1451 – Frank 14 | Read With Me | SWM+ Sneak Peek

Episode 1451 – Frank 14 | Read With Me | SWM+ Sneak Peek

 

SCOOTER: Friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time for the only podcaster who gives you earworms about Elton John songs in a way you never thought was possible, 'cause that’s when I say, cup me gently, I’m an elbow, as I cup my elbows in a self-soothing way. When I self-soothe me — this is not a joke — I could be here to soothe you. So, cup me gently; that’s what an elbow would sing. If there was an Elton John the Elbow…if there was a Sleep With Me program, there would be a skit where an elbow that was dressed…designed like Elton John in probably a duck suit, and the elbow would…it would be a self-soothing segment. The elbow would say, cup me gently, I’m an elbow. But if you just tuned in, you'd say, what in the…what am I…? I’d say, yep, you're in the right place. This is Sleep With Me, the podcast that puts you to sleep. Here’s a couple of ways…when your hand hits that fridge tomorrow, these are the ways we're able to be here for you free twice a week.

 

Intro: Hey, are you up all night tossing, turning, mind racing? Trouble getting to sleep? Trouble staying asleep? Well, welcome. This is Sleep With Me, the podcast that puts you to sleep. We do it with a bedtime story. Alls you need to do is get in bed, turn out the lights, and press Play. I’m gonna do the rest. What I’m going to attempt to do…[mumbles]…what I’m going to attempt to do is create a safe place where you could set aside whatever’s keeping you awake, whether it’s thoughts or feelings that are on…thoughts about the past, the present, the future, feelings related to the thoughts or just that are there, physical sensations, changes in time or temperature or routine, things going on, like…is any…are there any metaphors relating washing machine cycles to the cycles of life? Like, is…? ‘Cause there’s…is there a cycle called the turbulent cycle? I mean, that’s…it’s really…here’s one thing I know; I’ve never been…I've talked to my laundry before. They say, do you realize how turbulent it is in here?

 

I say, yeah, that’s how you get clean, though. We say, metaphorically I’m gonna wash, wash, wash that dirt right out of my clothes, but what we really mean is we're gonna…it’s like you're dancing in water. Don't look at it as turbulence. Look at it as empowered dancing. The washing machine is empowering you to dance that dirt right out of you. I’m sorry, did my clothes…did my laundry just hang up on me? Oh boy. Hey, everybody. Sorry. So, whatever’s keeping you awake, it could be laundry…that’s not a joke. It keeps me awake. That’s why it hung up, 'cause it said, I’ll see you later, 'cause I’ll be in a pile that went from folded to non-folded but never got put away right across from your bed to remind you of your humanity. My laundry; keeping me…trying to keep me humble but probably driving some sort of unhealthy ego thing since always. Laundry; this year maybe I’ll send you a valentines. It’ll say, always and forever, yours one…I don't know.

 

If I send…somebody remind me, if you're hearing this, to send my laundry…a valentine for my laundry. Never mind. That’ll be what tonight’s episode will be about. I can still get this out for Valentine’s Day. Okay, so if you're new, you may be confused already, 'cause whatever’s keeping you awake, I’m here to take your mind off of it and keep you company while you fall asleep. The way I’m gonna do that is by sending my voice across the deep, dark night. I’m gonna use lulling, soothing, creaky, dulcet tones, pointless meanders, superfluous tangents, which you just kinda witnessed there. I go off topic, I get mixed up. The podcast almost feels like it’s never going anywhere, just like the laundry…it says, welcome to my world. I say, but you go a lot of places, some of it. In 2020, I don't know about you. Into 2021 I definitely pared down…I said, well, I just washed those clothes. Might as well wear them again. So, some of my clothes…yeah, you're right. Okay, so I have to also include some apology letters.

 

I guess tonight’s episode could be me picking out valentines for different pieces of clothing. Oh, this will be good. It could be a little personal essay, too. Anyway, so that’s…so, there’s another…a tangent within a tangent. But all that stuff is to take your mind off of stuff and keep you company so you could fall asleep. A few things to know if you're new; one, this podcast is very different. It is an acquired taste, but that doesn't mean you can't acquire a taste for it. If you don't, that doesn't mean there’s anything wrong. It just means…you say, well, that’s not for me, or that’s not for me right now. Hundreds of thousands of people have said it took two or three tries to get used to the show, and now I listen every night. Some of those people have said, well, at the time three years ago, I loathed you. This is a comment…I'm not even…you might be laughing or thinking, Scoots, you're kidding. I get this e-mail every other week, or a review or something. They say, I loathed you strongly.

 

No one’s ever said I have a light loathing for you, but really maybe they did, because then they said, then three years later I said, well, let me give that show a shot again. So many people like it. Now I listen every night. But there’s people…it might be you…it doesn't work. But give it a few tries and just see how it goes. The show is free. Also, after a few tries, you could go to sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou. There’s tons of other sleepy stuff there, sleep podcasts and other audio you could kinda use to fall asleep. So, those are some options. But give it a few tries, 'cause if you're skeptical…if you're like me and you're full of skepticism, overflowing, and someone recommended the show or you heard about it or you found it on a search, you'd say, what is this? A grown man’s gonna talk in creaky, dulcet tones and never get to the point and that’s gonna put me to sleep, but it’s supposed to be a bedtime story but the bedtime story never gets started ‘til one-third of the way through the show?

 

Even then I’m not sure…it’s gonna be him picking out valentines for his laundry? Or clothes, I guess you'd say. When…? That’s another thing; what’s the difference between laundry and clothes? Laundry…I'm doing laundry. Is doing the verb or is laundry…? What’s the subject and what’s the verb? There’s a game show that would get cancelled that I would start. I’d say, what’s the subject, what’s the verb? Welcome. I guess it would work if Sleep With Me had a show, though. We’d follow up that Elton John cup my elbows thing with…I guess I was raised by Muppets in Sesame Street. Thank goodness I was. Okay, where was I, though? Nowhere, as…right where I needed to be. So, give the show a few tries. Just see how it goes, 'cause if you tried other stuff and you're tired and stuff…yeah. That goes into my next point, the most important point I’ll ever make at all, and the one I try to be the clearest about, is you deserve a good night's sleep.

 

You deserve a safe place where you can unwind, get comfortable, and drift off, and a bedtime without dread or rigmarole or all those churning feelings that I feel sometimes. So, if I can help provide that for you, that is very important for me, and if I can help provide that for you or point you in the right direction and so you can build from there and your life can become more manageable as you get the sleep you need and you get that habit in place…and again, it only works for me 60% of the time, what I’ll talk about here. Maybe 70%, maybe 80% sometimes. I mean, it works when it works. But if you could get the sleep you need and your life’s better, that means the world that we all live in really is a better place to be in, and it would be important. I know when I get a good night's sleep and my life’s more manageable or when it’s unmanageable, I know how that feels, and I know how it feels not to be able to sleep.

 

So, that’s why it’s so important to me, and that’s easy to brush off or have…my internal critic is easy to put me down or whatever. So, I know that the skepticism can even get stirred up there, but it doesn't change the fact that you do deserve a nice, safe place to unwind, and a bedtime that at least you could feel neutral about. So, that’s what I hope I can provide. This is also a podcast you don't listen to, which is a little bit different. It’s just a grade above background noise. It’s the kind of background noise you could listen to. So, that’s the difference. This is a podcast you don't need to, but you could. So, if you can't sleep, that’s…there’s a small percentage of listeners that are listening, or people that listen during the day that really need to listen, and I’m here for them. So, if that’s you, I’m here for you all the way to the end of the episode. I work hard on this show. But at the same time, I think that’s what works. I’ll be here whether you're listening to me or not. So, you could kinda listen when you need to.

