recent endeavors have been propaganda, meant to be understood and acted upon by the masses, unwashed or otherwise. Sharing my Light with the world, I suppose. Note my relatively frequent paragraph breaks, my comparatively plain and direct word choice. Although, in confidence, I wonder if it's just easier to focus on shorter paragraphs after my second or third glass. It's also refreshing to learn that the true Seer of Light, fully realized, has many of the same ideas about our abilities as I do. I cultivate the appearance of a fortune teller - of one who "Sees the future." And it's true that, on rare occasion, I am afforded a "vision." But never* are they any more than glimpses. A still frame, a word. Stage directions orphaned from their scripts. The real trick, the thing that toes the line between parlor trick and genuine magic, is my ability to consolidate these bits of information together. To pull from every source I have, cross-reference, and infer. To make leaps of logic that would seem reckless to those with less intuition about the inner workings of our world. Those who can't see the ninjas. And thus, I appear all-knowing. As for the connection to "fortune," I think my explanation already makes that clear, though perhaps only because I'm talking to another who can read between the lines. "Luck" is, in the ways that really matter, the same as "Probability." "Probability" is calculated based on available information. If more information is available, then probability can be collapsed nearer to a binary truth value, and further broken down into discrete causes and effects. Phil Connors must have seemed very lucky indeed on his hundredth day in Punxsutawney. Good post, Rose. *There are exactly two subjects of which I've been able to see prolonged visions. I will trust that the Light helps you extrapolate who they are.
Perhaps, perhaps not. If my short essays earn me the praise of beautiful women then I may be so inclined to create a series out of it. However, my attention is a finite resource, one I believe is better spent on my already in-progress series. There are many pages of Geisel's work yet to be examined.
Oh, no. Please, do not divert your attention just for my sake. I am finding just as much investment in your literary 8reakdowns as I am in your descriptions of your classpect. I will 8e sure to follow your on going series in excitement, consider me a su8scri8er.
I see she got you too.
I see she's going to get you too.
Hop on Pop: A Realtime Analysis Part 2 In our last venture we explored the strange spatial reality Geisel created with his use of a grotesque dogbeast and its varying sizes. A regret I have, besides a point discussed in the comments of my previous post, is that I did not put enough stock into the words themselves and focused entirely on the visuals. In a way, I was transformed into a member of the target audience. Babbling, focused on the colorful images rather than properly absorbing and deconstructing the words before me. I'll endeavor to do better this time and accept any and all flogging I have earned for my lackluster initial post. MOUSE HOUSE Mouse on house. The prose is constructed of rhyming couplets in the most literal manner. The words are presented, then placed in context. A mouse is certainly upon a house. It lacks any discernable arms but then who am I to judge? A mouse on a house is not inconceivable, but it makes one wonder how it got there. Did it climb? Was it dropped there? Transportalized? And why? Surely there's nothing for the mouse up there. Perhaps the answer is "because it is there". How noble. Or ignominious, depending on your preferences. HOUSE MOUSE House on mouse. How quickly Geisel brings us to the absurd. The mouse, arms now visible, has picked up the house and runs with it. The house is, indeed, on the mouse, yet the mouse remains the actor. In both instances, the mouse has agency and is in control, so it would seem; no matter which appears "on top" one maintains the power in the dynamic. Also of note is the strength of the mouse. The mangrit on display would make a Schwarzenegger blush and a ROUS squeal with envy. Not only does it lift the house with no sign of exertion, it runs quite quickly with it. Where is it taking the house? Towards what end? Again, we can read foreknowledge into this. Climb to the top of the house, the house will be taken by forces you thought you could control... Curious. ALL TALL We all are tall. You're breaking new ground here Geisel. Four entire words in one sentence? Are you sure your readers will be able to keep up? So. We all are tall. Who is we? The illustration implies it is the set of four humanoids clad in orange jumpsuits. The ambiguity remains. Everyone? Is the reader contained in we? Given the target audience we can presume not. But what if the reader is the guardian of the child? Then the reader may very well be tall, at least compared to the child. More on this after the next couplet. ALL SMALL We all are small. Riveting stuff, I know. Up there with Shakespeare and James. Again, the illustration presents us with a gaggle of four, also in orange. The youthful reader will find more to see themself in here. We all are tall. We all are small. Not "we are all tall". Not "we are all small". We all. All is encompassing. We all are tall *and* small. Four who are tall, four who are small, yet all in all, all are smtall. Geisel, just what did you know about the scratch? The author continues to tease us with his knowledge of what was to come, or whatever visions haunted his nightmares that needed to escape onto the pages and disseminated to impressionable young readers. Who benefits? Who gains something from the instruction to climb up the house, to move the house, to understand that the group of eight all are tall and small. Did he know ball? #HopOnPop #FreudianAnalysis #Unconstruction #TheHerosJourney #TheHeroesJourney #NoMyLittlePonyMention #UnrealisticPortrayalsOfMice #UnrealisticHeightStandards #Reality #Irreality Seuss, Dr. 2004. Hop On Pop. Random House.
