#fcktaken

[is-this-mathieu-enriched]

Thank you I love you you made my day!

You're very welcome, here at is-this-mathieu-enriched we aim to spread the knowledge of best care practices so that every Mathieu may live an enriching life!

[focsle]

Hi, your whaling tag made for a very interesting read at breakfast this morning, thank you so much! I started to wonder what happened with people who died on the ship (and death by blubber seems like a way to go). Your beautiful prose about visiting the grave of a whaler kind of answered my question, but if you like, could you explain more?

Ah, thank you very much for reading them! To complete the circle I’m answering this over my own breakfast. Death was very common—I don’t think I’ve read a single journal where at least one person didn’t die, or was discharged at a port in such a state that he probably didn’t live long after. On the other hand, I’m surprised there wasn’t MORE death given how incredibly dangerous the work was and how limited the medical care. But deaths were marked and acknowledged by the entire crew.

In very rare instances a body was preserved in a cask of oil or liquor to be sent home, but that was really only in the case of captains or members of their family, and even still wasn’t typically done for anyone. 

For a burial at sea, the man would be dressed in his shore clothes. Then he’d be sewn up in canvas and weighted down with something heavy to keep the body from floating, thus making it as proper a burial as it could be. The sails were laid aback, all hands were called on deck for a brief funeral service, and then he’d be slid into the sea.

If there was ANY land though, port or otherwise, attempts would be made to bury him there instead. On the uninhabited (but for birds) Denis Island in the Seychelles, whaler J.T. Landgon came across others’ makeshift graves on multiple occasions in 1851. He tended to get very reflective about them.

“While wandering over the island I chanced to pass by the grave of Wm Owen who died in the ship Lafayette of New Bedford. He is buried in a lonely part of the island with a pine board for a tombstone with the simple inscription William Owen aged 31 1848 He was I believe an American and a native of New Bedford In a short time the board will rot away and no trace will be left of the grave.”

A few months later, when they returned to the island for eggs Langdon remarked that the graves of two more men had appeared on the island.

“A single board marks their resting place on this desolate island simply stating their names, ages, and the day they died. They are buried close to the beach where the breakers dash up with a continuous sullen roar and the wild sea bird screams their funeral dirges over their lonely graves. The 2nd mate was with me where found them and the dusky night was drawing its sable veil over the Earth and sea as we turned sadly away from the lonely lot to return aboard sincerely hoping that such may not be our[s].”

In ports of call frequented by whalers there were often more dedicated cemeteries for foreign seamen. Here’s a 1970s photo of the approximate location of the whaler’s cemetery in Paita, Peru.

The markers were likely wooden and have since decayed, so there’s no physical trace of graves now. The graves themselves were also quite shallow, and as it was just sand the remains were often exposed. Whaler Stephen Curtis, aboard the Mercury in 1841 described the “hundreds of greedy turkey buzzards [that] hovered around this miserable abode of death.”

In the case of men killed by whales, such as a boat being stove or someone being taken out of the boat by a line, or otherwise drowned, it was often difficult to recover the body (though attempts were made). The Seamen’s Bethel in New Bedford has cenotaphs lining the walls, paid for by family or other community members, to memorialize those who died at sea.

After a death, the man’s personal effects would either be locked up in his chest to be given to some relation ashore, or they’d be auctioned off among the crew. Very personal items such as journals, letters, mementos, or valuables, would likely be held onto by the captain in the hopes of returning them to friends or family once ashore, but things like the man’s tools or clothes would be put up for auction. The stated purpose of the auction was to give the money to the deceased’s loved one’s ashore, but the cultural purpose was deeply connected to the social life of the ship. Men often paid much more than an old shirt or a sheath knife was worth, and it wasn’t because they had any intention of using them—it was extremely bad luck to use a dead man’s tools. Instead, through that auction they were buying a memento mori for themselves and a physical remembrance of their lost shipmate.

In a place where one only sees the same 20-30 faces every single day for years out, bound together in very difficult conditions, a loss of anyone would be keenly felt. Sometimes a fellow whaler would write in the back of the deceased’s journal before it went to the captain (or the Captain would write in it himself) to explain what happened to any living eyes who read it. In these it’s clear how much impact a death had on the entire crew. To speak to that I’ll close with a poignant note left in the back of John Perkins’s journal, greenhand on the ship Tiger, who was killed by a whale at age 21 on June 15th, 1846.