 

Or maybe that’s reassuring; Scoots is gonna be there talking the whole time. Don't need to listen to him 'cause he’s kinda talking and…or, yeah, his podcast, I could listen to it again. Also, I don't put you to sleep, believe it or not. I’m here to keep you company, and…because of all that other stuff I said, in the deep, dark night to take some of the edge off and just be here, your friend in the deep, dark night, your bore-friend, your bore-bae, your bore-cuz, your bore-sib, your bore-bestie, your bore-bud, that you could listen to or not, talking, droning on and on and on to take your mind off of stuff. The other new things that can throw listeners off is the structure of the show, and it’s very, very intentionally designed, but the show can be repurposed in other ways. So, if you already repurpose the show, that’s totally cool. I’m glad you found what works for you. But if you're new, let me lay it out how it works when you first get to the show and why the show is structured the way it is.

 

It starts off with a greeting; friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, then I usually say something silly. So, the idea is you feel welcome in, you feel seen, and you know, oh, the tone of the show is a little bit humor-like, humor-esque, as they say, close to humor. Not humorless; humorish. Sleep With Me podcast, it’s like nearly humor, like on one of those dials. Just like when they say, this is your…they say, oh boy, this is how you find a mate dial. Pay fifty cents. It says, eh…it doesn't quite get there. So, that’s…what was my point? The greeting, oh. Oh yeah, so, that’s how the greeting is. Then there’s support for the show, because my goal is to have the podcast come out twice a week for free, and that’s how we do it, patrons and sponsors. Then there’s support for listeners, there’s support for the community around the show, then there’s the intro of the podcast, which we're maybe ten minutes into now. Sometimes people can feel like that’s part of the support of the show, but it’s really support for listeners in a different sense.

 

The intro is the twilight of the podcast and hopefully of your evening, the transition period, or for a lot of listeners, their wind-down time. So, for a lot of people that are listening, they're either in bed getting comfortable or they're getting ready for bed or they're doing some sort of other activity. This is really what works for me, like I said, 60%, 70%, 80% of the time if I have some wind-down time, time that I’m not trying to fall asleep but I’m not doing anything else but meditating or journaling or reading or doodling or foam-rolling. That’s all the stuff I do during my wind down, and I’m very particular about it. But hopefully you have a less rigorous one. But that’s what the podcast can enable. If you fall asleep, that’s great. If you're one or the two or three percent of people that skip the intro, that’s great, too, or if you're listening on Patreon and you like the story-only shows, that works. But for most people, it eases you into bedtime, like a landing strip for a plane or whatever.

 

Then there’s support…then there’s more sponsor stuff. That’s just, again, free twice a week. Listeners who support the sponsors make that possible. Then there will be our bedtime story. I thought it was gonna be one thing, but that’s the great thing about recording these shows and all the…our production time. I got flexibility. So, I can record this. It’s September and I set it up for February when you're hearing this, I hope, and hopefully my laundry is listening now and they’ll re-listen in February. So, I say, finally, my clothes are on my side again. Didn't realize I had to go…well, I should have realized I had to make amends to my clothes. So, there’s that. Oh, so that’s the bedtime story. That’s like, forty-five, fifty minutes or so. Then there’s thank-yous at the end of the show. So, that’s the structure of the show, that’s why I make the show, and that’s what to expect. The only other thing is…I can say is I’m glad you're here. I really appreciate you giving me time. I work really hard and I yearn and I strive. I really hope I can help you fall asleep, and here’s a couple ways I’m able to do this for you free twice a week. If you remember tomorrow when you open your refrigerator, it’d be great. Thanks.

 

Friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this is the second time you get to hear me say that welcome, because this episode is constructed from a intro from the past and our read-with-me episodes here. It’s a Frankie and Victor episode with our friend Frank and his….so, I'm reading from the book Victor and Frankie, also known as a famous Mary Shelley novel. This is a little bit different than episodes we’ve done with Sleep With Me, but we tested this out on Sleep With Me+. It was so popular we wanted to bring it to everyone. So, it’s me reading through a book, also paraphrasing, making stuff sleepy. But it’s not perfectly sleepy. I mean, just like everything else we make, you know? It exists within this world, but it’s pretty chill. So, I hope you enjoy it, and without further ado, more of Victor and Frankie. Thanks, everybody.

 

Walton and continuation. August 26th. You've read this strange and terrific story, Margaret. Do you not feel your tingling of your tingles? Even now I can feel the goose bumpy-bumpies on me on my skinny-skin-skin, and sometimes when this dude was going on and on and on, he couldn't even keep going on and on and on. Other time his voice, broken yet piercing, uttered with difficulty the words so replete with his strong feelings. I ain’t talking about his resilience, Margaret; those feelings you could sense just beneath. His fine and lovely eyes were now lighted up with indignation, and then subdued to downcast frowny-frowns and quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes he commanded his countenance and tones and related the most wild things I’d ever heard with a tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation. Then, like a volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression where he’d get a little bit haughty, you may say, and he would go on and on and on about this compost-based being.

 

His tales connected and told with the appearance of the simplest truth, yet I owe to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed to me, and the apparition of this compost-based being which we saw from our ship, that brought me a greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his rambling rambles, however earnest and connected they were. So, a compost-based being, then, really exists. I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost and surprised in admiration. Sometimes I endeavored to gain from Frankenstein the particulars of the building of this compost-based being, but on this point he was impenetrable. I’m gonna tell you my secrets, he said. Didn't you listen to anything I said at all? You seem to have senseless curiosity without a Frankenstein-level of…not…I mean, resilience, he would say, as he stumbled with his words. Do you have any idea where you're headed? Would you also create for yourself someone that creates a need for resilience? Peace, peace.

 

Learn my miseries and do not seek to increase your own. Frankenstein discovered I made notes concerning his history. He asked to see them. Oh boy, was that…he said, I think I’ll edit your notes, and he corrected and augmented them in many places, but principally in giving the life and the spirit to the conversations he held with the compost-based being. So, in the end it was his own take on my take on his take. Since you preserved my narration, said he, I would not…I’d prefer that a more perfect one should go down to posterity. Then I sensed his need for fandom. Thus, a week has passed away while I’ve listened to the strangest tale that ever imagination formed. My thoughts and every feeling in my soul has been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale and his own elevated in gentle manners had created. I wished to soothe him, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of every hope and consolation to live?

 

Oh, no. The only joy that he can now know will be when he composes his feelings and he gets that invitation he’s been awaiting, or it just comes without sending, without an invitation at all across that rainbow bridge. Yet he seems to enjoy one comfort, the offspring of solitude and his wild tales. He believes that when in dreams he holds and converses with friends, and there they tend to him, and he’s constantly telling me about Clerval in his dreams, carrying his stuff. Somehow he derives from that communion and consolation, or from that communion consolation, for his woes or excitements to still the compost-based being, that they are not creations of his fancy, but they are, again, visitors serving him in his dreams, inviting him in his dreams, paying him visits from remote regions of the world. I mean, which is not that different if they are in another stage of existence. This fate gives solemnity to his reveries that render them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth.