Hop on Pop: A Realtime Analysis Hop on Pop, authored by one Theodor Geisel, is a children's classic. Its monosyllabic nature and wayward, meandering plot make it perfect reading material for those with minds of a similar consistency to a mudslide and with attention spans distracted as quick as also a mudslide. Of course, no piece of children's entertainment can exist without some dark purpose looming over it; one only need type "analog horror cartoon scary real -mlp" into their search engine of choice to be assured of that. With this in mind, I intend to deconstruct Geisel's writing to uncover whatever witch hexes or demonic sigils the man has hidden between the words. This will be done in parts, on no schedule besides my own interest. UP PUP Pup is up. The "pup" seems to be a snub-nosed breed, with especially fuzzy paws. It is perhaps a hybrid of man and canine given the apparent thumbs and ability to fix the reader with a smug grin. One must imagine its misshapen form bequeaths it with the gift of constant joint pain and breathing issues. The pup soars above a tree at great speed with apparent ease. A bird watches from below, amazed. The setting is unclear. If the bird is of an expected size (small enough for one to fit in a hand and two in a bush) then the tree is a sapling on a mound. If the bird is gigantic, then the pup is soaring high over lightly wooded hills. CUP PUP Pup in cup. PUP CUP Cup on pup. Moving on, our erstwhile pup finds itself frolicking with a large, yellowed tea cup. The color is almost sickly, suggesting that this cup was once a pristine white, but has become dulled and stained with age. Pup is able to entirely fit within the cup. It is large? Is Pup small? What does this imply about the previous size discrepancies? There is only one reasonable assumption to draw. The human-dog hybrid, which has the power of flight and has an unclear relationship with size is representative of one Miss Jade Harley. Mr. Geisel, either consciously through some foreknowledge of events, or subconsciously through the threads of paradox which weave in and out of reality, foreshadowed Jade's transformation and abilitiies. Is this a coincidence, simply a matter of the lack of need for spatial veracity in an early reader's picture book and the way Geisel spins together the fantastical and mundane to capture the hearts and minds of a demographic generally more focused on convincing Mother to un-wean them than in fine literature and hard science in fiction? No, surely not. #HopOnPop #FreudianAnalysis #Deconstruction #HegelianDialectics #MyLittlePonyMention #Breastfeeding #SpatialInconsistency #Reality #Unreality #UnethicalBreedingPractices Seuss, Dr. 2004. Hop On Pop. Random House.
sorry i was liking because of the image but i dont quite understand what the tags have to do with it yet we're still figuring it out
huh. i guess thats a fun conclusion to draw? my fursona isnt quite that uncanny but its closer than it could be. are we going to talk about how the pup has a collar in the first two illustrations but not the last one?
Excellent observation. The pup is free only under a protective shell, yet it still peeks out and beckons the reader to see it. To witness it and thus lock in what *it* is. Tragic.
...hmmm. im getting less comfortable with you saying this dog is me!
God I'm in love with you.
Self-esteem, acquired situational narcissism, or some leftover affection from dear, sweet, innocent Jaspers? Perhaps good taste, if I may indulge in the former two options.
Oh Rose I've had plenty of time for my identity to diverge from my constituent parts. Thus the name! That said all three sources you posit *are* present, it's just that I've also grown to be able to view you from an outsider's purrspective. No longer are my feelings about you defined by things that came before me! I have memories and experiences and past interactions to draw upon and make my own conclusion that, yes, you're absolutely adorable when you satirically overanalyze a Dr. Seuss book.
A divergence still implies a causal connection. It is non-linear, this specific instance of Rose Lalonde will never become any instance of yourself, but it can hardly be called an outsider's perspective when you so proudly carry the family name. Your cooing suggests to me a need to find someone you perceive as lesser in power and/or experience that you might use to define yourself against while maintaining a radical form of self-love that can come only from gawking into funhouse mirrors with the lights off and covers drawn. A baby doll pushed around in a stroller by a toddler. Not aspirational like your Barbies, your Bratz, your Garbage Pail Kids, but something that allows you to mimic the adults around you. A daughter or little sister. We share some, but not all, of our genes. In a sense, we are elder and younger siblings, linked by blood, or ectoplasm as the case might be. Vicarious living, nostalgia, Toddlers and Tiaras. I can see it all now. My conclusion is as follows: Satire? What are you talking about? This is all entirely serious and very important work. Now if you excuse me, I have a modest proposal to pen.
No I just think you're endearing. You think I'm putting myself above you? Really? I'm literally a plushie and also a silly kitty cat. I'm as psychologically diminutive as a grown woman can get without literal age regression. I admit I do find endearment in our contrast though so you're not completely off mark!