“It has become the painful task of one of the friends of the deceased to conclude the journal which has been thus far written to transmit to his friends the particulars of his end, but before closing the volume, justice to him who has been called away demands an expression of the feelings and regrets of his companions. To say that he was esteemed and respected by all would be but a slight testimony to his worth. His gentleness of manner, kindness of heart & disinterested generosity won upon every one and the good nature & amicable disposition that characterized him endeared him to his shipmates. His death so unexpected, so mournfully sudden produced a shock that will never be effaced from the minds of his friends. Every breast felt a pang, every eye was dimmed with a tear & words of pity & sorrow of which the pen cannot do justice burst from every lip. Beloved by all & bound to us by ties which none can appreciate but those who have passed months together within the narrow compass of a ship, his decease has caused a gap which will never be filled.”

[thisdorkyblogthing]

so good to get back from vacation and find out you're back!

[plantanarchy]

hei, what's your problem with garlic mustard? (i only know it in much smaller quantities, so if you need to murder, then i'm with you i guess)

Well, it’s considered a highly invasive noxious weed throughout pretty much all of the US. Mostly because of its alleopathic qualities, meaning that it can actually chemically inhibit the growth of other plants around it. Which isn’t great for the local ecosystem. It spreads by seed very prolifically and outgrows many native species. So places that have garlic mustard have less biodiversity overall and can become overwhelmed, completely disrupting the native ecosystem.

There’s really no way of eradicating it entirely because it’s so pervasive, but the good thing is that all parts of it are edible and regular forager rules don’t apply so you can harvest and eat as much as you want. I hear a lot about people using it in pesto and dishes where you would use garlic.

[star-anise]

dear star-anise, do you see your therapisting as some form of political activism? or supporting activism? i'm asking bc at uni i used to do activism like being in groups, going to meetings, protests, organising protests, campaigns etc, but now, working as psy/social assistant and being a therapist in training, aka working two jobs, i don't do any of that anymore. i have neither the time nor the energy. there are days when i feel so helpless, impotent and useless bc of that. (1/2)

i feel like all i do is take care of myself, my plants, my friends and family, manage my depression and sometimes do laundry. one of my supervisors says i am "working for peace and good in this world", that i am "helping the helpers". a therapist-friend today said that was true and that once we are out of training and can choose our clients more ourselves that will be true even more so. most days i can see it. what do you think about it? thank you for your blog!

I have... three thoughts on this, I think.

Part of the definition of treason is giving “aid and comfort” to the enemy. Aid and comfort are no little things.For me, posting cat pictures is a form of activism. I use the term “doughnut dolly of the revolution” a bit jokingly, because like Doughnut Dollies used to feel about themselves, I sometimes feel a bit inessential and useless. On the other hand. Most of the hardcore activists I know--the ones who negotiate and form coalitions and go out on picket lines and protest and testify to legislative committees and run nonprofits--are so burned out you can smell the smoke coming out from under their hoods. And have been for years. My girlfriend hasn’t totally recovered from the work she did against GWB’s war in Iraq.  So I do, in fact, aim to be a source of comfort, refuge, and resupply for people who go out and fight on the front lines of social justice. I blog the way I do in reaction to the intense level of media overload people got in 2015 and 16, where they couldn’t even check their fannish social media without getting overwhelmed by world events. So on days when something terrible is happening, I don’t think I can meaningfully contribute commentary or spreading awareness with any more skill or insight than 100,000 people are already doing--but I can reblog cat pictures from a source that’s fundamentally friendly.One major issue I have with leftist activism is that it chronically undervalues work of nurturing, tending, cleaning, and maintaining. Who runs your bake sales? Who tends your wounds? Who cleans your clothes? Who makes food? Who cleans up after? That is a massive amount of work that’s taken absolutely for granted. 