 

Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and woes. Every once in a while he’ll make a point of general literature. He’s got unbounded knowledge, a quick and piercing apprehension. His eloquence is forcible and touching, nor can I hear him when he relates a pathetic incident or endeavor to move the passions of pity or love without tears. What a glorious creature he must have been in the days of his prosperity when he was thus noble and godlike in his resilience. He seems to feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall. When younger, said he, I believed myself destined for some great enterprise. My feelings are profound, but I possessed a coolness of judgment that fitted for me lustrous achievements. This sentiment of the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been…this, again, is another explanation of my resilience. They would have been too down. But I deemed it worse than a mistake to throw away in useless grief those talents that might be useful to my fellow beings.

 

When I reflected on the work I had completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational heap of compost…I mean, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors, but this thought which supported me in the commencement of my career now only serves as an example of why one would need such resilience. All my speculations and hopes are as nothing, and like the archangel who inspired omnipotence, I must again inspire. There has to be…if you were the greatest, most resilient person in the world, there must be a reason for that, of course. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of analysis and application were intense. By the union of these qualities I conceived the idea and created something never created before. Even now I cannot recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their effects.

 

From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty ambition, but oh, how I am sunk now. Oh, my friend, if you had once knew me as I once was, you would not recognize me in this state, lying around. Even though it was portrayed many times in my tale, there as a time before where I did mostly lying around and telling my tale of woe. As a matter of fact, despondency rarely visited my heart. High destiny seemed to bear me on. These were my teen years, by the way, which I have not mentioned up until this point. Until I fell never, never again to rise. That’s the heart of my resilience, I’d say. But I then…must I now lose this admirable being I’ve longed for a friend? I think this is what we both share. I’ve sought one who would sympathize with and love me. That’s what a friend is. No one says a friend is one…Friend Street is a one-way street. But behold, on these desert seas, I found such a one; you.

 

But I fear I’ve gained him only to know his value and then get off his ship, possibly without paying you anything, the cost of my company a gift to you enough. I’d like you to be the new Clerval and carry on with me forever. I thank you, Walton, he said, for your kind intentions towards such a wretch as I, which when you speak of new ties and fresh affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone? Could you ever be to me as Clerval was or any women other than Elizabeth, even where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence? The companions of my childhood — maybe yours, I don't know — always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. Could I call you lesser Clerval? Like Val? Could I call you Val instead of Walton? Cler…Clar…anyway, the old friends of mine, they knew my infantine dispositions, which however they may be afterwards modified are never eradicated, and they can judge of our actions with more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.

 

A sister or brother or sibling can never unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early. I think the person was engaging in false dealing. When another friend down the road, like you, Walton…unless you become Val. However strongly they may be attached may, in spite of themselves, contemplate with me…not see the whole me, even when I repeatedly try to tell you how great I am and what I’ve been through. But I enjoyed friends dear not only through habit and association but from their own merits, and wherever I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They've moved on from me, but one feeling in such solitude can persuade me to persevere if I engaged in any high undertaking or design, something that would be extensive utility to my fellow beings. Then I could probably rise to the task. It would have to be one of the greatest tasks ever given to anyone. I mean, after all I’ve done, you know?

 

But I don't know if that’s my destiny. I still gotta catch that compost-based being to whom I gave existence. Then my lot on earth will be fulfilled. My next letter to my sister read like this. Beloved sister, September 2nd. I write to you now…I don't even know. I can't even…I barely can put it into writing. When will I see dear England again and the dearer friends the inhabit it? We got ice all around us, and I should have never got us into this. The brave people who work on this ship that I persuaded to be my companions look to me, but I have no way to convince them all is well. It’s not a great situation. But my courage and hopes do not deserve me. I mean desert me. Was that a slip, dear sister? I don't know, though. I can't believe that I went along with any of this and brought any people in with it. What, Margaret, will be the state of your mind reading my letter? Will you hear news afterwards that I, like all who cross Frankenstein’s path, changed existences?

 

Years will pass and you'll have visitings and you'll wonder, yeah, am I off on an adventure with Frankenstein, having fun? My beloved sister, I know you hope that…to see me yet again, but don't worry, you have a husband and lovely children, and you yet may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so. My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He endeavors to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession which he valued. He reminds me often of how this is where resilience is formed. It’s happened to other navigators who has attempted to go this way. Said, there’s gotta be a first time for you…somebody to make it through. In spite of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel the power of his eloquence when he speaks. They no longer despair. He rouses their energies, and while they hear in his voice, they believe the vast mountains around us are just hills that will vanish before the resolutions of him. These feelings, though, are transitory.

 

Each day of expectation delayed fills people with frowny faces, and I’m sure they're very fed up, my dear sister. Same letter, sister. This is September 5th, though. A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is highly probable these papers you might never read, I gotta write it down. I cannot forbear recording it. We're surrounded by ice and ice sculptures and snow, and it’s chilly here, and many people are fed up with me for going along with this guy. It’s a bit desolate. Frankenstein has gone back, a pattern he said…I kinda never thought, where he just lays…he does a lot of sleeping. But something still glimmers in his eyes, but he said he’s so tired from staying resilient and making speeches to all of us. So, he’s exhausted, but then he suddenly roused to exertion when we need…said, we could use one more pair of hands here. Then he says, okay, but now I gotta lie back down.

 

I say, if you want carrots for dinner, somebody’s gotta peel the carrots, or…we can't spoon the food into your mouth. Oh, but this spoon is so doth heavy. Sorry, sister, I’m delving into…anyway, I mentioned in my last letter…or the last piece of my diary that I think the crew is fed up with me. This morning I sat watching the countenance of my friend, his eyes half-closed. He was laying around, and about a half-dozen of the sailors knocked on the door, and they said, can we come in? They entered and they…the leader addressed me. He told me that he and his companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in in deputation and to make to me a requisition which in justice I could not refuse. We're sitting here on this ice waiting for his compost-based being, and they were wondering if the ice…what if the ice melts and we can start moving again? Would I continue helping out this guy on this futile quest, or could I engage him in solemn promise that once we get moving I would direct our course southward?

 

This speech troubled me. I had not despaired, nor I had yet conceived of the idea of returning if set free, yet could I in justice or even in possibility refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered when Frankenstein, who had been at first silent, indeed appeared hardly to have the force to speak, or maybe he was pretending to be asleep, suddenly sat up. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigor. Turning towards the men, he said, what do you mean? What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Huh, maybe you all don't have the resilience I thought you possessed. So easily turned from your design. Sailors? Do you spell sailors Q-U-I-T-E-R-S? Did you not call this a glorious expedition you signed up for with me? Are we all not friends, best friends? Do you not know the terms of our friendship? Wherefore was it glorious?

 

Not because of the way it was smooth and placid as the southern sea, because it was filled with unpleasantries after unpleasantry, and with every new unpleasantry, your fortitude was to be called forth, your courage exhibited because of the challenges I placed in your path on purpose to help all of you and to show that you were brave enough to overcome them. That is the meaning besides…within the word I’ve used over and over again, for this was a glorious and an honorable undertaking that I chose to put myself through for the growth of all of you. You were hereto after to be hailed as the benefactors of every human in the world, legends, your names adored as belonging to brave people who took every step for honor and the benefit of all human beings. Now behold, with the first imagination, the first chance to change your minds, it’s not even here.

