Have Mercy - I'm Gonna Be Ok

"Virginia Woolf seated in an armchair looking toward a window: black and white photograph, undated,” Virginia Woolf Monk’s House photographs, Houghton Library, Harvard University Library.

The Special Collections Research Center is pleased to announce a new exhibit featuring Virginia Woolf's most famous novel, Mrs. Dalloway. Enjoy this display in the Hatcher Gallery Exhibit Room from September 3 to December 13.

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Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves three more, and two of those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of the two is young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

Open Letter to Wilbur Soot

(which will likely be read by no one)

The silkworms out here have no idea what you need, what advice you are getting, and whether there are practical reasons for your silence. We can assume you must be under terrible pressure from outside, inside, and all around.  With apologies and understanding, I feel compelled to apply a little more pressure. 

For every former fan who posts a hateful comment, there are a hundred who stay silent. For every positive comment, there are a hundred who are afraid to speak.  Some are determined to despise you but are agonizing over the affection they still feel. Some secretly want to see you vindicated but are afraid to be seen as not believing a victim.  Do you know how they feel? 

It’s not news to you that you are the object of affection for many, many young people (and a few old ones :)). 

Mansplaining Warning (L’Mansplaining…): A celebrity crush on an actor is different.  Actors play someone else.  When a teenager falls head-over-heels for an actor, the connection is less intense.  The actor they adore is usually playing someone else and the public doesn’t really know what the actor is really like.  You play yourself.  Your chat *knows* you, and while you could argue that it isn’t real, SO MUCH OF IT IS.  They have seen you talk, laugh, react, and interact with minimal filters.  You aren’t an actor to them. You are real.  THEY ARE HEARTBROKEN, and it is REAL. 

The A-word was fixed to your chest by your ex-girfriend. Fandom splintered and sides were chosen. There is a tone that any questioning of Shelby’s characterization of you is anti-feminist or immoral.  People believe they aren’t allowed to accept you. Kids think it’s a true-or-false thing - either you did this or you didn’t.  

They think the man they idolized and thought was the best kind of person is actually the worst kind. Some think they were fooled. Some think they were betrayed. All they have to go on are Shelby’s words, bolstered by the blistering response to your statement from a few of your former colleagues and the deafening silence from the rest.  

There is a feeling that if you haven’t defended yourself, fully, it must be because you have no defense.  If the Sorry Boys and MCYTs won’t defend you, there must be more to this, and whatever you’ve done must be indefensible.

There are thousands of fans standing in the river, halfway across, hoping someone will tell them it is okay swim back.  No one is telling them.  Some have made their way decisively to one shore or the other and will not look back.  The people in the middle are a MESS.  

We know you are hurting.

These fans are hurting. You don’t owe them anything.  It must sting to have them adore you so much and then turn on a dime.  But if you have anything left to give, there are a bunch of fans who need more than anything to hear from you. 

My friend (one of the ‘fan moms’) exchanged DMs with kid in crisis a few days ago and talked him through a suicidal night.  He was struggling with losing you (which is how it feels to them), and the final straw was getting banned on Twitch by other CCs because he supports you.  He just couldn’t bear it. 

I read two Twitter threads today from fans who have denounced you confessing how much they miss being fans.  Both writers started and finished their ‘vents’ with caveats professing their support for victims and disgust for you, to make sure that no one reading would mistake them for “supporting an abuser.”  Then, they go on to describe the loss they feel and the holes in their hearts.  They question whether it is okay to still like Lovejoy.  They shyly ask if it still counts as “supporting abuse” if they can find ways to listen for free. They miss the high they used to get when a new single dropped or a new stream popped up. They say that of course they can’t love you anymore, but they loved the way you made them feel.  Between the caveats, the middle a straight-up love letter. 

Both sides love to toss around the “you’re parasocial” insult.  Who cares.  Parasocial or not, the suffering is real. 

If your PR person, your label, your lawyers, your band are telling you not to talk, *don’t talk.* 

But if not, and if you can ——-

PLEASE START TALKING. 

Talk for hours.  

Any damn way you want.  

Script it.  Wing it.  Push it out in pieces.  Produce a Dream-style YouTube video. Hop on Twitch and talk honestly until there is nothing at all left to say.  

Most importantly, make sure it isn’t short.  More is more. 

Talk about your faults, talk about your perception of what was happening at the time, and your perception of it retrospectively.  Talk about how you are doing, about what these months have been like for you.  (The WSS fans on your side of the river need most of all to know how you are doing.  Honestly. No bullshit please.)  If there are lies, call them lies.  Where Shelby is right, acknowledge it. Take the hits you deserve, but not the ones you don’t. Hit back when it isn’t fair. Please. 

If your silence means “I am exactly the guilty POS you think I am,” by all means, stay silent. 

But if not, PLEASE, for the Love of God, DEFEND YOURSELF. 

 **Now go listen to your team and yourself before taking strategy advice from some fangirl.

I hope Wilbur is having a good day and that he gets to spend time with all the animals

fat little girls deserve the world tbh society is so traumatizing to them

*releases pack of dads into home depot* go……be free

Been working in pest control for 3 months now and i can confidently say that nobody on earth seems to understand that sometimes You Will See A Bugs and that's Normal if you live literally anywhere with oxygen

Some of you guys have never burned a CD and it shows

It's actually fucking scary how much Dropshipped Cat Shirt by Wilbur Soot calls to me. The song just in general feels how a panic attack does. The song goes from a slow pace to a fast pace, then back to a slow pace.

This masterpiece of a song calms me. There's something about that song that makes me feel safe while in danger at the same time. It triggers my fight-or-flight senses.

Wilbur, you are a fucking genius.

A Lovejoy Song is a Little Black Dress

Lovejoy’s lyrics are dense, with very few throw-away lines. Will Gold never just takes an easy ride on a metaphor.  (No shade to metaphors.) It seems he doesn’t write songs, he gives birth to them, and it must be exhausting. 

As a collection, the songs cover just about every possible relationship stumble a floundering person can experience.  There are bouts of hubris, self-loathing, envy, self-confidence, insecurity, and half a dozen other feelings. There is something relatable and personal for everyone.  Listen to the words -- these are songs you sing, not songs you hum -- and you will find something that describes your experience. Someone knows what you have been through and figured out how to express it. If a line doesn’t fit, just wait two bars and try on the next one.  These poems work for everyone. 

And then there’s the constant swapping of perspective.  Will oscillates between first and third person. He talks to her, about her, to him, about him, to him about her, and about himself from the outside and the inside.  In the same song.  At first it drove me nuts. It made me work a little to follow the narratives, flipping the lyrics on their head to make them work.  The narratives are compelling enough to make it worth the effort.  But then I came to love it. 

I love the POV shifting for the versatility it permits. No matter your gender or who you are pining for, there is a verse that speaks directly to you. Despite the straightness of the overall theme, Relationship Misadventures of a Cis-Het Man, there are countless opportunities for queer interpretations if the lyrics are taken in pieces. Gay men (and straight and lesbian slash enthusiasts) get to hear Wilbur Soot sing he or him, if only for a verse. He sings about liking and not liking new boyfriends and girlfriends…Is his ex dating a girl now? Is the ex a boy or a girl? Whose girlfriend is she? Are you jealous of him or of her? Who were you in the back seat of the car with?!? Anyone you want it to be.  These work for men, women, straight, gay, and my favorite, heteroflexible. Sure, we know what he meant. But choose your own adventure.  

A Lovejoy song is a Little Black Dress. Versatile. Sexy. Always appropriate. Now go put it on.