How we choose to work can be massively political. I had a professor, during grad school, who insisted that we could not let clients focus on the systemic problems they faced. If we let them blame anyone else for their problems, he said, they would never improve. (He worked for the US Army, convincing servicemembers that their children’s misbehaviour wasn’t due to having been moved around all the time, their spouse’s anxiety wasn’t related them being redeployed to Iraq for their fifth tour, their own bad moods weren’t related to traumatic brain injury; they just needed to take personal responsibility)And one of the most formative clients for me during my own training was a Black university student who described how everyone in her class called her “sassy” and copied anything she said or did that seemed a little outside the norm, even though she felt that she wasn’t any weirder or louder than anyone else--or was she? Was there really something wrong with her? Was she ridiculous, worth being mocked? She drew in on herself like a setting sun, a star losing lustre, as she questioned herself.I was still feeling my way, as a white girl reading a bunch of work by Black feminists and womanists, but even I knew about Black women being called too loud, too aggressive, too sassy. I very tentatively said, “It’s so upsetting, being picked on in this way that feels unfair and... honestly sounds kind of racist.”“It does, doesn’t it,” she said, and dropped her head into her hands, knees drawn together. “Oh my god! It’s so racist! It’s so fucking racist!” And then she screamed quietly into her palms and did a little dance in her chair, and lifted up her head, and listed off all the things they’d said that they were racist--all the Black professionals and experts in her field they didn’t know when she mentioned them--how frustrating it was--how she’d dealt with racism in the past--how her family dealt with racism in the past--how much she missed her family--the festival she was going to in two weeks to reconnect with her Caribbean relatives.I didn’t have to do anything for the rest of the session, just nod and make encouraging noises. That one little bit of validation linked her back into an entire system of resistance and community that gave her the strength to resist the pressures on her and renew her sense of pride and joy in who she was.

I think there’s a role therapists could have, and often do not have, in leftist movements. I keep thinking about it, but I don’t know how to make it fit. Circling back to “every activist I know has burnout”: The way modern activism is done is very psychologically costly. We have discussions about “mental health and self-care” that kind of look like “BURN CARE WHILE LEAPING OVER LAVA: Remember that the lava is hot! Take frequent breaks to let your feet cool off!” Like, what if we did not have to leap over lava. What if an ordinary person’s activism didn’t have to involve large amounts of outrage, terror, and helplessness to fuel their work. What if we put resources into mental health as well.And like I said, I don’t know what to do with this thought. Should I offer activist group members discount rates? Volunteer with an org as a counsellor? Suggest ways groups could make their members’ mental health better? Take my skills as a mediator into union disputes between nonprofit workers and management? Write articles about how somebody ought to address something about this problem? I’m not actually drowning in good ideas here.I feel like there could be very targeted and effective work that we could do, that often gets ignored or discounted because the Left has a very ascetic bread-and-water, sacrifice-everything-for-the-revolution view of what activism should look like. And maybe we should start talking about it.

[landunderthewave]

hi i see you reblogging stuff from the bumblebee movie. i'm curious, have you seen it? is it good? should i go and watch it? i liked the trailer and the transformer/car is really cute and yellow is my favorite color so there's a lot of pro points already.

Yes, yes, definitely do it! These are the answers to your questions. ;) 

It is the only Transformers movie I have seen (for perhaps obvious reasons) and I liked it very much. The top word I would use to describe it is “cute”, followed by “wholesome” and “funny”.

The CGI was so good I never noticed it (it was like they sucked all the CGI ability from Aquaman - sorry Aquaman!), the plot was really well-rounded, I basically liked all the main characters and I squeed and laughed a lot. I will definitely watch it again at some point.

[drownedindeniall]

fcktaken replied to your post “Getting on a plane tonight which is one of my least favorite things to...”

@drownedindeniall​ for president!!

FOOD ON EVERY TABLE AND A SKIDOO IN EVERY GARAGE. 

Wait shit. I just googled it and a skidoo is a snow thing. You can’t skidoo across an ocean. 

SEADOO I MEAN. A SEADOO IN EVERY GARAGE. And I guess skidoos for the landlocked winter people jesus idk my administration will figure it out. 

[plantanarchy]

fcktaken replied to your post “none of y’all really care but i am writing really good self-indulgent...”

pls tell me more. what are his fav plants?

Farmer Thor knows not a thing about plants actually, but he has a natural green thumb. He is a complete plant dumbass. He was raised a Space Prince and never learned a thing about agriculture in his whole life, but he’s still out here putting things in the dirt and it grows somehow.