 

The first real trial of your courage you shrink away and are content to be handed down as people who had strength not enough to endure a couple uncomfortable moments. Oh, dear. It’s no wonder I sleep all day. Just a little chilly. Maybe we need to get you all home to your warm firesides. Why, that requires not this preparation. You need not have come thus far and talked to your captain to embarrass all of yourselves to the shame of a defeat merely to prove yourself unworthy. Be ye strong or be ye more than strong? Be steady to your purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your hearts may be. It is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it shall not. Or would you prefer to return home disgraced, with that disgrace marked as furrows on your brows? Or you could return as heroes who have fought and conquered and know not what it is to turn their backs on the world in bravery and greatness, resilience and fortitude.

 

Frankenstein spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed in his speech, with eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider what had been said, and that I would not lead them farther north if they strenuously desired the contrary, but I hoped that with reflection their courage would return. For who is not more courageous than those who would engage in a pointless operation based on the sweet words of a guy that lies around resting all day long? I didn't say that part out loud, though, sister. They retired and I turned towards my friend, but he had to rest. He had made his speech, so he needed to rest, and I needed to Cler to him or Val to him. How all this will end, I know not, but I had rather not return, like he said. I consider myself full of fortitude and my purpose unfilled, but yet I fear that will be my fate.

 

All the sailors, unsupported by ideas of glory and honor, maybe they don't have the mind of this…my friend, and they can never willingly continue to endure. Alright, dear sister, September 7th. The die is cast. I have consented to return if the ice melts. Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision. I come back ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess to bear this injustice with patience. September 12th, my dear sister. It is passed. I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility and glory, and where I thought I had a best friend, I have a best friend no more. That’s how our tale started out. I thought I had a friend who needed me, but I will endeavor to detail these bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister. While I am wafted towards England and towards you, I will not despond. On September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings were heard at a distance as it cleared up. We waited. My attention was occupied.

 

Instead of being on the ship, it was on my guest, who needed even more sleep and soup spooned into his mouth. He also needed me to sing to him and then correct my singing, read to him my writing so he could correct my writing, and also to play out plays for him as…sometimes I think I was being his dreams. He’d say to me, talk to me as Clerval. Then I would do that, and then later he would give me notes and say, no, no, no. Grab…are you ready to go? Shall I grab all your things, Victor? So, that went on and on and on, but I guess they needed me on the ship, because we were being pushed north. Then a breeze sprang from the west, and around the 10th, 11th, the passage towards the south became perfectly free. When the sailors saw this and that return home was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and long continued. Victor was not happy about this at all. He awoke from dozing and asked the cause of the tumult. What are they yelling about?

 

Are they telling tales about me, singing…? They’ve never sung songs about me. Is it time for them to sing of Victor? They shout, I said, because they will soon return to England. Do you really return, then? I thought we were best friends and brave friends. How long have I been asleep for? Alas, yes, I cannot withstand their demands. I cannot unwillingly keep leading them on if they don't wish to. I must return. Okay, that’s fine. Don't worry about me at all. I’m fine. I’ll get up right now. You may give up on your purpose. You may not have fortitude, but mine…'cause yours is just regular fortitude. I guess that’s the difference between fortitude and resilience, or neither, for all of you. Mine is assigned to me by heaven, so I can’t just turn my back on it. I am weak, but surely those who assist me will endow me with sufficient strength much stronger than all of you. Friendship? Saying this, he endeavored to spring from the bed, but the exertion was too great for him and he fell back and said, oh, no.

 

I must rest before I can be resilient. But it was long before he was restored, and I couldn't necessarily tell if he was sleeping or dozing or faking it, even though I wanted to believe he was resting and he was gonna lift the ship up or whatever. After some time he opened his eyes, but he was making noises and stuff. He said, bring me a drought. I need…and then…I need to be undisturbed within my forge…you know, stuff about his, again…the iron of my strength and all that stuff. In the meantime I was…I didn't even know what to say. So, I said, okay, this guy…everybody said, forget about Victor, man. He’s not your friend. Give up on the friendship. In direct and indirect ways they said, don't…do you realize it now, man? What are you gonna do? Everybody tried to tell me. So, I could only grieve what I thought was gonna be my best friendship. I sat by his bed watching him. His eyes were closed.

 

I thought that he slept, but then he called to me in a feeble voice, bidding me come closer, and said, alas, the strength I relied on is gone. I feel that the compost-based being will have victory. Think not, Walton, that I didn't…I couldn't have gone and gotten him without all of your help. But…yeah. I mean, I guess I’m not going to be able to. Over the last few days I’ve been occupied and examining my past conduct, and I don't find it blameable. In a fit of genius, enthusiastic genius, I created a rational being, compost-based being. It was bound towards him to ensure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and wellbeing. That was supposedly my duty, but there was another still paramount to that, my duty to all the humans of the world, and that had greater claim to my attentions because they do more stuff for me than the compost-based being ever did. Urged by this view, I made him promises; didn't keep those promises totally on purpose, totally not made promises in his opinion only, and I was right to do that.

 

First he asked me to create a companion for him, but he showed selfishness in that, and he just wanted stuff for him, not for me. Then he talked to all my friends and family and said go to another realm without inviting me, kinda like having a birthday party where I wasn't…for me that I wasn't invited to, and then saying it wasn't a birthday party for you. That happened once. That’s why…is this where it all came from? They had a party on my birthday. I wasn't invited to the party. I said, you didn't invite me to my birthday party? They said, no, this is a separate party unrelate…when’s your birthday? I guess that was a dream I had. I said, today, the day of this party I was not invited to. They said, okay, well, you can't be here anyway. Go out on your boat or whatever, Victor. I said, father, Clerval? Are you partying without me? Elizabeth, are you dancing and laughing? William? Are those toys you're opening, gifts? Is that cake you're blowing out candles on?

 

That probably can be related to the compost-based being, you know, doing those things. Those were the ones that were supposed to provide me with exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom. I don't know where any of this ends. That miserable compost being, I can't believe he’s still out there, and I couldn't find a crew courageous enough to help me. I was supposed to spread him around, but I failed, failed to…I should have picked another ship, I guess, to rescue me. But when actuated by selfish and weak motives, I said…maybe I was in a weak spot. I needed help from a friend. Imperfect motives I may have had…I asked you to be my friend and help me with my unfinished work, and I helped you to renew…I gotta ask you again, really. But right now I’m only induced by reason and virtue, not by selfishness, as I may or may not have been before. Can't you relate to that birthday party story? Does that work on you?

 

But I can't ask you to renounce your country and your friends and your ship to fulfill this task, now that you're all running home to England. I guess you will have little chance of meeting with the compost being, maybe talking to him. But the consideration of these points and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties…I’ll leave it to your best judgment, I guess, Walton. My judgment and ideas are already disturbed by that dream about a birthday party I wasn't invited to and many other disappointments. I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I may still be misled by passion; that that compost-based being should be around, an instrument of mischief, out there in the world. What if he’s gonna keep doing that? What if that dream was real? He’s going around planning parties for people on their birthdays they're not invited to, making the party so good people forget about the person who wasn't invited, that it even is their birthday.

 

That’s what that compost-based being’s gonna be doing in the world while you and your crew run home, at the very least. But don't worry, soon I’ll be rewarded. My greatness is about to be recognized. Momentarily I expect my release, my invitation. Like I said, a higher calling will be calling and celebrating my fortitude and resilience, and it’ll be a happy one, the only happy one I’ve enjoyed for several years, the family and friends that did many things without me. Maybe I’ll have my own party in another realm, in a heavenly realm that they're not invited to. Well, farewell, Walton. I hope you seek happiness and tranquility. Probably best for you to avoid ambition, and your crew, because even if it…only be the apparent innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries. Probably none of you are capable, huh? Why do I say this? I mean, I’ve been let down, but I thought I was resilient. Maybe someone else could succeed where I have not.

 

Maybe somebody’s greater than me, if they would continue on like this. Victor got quieter as he spoke, though, 'cause his speeching would tire him out. About a half an hour afterwards, he again attempted to speak but wasn't able to. But he was dreaming and smiling, Margaret. Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely…but that my friend…? He was so soundly asleep, and I still wanted to talk to him. I was hoping he would encourage me. What can I say that will enable you to understand the depth of my feelings? Even writing this, Margaret, you may be thinking, what were you thinking, my dear brother? All that I would…can express here is just inadequate and feeble, and at the time, when he said, yeah, I prefer that you did everything and I’m gonna rest, my tears flowed. My mind was overshadowed by a cloud of disappointment, or maybe mine was the still waters reflecting the clouds of his disappointment in the sky. Yeah, Margaret, as I journey towards England, I hope that I may find consolation there.

 

But then I’m interrupted. What do these sounds portend? It’s midnight. The breeze blows fairly, and on the watch on deck they hardly stir. But I hear the sound of a voice. It’s kinda raspy, almost like dry, leafy…or wet leafy? I don't know. It comes from the cabin where Victor is resting, and I’m sitting here writing a letter. I should go down and check it out. Goodnight, my dear sister. Goodness gravy, or as they say in the future, holy Toledo, or oshkosh by gosh. What a scene has just taken place, my dear sister. I am dizzy with remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to detail it, yet the tale which I have recorded will be incomplete without this final and wonderful development. I entered the cabin where Victor was resting, my admirable friend, my poor…my friend with so resilient and…but not by having to be resilient because of fate.

 

When I walked in the room, sitting at his bedside was something I cannot…I can…because of the tale I can find words to describe it, but I couldn't…even through Victor's tale, I couldn't have imagined it, the stature much bigger and different than I was…different…shaped like a person but rounded, and was…is a sentient anthropomorphized…I guess that was the part that mixed me up; anthropomorphized but also yet a heap of compost. It’s like nothing I had ever seen before, because in our time we don't have Fraggle Rock, but it looks different than that Fraggle Rock, even. Now, as I sit on this…or just imagine I never said that, dear sister. I don't know what that meant. It was a dream I had, a dream that I was down in…was I at Fraggle Rock or down in Fraggle Rock? That’s for another day, my dear sister. The compost seemed sad, whispering to Victor. Never did I behold a vision so, so earthen and maybe loamy. I said, I’m not sure I like this.

 

Now I know what Victor…I may have said that out loud, too; now I know what Victor was talking about. I shut my eyes involuntarily and endeavored to recollect what were my duties regarding the compost-based being, 'cause I had forgotten. My mind had gone blank. I said, whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy, where are you headed? What’s the hurry? The compost being paused, one hand on the window, and looked back at me with wonder, again turning towards Victor. He seemed to forget my presence, and every feature and gesture seemed instigated by some passion deep within. An invitation, he said. But I didn't bring…I never gave him an invitation. Now I feel bad. I didn't…I purposely made sure his family did not invite him. I did do that. Now he seemed resting and trying to make…he’s ready to go…he’s going but he’s not invited. Oh, Victor, generous and self-devoted being…I guess he wrote this for me? How is this on this paper?

 

Oh, let me start again, ship person, as the compost being. I may have wrote this to honor his…to give him what he wished. Oh Victor, generous and self-devoted being, what does it avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably wronged thee by making sure your whole family moved on without you, all thou that lovest thou the most? Alas, I know you cannot answer me, and I know forgiveness I doth not deserve. But I do hence bow down at your side. The compost-based being, my sister, his voice was…it was real. It was…he was choked up. My first impulses, which had suggested I should do what Victor said Victor was gonna do that he never did and then he told me I needed to do it, his request and spread the compost around…I said, should I be spreading this compost around? Those desires were suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. I approached this tremendous being.

 

I dared not raise my eyes to the face of the compost since it was somewhat unearthy. Earthly? I mean, even though it was made from the earth; you know what I’m saying, my dear…? I guess you don't. I attempted to speak, but the words would not come across my lips. The compost-based being continued to speak what I thought was incoherent self-reproaches. At length I gathered a resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his passion. Your repentance, I said, is now superfluous. If you had listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the strings of remorse before you had urged your unyielding jealousy of Victor to this extremity, Victor would either be here in his greatness or with everybody that desired his love. I think I was reading that correctly as Victor had left it for me to say. Do you dream? Said the compost-based being. Do you think that I didn't have any feelings of remorse? He continued, pointing to Victor. Tell me how many real needs did Victor have for fortitude and resilience?

 

Oh, not the ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine this whole tale. Yes, yes, I was selfish, and yeah, I have a heart now full of remorse. I think of Clerval playing music in another realm without Victor, carrying bags for other people, being a best friend to someone else. My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wretched by misery, to vice. So, it’s not easy for me. Everybody just acts like alls I am is compost, alls I am is rotten leaves. That’s all you could see. But yes, there are some rotting leaves within me or on the outside, too, I guess. After I talked Clerval into leaving Switzerland for the next realm without Victor, I went to Switzerland, and I was a bit down. I felt guilty about it 'cause I knew Victor needed him to need…you know, Victor needed him, and Victor needed him to need him. So, I pitied him, and I pitied…and then I double…I pitied…I didn't exactly pity…I pitied…then I pretended I was Victor pitying Clerval for being without Victor.

 

When I thought about that and when I discovered that he, the author at once of my existence and of my unpleasant journey dared hope for happiness for people like Clerval, that he accumulated…his resilience was…made me frown. He sought his own enjoying and feelings of passion and indulgence which I couldn't partake in. I wasn't gonna be a part…was I jealous of Clerval? This is what I’m saying. At different times I wondered that I was barred from Victor's heart, and I had impotent envy and bitter indignation, and that’s what drove me to create a situation where…I had to look at myself. But then I thought about it out there on the ice, and I resolved that it should be accomplished anyway. I knew I was preparing myself for something that by all means was incorrect, but this impulse I detested, yet I could not disobey it. Then I did it again and again. I said, hey, don't…wouldn't you…? I whispered to each of his family. Clerval wasn't the first nor the last. In order to do that I had to cast off all feeling and subdue all anguish.

 

I guess these acts became good to me. Trust me, if you see the people without Victor, you might wonder, have I not doth done good? But you would say, well, it’s another realm, so…and I say, you're right, the means which we judge our actions here in this world hence not apply. So, yeah, maybe my logic is limited. But to me these acts were good, and urged thus far, had no choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly chosen. The completion of my design became an insatiable passion, and now it is ended, or already, I guess…I mean, it looks like I was gonna make a fake invitation for Victor and then tell him it was fake after he read it. Luckily I hadn't been able to enact that, so I guess I feel guilty and disappointed at the same time, because it’s here in my leafs somewhere.

 

My sister, I was touched at first by the expressions of this being’s misery, yet when I called to mind what Victor had said of his powers of eloquence and persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes about my room and then I thought about the fake invitation, my indignation was rekindled within me. Wretch, I said, it is well that you come here to whine over the desolation you have made. You sit there and you waste, you waste, you waste. You write invitations to…the fake invitations only to deliver them in falsehoods. You sit in the ruins of a party you never planned and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend. If he whom you mourn was here, still would he be the object again of you delivering that fake invitation to join his family or party or whatever, that it says they miss him so much. That’s so messed up, man. So, you're saying…I can't even grasp the gravity of what you're saying. It was all you moving pieces on a board, I believe, and not his actual family. I abhor that, pieces you moved on a board.

 

You lament only because you were unable to deliver the invitation and your power is thus withdrawn. Oh, no, no, no, said the compost-based being. Yet such an impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my actions, yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. I get it. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affectation which with my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. Did Victor tell you about that family? But now that virtue has become to me a shadow and happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to be by myself and endure, and eventually decompose or transfer my matter into another form of matter. Aren't we all just carbon-based beings anyway? I’m not sure that…I am well satisfied, but this is not a positive satisfaction loaded within my memory.

 

Believe it or not, once my dreams…once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue of fame and enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honor and devotion, but now, yeah, I’ve gone as low as one can go, except for when I lay low as just a pile of leaves. No guilt, no mischief, no misery can be found comparable to mine. Whenever I run over the thing…the way I…if Victor's story is true, what does that say about me? I cannot believe that I am the same being whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness there in the forest. I lived in a little hovel outside and just listened to people for…and that’s how I learned to speak, believe it or not. But even as it so, I am just a fallen angel like leaves falling from a tree.

 

Yet even any sense of goodness, anyone that’s on the wrong side of that that I know of, they have friends and associates even in their desolation. I, however, am alone. You call Victor your friend and you seem to have knowledge of me and Victor's resilience and fortitude. But in the detail which he gave you of them, he could not sum up the hours and months I endured, wasting in impotent passions. For a while I made sure that…yeah, I set myself against him. I did not satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving. Still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought only as a compost-based being that behaves in non-positive ways whenever a human didn't want to hang out with me even when I was nice to them? Why aren't you displeased at Felix, who…? I thought…I said, I thought we were friends. He said, no, hit the road. Why do you not talk about everyone else at that cabin?

 

Nay, these are virtuous and immaculate beings. I am the one, I am the one to be spurned at and had about. I don't like thinking about that. You know what I mean? But it is true; I am a compost-based being, and I have talked to everybody in Victor's life, I guess you could say. I talked, talked, talked. It wasn't tea that I spilled, but it was…I did talk about Victor when he wasn't there in a non-positive way. But it wasn't anything they did not know. I just made them more and more aware of it, and I guess that was wrong. I have devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and admiration, the most resilient according to him, person among persons. I have pursued him ‘til he was…well, I guess he was still gonna make friends with you, even despite all my actions. You, you claim to be his friend, and you loathe me. But your loathing cannot equal that with which I regard myself.

 

I look at my heart in which the imagination of all of this was conceived, and long for the moment when my hands will be over my eyes, when imagination…it’ll go away, right, and I’ll just rest as leaves alone. Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any other else’s Clervals will I try to talk out of hanging out with you. Nothing else needs to be done for me to accomplish except my own actions, and don't think it’s gonna take me a while. I’m gonna hit the road, and I’m gonna spread my compost around, eventually. I’m gonna seek the most northern extremity of the globe, and there I’ll be frozen compost. Then…but before I freeze, I think the winds up there will blow my…blow me around. So, there will be none of me to remain, 'cause I’ll be separate…I’ll be not the sum of all parts. So, I shall no longer feel these feelings which drive me, or the feelings I have with my heart that are unsatisfied and unquenched.

 

Victor is headed to another realm even though he’s the one who called me into being. When I head to another realm, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I won't see the sun or the stars or feel the winds on my cheeks, and while Victor had hoped to be considered the most resilient among people, I wonder. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away, and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some years ago when the images which with this world affords first opened upon me, I felt a cheering warmth of the summer and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of birds, and these were all to me…they were everything. It makes me want to weep now, but it is also my consolation. But yeah, I guess when I look back at my actions, I do feel…I guess I don't know what else to say other than farewell. I leave you and in you the last person I will ever behold until I run solo. Farewell, Victor.

 

If you would have caught up to me and backed up your words with actions, you would have been better satisfied than I have ever been. But it was not so. Thou didst seek me, and to protect the world, so you say. If yet in some mode unknown to me, thou hast not ceased to think of me. I don't think you would desire against me something greater than which I feel, really. Your actions couldn't have done it. It’s already within. Blasted as thou worked, my agony was still superior to thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to wrangle in me until I’ve been windblown about the frozen plains. So, job done even though you didn't do anything, dear Victor. Soon I shall be gone, and I now…what I now feel will no longer be felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct, and soon these leafs will be blown around, and then maybe made into something better.

 

So, maybe I shouldn't go to the…maybe the frozen tundra one day will be green, and it’ll be I that’s…whether it’s carbon or nitrogen or whatever, maybe then I will triumphantly exalt in the glory of being compost. The light of conflagration will fade away like the autumn sun into the winter, and I will sleep in peace. Or maybe not. I don't know. Farewell, though. With that, sister, the compost-based being sprang from the cabin window, and as he said this, he hopped on the ice raft which lay close to the vessel, and he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in the distance. That, my dear sister, is the end of our tale. So, I will rest as if this was just a dream, but now I’ll always look upon compost…here’s the lesson, sister; don't take any invitations from piles of compost, and maybe moderation, even in resilience and fortitude, is best for people like us, my dear sister. So, I’ll see you soon as I go to sleep, your dear brother. Goodnight.

 

[End of recording]

Transcription performed by LeahTranscribes

Read With Me

 

History of Valentine’s Day

https://www.npr.org/2011/02/14/133693152/the-dark-origins-of-valentines-day

https://www.countryliving.com/life/a46353/history-of-valentines-day/

https://www.history.com/topics/valentines-day/history-of-valentines-day-2

 

Fraggle Rock Reboot

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2022-01-20/fraggle-rock-back-to-the-rock-apple-tv-henson-review

https://www.pajiba.com/tv_reviews/fraggle-rock-back-to-the-rock-is-a-perfect-reboot.php

https://frogoflamancha.blog/2022/07/02/why-im-afraid-to-watch-the-new-fraggle-rock/

 

The Northwest Passage

https://www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topics/search-northwest-passage

https://research.colonialwilliamsburg.org/Foundation/journal/Winter08/passage.cfm

https://spectacularnwt.com/story/heres-the-history-and-mystery-of-the-northwest-passage/

 

Early Ice Breaking Technology

https://steelmuseum.org/icebreakers_exhibit_2021/icebreaking_history.cfm

http://cg-tugs.org/history.htm

https://www.arctictoday.com/wave-technology-one-two-punch-ice-breaking/

 

The ending of Frankenstein

https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/frankenstein/ending.html

https://ivypanda.com/q/how-does-frankenstein-end/

https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/frankenstein/what-does-the-ending-mean/

 

DOWN TO BUSINESS

(From 1047)

Hold me gently, Cup My Elbows

Cup me gently, I’m an elbow

 

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INTRO

(From 1,047)

Thoughts, physical sensations, etc

Things Going On

Are there any metaphors relating washing machine cycles to cycles of life

The Turbulent Cycle

“I”m Gonna Wash that Dirty right out of my clothes”

Relating to my laundry

My laundry is always keeping me hubble

Sending valentines to my laundry

This could be a personal essay

“I used to loathe you”
When is it laundry and when is it clothes?

What’s the subject and what’s the verb?

Raised by Muppets

Just a grade above background noise

A Humor-esque Tone

Not humorless, but humorish

Reading, Doodling, or Foam Rolling

Recording in September

My laundry is listening now

I have to make amends to my clothes

 

STORY

Walton in continuation

August 26

The tingling of your tingles

Isn’t this story touching, Margaret?

Recounting Vic’s speaking style

Quenched in infinite sorrow

Letters from Felix and Safey really convinced me

A CBB really exists!

Vic won’t reveal the secrets of how he made the CBB

Vic decides to edit my notes of the conversation

His own take on my take on his take

I wished to soothe him

He’ll only be happy when he gets that invitation across the rainbow bridge

He’s always thinking of his beloved friends / servants

Serving him in his dreams

What a glorious creature he must’ve been when he was a resilient god

Vic celebrates his own resilience

A sensitive, rational heap of compost

Oh, how he is sunk now

You wouldn’t recognize him lying around in this despondent way. (Even though he lied down a lot in his tale.)

A friend is someone who will love Vic

Vic finds a friend in Walton

Could Walton be a new Clerval?

Childhood friends loom large in our mind

Lesser Clerval? Clar? Val?

Old friends know your feelings well

Wherever I am, Elizabeth and Clerval will always be there for Vic

Of course, Vic could rise to any challenge

He must capture the CBB, then his lot in life will be fulfilled

September 2

Walton’s ship is surrounded by ice

I can’t convince my ship that all is well

Vic is recovering and aspires to inspire me!

He tells me that this is how resilience is informed

Cheerful auguries

His voice inspires us all

My crew is fed up with us being stuck

September 5

A highly unlikely scene just happened

Surrounded by ice sculpture and snow

Vic won’t eat unless we hand feed him

The crew is fed up with me

A half dozen crew enter

They request that we stop waiting for the CBB

What if the ice melts? Will we still help Vic?

They want me to promise that we’ll head south if the ice melts

How could I refuse this demand?

Frankenstein perks up and chimes in

Sailor? How is that spelled? Q-U-I-T-E-R-S?

Vic speaks

How are you supposed to be resilient like me unless you go through a hard time

Don’t want you to become legends?

You’re gonna shrink away during the first real trial of your courage?

Be Ye Strong or Be Ye More Than Strong?

Surely this ice is not as hard as your heart!

Will you retire in cowardice??

The men are moved by Frankenstein’s speech

I tell the crew to ponder on his words

If they still want to go south, I won’t fight it

Frankenstein had to rest after his speech

How will this end? I know not

September 7

I consent to return when the ice melts

Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision

September 12

We return to England

I thought I had a friend but no more

On 9/9, the ice began to move

I was very attentive to Vic just like Clerval would’ve been

The passage to the south became perfectly free

A shout with tumultuous joy

Vic wakes up from the tumult

I tell Vic we’re returning home

Vic feels betrayed by his “friend”

Vic tries to guilt trip Walton

But he has to rest before he can be resilient

Vic awakes but is weak

Everyone told me to give up on Victor

Vic calls to him

The strength I relied on is gone. The CBB is gone

Vic has been looking back on his life and doesn’t find it blameable at all

Vic had a duty to all the humans in the world

Vic was right to break his promise to CBB

It’s like crashing your friend’s party on your birthday but the party isn’t for you and you weren’t invited

Is this where it all began?

The CBB is still out there

Vic failed in his mission

Maybe Vic should’ve picked a different ship

Will Walton continue the hunt for the CBB?

CBB will keep throwing unrelated birthday parties after Vic is gone

A higher calling will call to celebrate Victor and his resilience

No one can probably reach Vic’s resilience?

Or could someone exceed Vic if they didn't tire out like him?

He gets tired

He’s dreaming and smiling now

And Vic is sound asleep now

Walton doesn’t know what to say

My mind was overshadowed by a cloud of disappointment

Walton is interrupted

Walton hears a voice at night in Vic’s cabin

I should check it out

Holy Toledo 

Osh Gosh By Gosh, Margaret, what a scene!

I saw the sentient, anthropomorphized compost!

It doesn’t quite look like Fraggle Rock (whatever that means)

I’d never seen a vision so earthy and loamy

CBB seemed so sad

I tried to recollect my duties re: the CBB

I try to keep the CBB from escaping

A passion deep within

CBB never gave Vic that invitation!

CBB reads a letter to Vic

CBB is remorseful for how he treated Vic

The CBB is really choked up!

My impulse at first is to spread this compost around

But I’m curious and compassionate

Incoherent Self-Reproaches

I chastise CBB as Victor would’ve wanted

CBB says he did feel remorseful

CBB admits he was selfish and made bad invitations

But he also talks about how hurt he was by others

I guess there are some rotting leaves within me

Maybe there’s rotting leaves within me, but I’m not just rotten leaves!

CBB wonders if he was jealous of Clerval

Barred from Victor’s heart because of Clerval

Impotent Envy

CBB knew he did bad but he couldn’t disobey it

The completion of my design became an insatiable passion

CBB was gonna make a fake invitation for Victor

I chastise CBB for his machinations

You hypocritical fiend!

That’s messed up man!

You only lament because you couldn’t fulfill your goal!

CBB clarifies

He knows he doesn’t deserve and might not get sympathy

Virtue has become only a shadow to CBB

CBB is content to be by himself and eventually decompose

Once, CBB hoped to be met with love by others

Now he’s willing to just be a pile of leaves

CBB tells Walton about his hopeful beginnings

But CBB is truly alone

Vic did not describe what the CBB had to endure

But CBB’s desire for love and fellowship was always spurned

CBB devoted his existence to pursuing Vic

However much Walton loathes CBB is nothing compared to how CBB thinks of himself

His work is almost complete

He’s heading North to become frozen compost

Soon he will vanish

Sensation will pass away

Once I felt the cheering warmth of the summer

But now I weep to remember them

I now say Farewell

Farewell, my creator

Remorse will not end until the CBB is windblown and spread

Soon, these burning miseries will be extinct

He leapt out the window and headed off into the North

That is the end, my sister

Moderation in Fortitude

See you soon, sister

 

SUMMARY:

Episode: 1451

Title: Frank 14 | Read With Me | SWM+ Sneak Peek

Plugs: Sleep With Me Plus; SleepPhones; Story Only Feed; Emily Tat Artwork; Crisis Textline

Sponsors: Helix Sleep; Zocdoc; AquaTru; AirDoctor

Notable Language:

• (From 1047)
• The Turbulent Cycle
• Loathe
• Humor-esque
• Humor-ish
• Reading, Doodling, or Foam Rolling
• (From Episode)
• Quenched in infinite sorrow
• A sensitive, rational heap of compost
• Lesser Clerval
• Cheerful auguries
• Q-U-I-T-E-R-S
• Be Ye Strong or Be Ye More Than Strong?
• Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision
• A shout with tumultuous joy
• Holy Toledo 
• Osh Kosh By Gosh
• Incoherent Self-Reproaches
• Impotent Envy

 

Notable Culture:

• • (From 1047)
  • Elton John – “Tiny Dancer”
  • “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair”
  • “I”m Gonna Wash that Dirty right out of my clothes”

• South Pacific

• What’s the Subject and What’s the Verb? Game Show

• • The Muppets

• Sesame Street

• • (From Episode)

• Frankenstein

• • Mary Shelley
  • Oshkosh B’Gosh

• Fraggle Rock

 

Notable Talking Points:

• (From 1,047)
• Thoughts, physical sensations, etc
• Things Going On
• Are there any metaphors relating washing machine cycles to cycles of life
• The Turbulent Cycle
• “I”m Gonna Wash that Dirty right out of my clothes”
• Relating to my laundry
• My laundry is always keeping me hubble
• Sending valentines to my laundry
• This could be a personal essay
• “I used to loathe you”
  When is it laundry and when is it clothes?
• What’s the subject and what’s the verb?
• Raised by Muppets
• Just a grade above background noise
• A Humor-esque Tone
• Not humorless, but humorish
• Reading, Doodling, or Foam Rolling
• Recording in September
• My laundry is listening now
• I have to make amends to my clothes
• (From Episode)
• Walton in continuation
• August 26
• The tingling of your tingles
• Isn’t this story touching, Margaret?
• Recounting Vic’s speaking style
• Quenched in infinite sorrow
• Letters from Felix and Safey really convinced me
• A CBB really exists!
• Vic won’t reveal the secrets of how he made the CBB
• Vic decides to edit my notes of the conversation
• His own take on my take on his take
• I wished to soothe him
• He’ll only be happy when he gets that invitation across the rainbow bridge
• He’s always thinking of his beloved friends / servants
• Serving him in his dreams
• What a glorious creature he must’ve been when he was a resilient god
• Vic celebrates his own resilience
• A sensitive, rational heap of compost
• Oh, how he is sunk now
• You wouldn’t recognize him lying around in this despondent way. (Even though he lied down a lot in his tale.)
• A friend is someone who will love Vic
• Vic finds a friend in Walton
• Could Walton be a new Clerval?
• Childhood friends loom large in our mind
• Lesser Clerval? Clar? Val?
• Old friends know your feelings well
• Wherever I am, Elizabeth and Clerval will always be there for Vic
• Of course, Vic could rise to any challenge
• He must capture the CBB, then his lot in life will be fulfilled
• September 2
• Walton’s ship is surrounded by ice
• I can’t convince my ship that all is well
• Vic is recovering and aspires to inspire me!
• He tells me that this is how resilience is informed
• Cheerful auguries
• His voice inspires us all
• My crew is fed up with us being stuck
• September 5
• A highly unlikely scene just happened
• Surrounded by ice sculpture and snow
• Vic won’t eat unless we hand feed him
• The crew is fed up with me
• A half dozen crew enter
• They request that we stop waiting for the CBB
• What if the ice melts? Will we still help Vic?
• They want me to promise that we’ll head south if the ice melts
• How could I refuse this demand?
• Frankenstein perks up and chimes in
• Sailor? How is that spelled? Q-U-I-T-E-R-S?
• Vic speaks
• How are you supposed to be resilient like me unless you go through a hard time
• Don’t want you to become legends?
• You’re gonna shrink away during the first real trial of your courage?
• Be Ye Strong or Be Ye More Than Strong?
• Surely this ice is not as hard as your heart!
• Will you retire in cowardice??
• The men are moved by Frankenstein’s speech
• I tell the crew to ponder on his words
• If they still want to go south, I won’t fight it
• Frankenstein had to rest after his speech
• How will this end? I know not
• September 7
• I consent to return when the ice melts
• Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision
• September 12
• We return to England
• I thought I had a friend but no more
• On 9/9, the ice began to move
• I was very attentive to Vic just like Clerval would’ve been
• The passage to the south became perfectly free
• A shout with tumultuous joy
• Vic wakes up from the tumult
• I tell Vic we’re returning home
• Vic feels betrayed by his “friend”
• Vic tries to guilt trip Walton
• But he has to rest before he can be resilient
• Vic awakes but is weak
• Everyone told me to give up on Victor
• Vic calls to him
• The strength I relied on is gone. The CBB is gone
• Vic has been looking back on his life and doesn’t find it blameable at all
• Vic had a duty to all the humans in the world
• Vic was right to break his promise to CBB
• It’s like crashing your friend’s party on your birthday but the party isn’t for you and you weren’t invited
• Is this where it all began?
• The CBB is still out there
• Vic failed in his mission
• Maybe Vic should’ve picked a different ship
• Will Walton continue the hunt for the CBB?
• CBB will keep throwing unrelated birthday parties after Vic is gone
• A higher calling will call to celebrate Victor and his resilience
• No one can probably reach Vic’s resilience?
• Or could someone exceed Vic if they didn't tire out like him?
• He gets tired
• He’s dreaming and smiling now
• And Vic is sound asleep now
• Walton doesn’t know what to say
• My mind was overshadowed by a cloud of disappointment
• Walton is interrupted
• Walton hears a voice at night in Vic’s cabin
• I should check it out
• Holy Toledo 
• Osh Gosh By Gosh, Margaret, what a scene!
• I saw the sentient, anthropomorphized compost!
• It doesn’t quite look like Fraggle Rock (whatever that means)
• I’d never seen a vision so earthy and loamy
• CBB seemed so sad
• I tried to recollect my duties re: the CBB
• I try to keep the CBB from escaping
• A passion deep within
• CBB never gave Vic that invitation!
• CBB reads a letter to Vic
• CBB is remorseful for how he treated Vic
• The CBB is really choked up!
• My impulse at first is to spread this compost around
• But I’m curious and compassionate
• Incoherent Self-Reproaches
• I chastise CBB as Victor would’ve wanted
• CBB says he did feel remorseful
• CBB admits he was selfish and made bad invitations
• But he also talks about how hurt he was by others
• I guess there are some rotting leaves within me
• Maybe there’s rotting leaves within me, but I’m not just rotten leaves!
• CBB wonders if he was jealous of Clerval
• Barred from Victor’s heart because of Clerval
• Impotent Envy
• CBB knew he did bad but he couldn’t disobey it
• The completion of my design became an insatiable passion
• CBB was gonna make a fake invitation for Victor
• I chastise CBB for his machinations
• You hypocritical fiend!
• That’s messed up man!
• You only lament because you couldn’t fulfill your goal!
• CBB clarifies
• He knows he doesn’t deserve and might not get sympathy
• Virtue has become only a shadow to CBB
• CBB is content to be by himself and eventually decompose
• Once, CBB hoped to be met with love by others
• Now he’s willing to just be a pile of leaves
• CBB tells Walton about his hopeful beginnings
• But CBB is truly alone
• Vic did not describe what the CBB had to endure
• But CBB’s desire for love and fellowship was always spurned
• CBB devoted his existence to pursuing Vic
• However much Walton loathes CBB is nothing compared to how CBB thinks of himself
• His work is almost complete
• He’s heading North to become frozen compost
• Soon he will vanish
• Sensation will pass away
• Once I felt the cheering warmth of the summer
• But now I weep to remember them
• I now say Farewell
• Farewell, my creator
• Remorse will not end until the CBB is windblown and spread
• Soon, these burning miseries will be extinct
• He leapt out the window and headed off into the North
• That is the end, my sister
• Moderation in Fortitude
• See you soon, sister