#But both of them will get thousands of people killed if they become president

[tanabeth]

honestly at this point all we can do is hope and pray that nature takes its course twice over

[beardedmrbean]

The women of Iran are dancing. Women blinded, with one eye, or one arm, are dancing. Iranian Kurds are dancing. Across Europe, Iranian dissidents are dancing. Iranians – often, relatives of the regime’s victims – are drinking to show their joy. The daughters of Minoo Majidi, a mother shot dead by security services during the 2022 protests, shared a video of them raising a glass to President Raisi’s death. 

Dark humour – the jokes of an oppressed people – are circulating. “Mr Raisi, you surprised us. We have no tapas for our drinks,” chuckles one Iranian in a celebratory video on social media. There was the gag about how a Mossad agent called “Eli Copter” had caused the crash. People have handed out cakes and sweets in public squares – an act of symbolic importance in Persian culture, often associated with joyous events. Celebratory fireworks filled the skies in Iranian cities.

Such courage is all the more impressive given how little Raisi’s death is likely to change anything in this closed prison of a society. It may somewhat alter the succession, since he had been one of the men tipped to succeed Khamenei, but the Ayatollahs retain their stranglehold. The bravery of anyone involved in any celebration or act of civil disobedience such as removing a headscarf, is astounding. Those letting off fireworks or handing out sweets are risking their lives. 

History will remember Raisi as a squalid tyrant who took a twisted pride in human suffering. He was involved in the torture and extrajudicial murder of thousands of political prisoners held in Iranian jails and the mass killings of opponents in 1988, when as many as 30,000 are believed to have lost their lives. As Mariam Memarsadeghi wrote in a chilling article for Tablet magazine, “virgins were systematically raped before their execution, to circumvent the Islamic prohibition on killing virgins and to prevent women and girls from reaching heaven”. 

And yet, the BBC posted about “President Ebrahim Raisi’s mixed legacy in Iran”. You can imagine the 1945 headlines about the mixed legacy of “motorway-builder, vegetarian rights enthusiast and dog-lover” Adolf Hitler, or that of “inspirational plus-size influencer” Hermann Goering. Reuters described how Raisi “rose through Iran’s theocracy from hardline prosecutor to uncompromising president, as he burnished his credentials to position himself to become the next supreme leader”. 

Reading such things you would think Raisi was, at worst, a slight renegade. A cheeky chappie in a kaftan whose loss will be felt by light entertainment for generations. They tweeted like he was Rod Hull – rather than, you know, someone nicknamed “the Butcher of Tehran”. But in the real world, faced with the real consequences of the regime he ran, people are dancing. 

It wasn’t just the BBC in its classic “tightrope walk” mode, either. Things were getting a bit Candle in the Wind at the UN, as the entire Security Council (including both the UK and US representatives) stood to observe a minute of silence for President Raisi. Goodbye Tehran’s rose. 

European Council president Charles Michel tweeted out his sincere condolences, while the “European Commissioner for Crisis Management” committed the EU’s Copernicus satellite system to help locate Raisi’s helicopter, in the name of “#EUSolidarity”. 

Lest we forget, Johan Floderus, a young EU official from Sweden, has been incarcerated at Iran’s notorious Evin prison for more than two years. We don’t see much “#EUSolidarity” coming from the other direction. Not to be undone, President Higgins of Ireland channelled the spirit of Eamon de Valera c.1945, by offering his “deepest sympathies” upon the death of a tyrant. 

Such statements go well beyond basic diplomacy. Nobody asked anyone to gush; they chose to. The message it sends is a slap in the face to those bravely putting their lives on the line for freedom. But it’s par for the course in what is (sometimes optimistically) termed the “international community”. 

Speaking of which, on Monday, the International Criminal Court put out joint bids for arrest warrants for the leaders of Hamas and the prime minister and defence minister of Israel. Given that the ICC has no jurisdiction, nor power of its own to arrest anyone, there was something bleakly comic about the manner of the announcement. Chief prosecutor Karim Khan delivered his statement flanked by a couple of glaring bureaucrats. The ICC appeared to be putting on its best “don’t mess with us” face. It looked like a geriatric version of Bugsy Malone.

The ICC application refers, pointedly, to the “territory of Israel” and the “state of Palestine”, which makes it clear which side its bread is buttered. It notably ignores Hamas’s use of human shields, surely a factor when assessing the civilian death toll. It even holds Israel entirely responsible for “closing the three border crossing points” after October 7. 

Yet Hamas destroyed the Erez crossing, murdering its operators and blowing up the barriers separating it from the Gaza strip. Small wonder border checkpoints weren’t up and running immediately. Condemning Israel for this is grotesque; gaslighting on an international scale. 

The timing is also telling. We have known about the crimes of October 7 from day one, thanks to the body-cams Hamas terrorists so proudly wore to document their butchery. Yet the ICC waited until May 2024 to condemn both Israel and Hamas on the same day. The effect is to suggest a moral equivalence between a democratic state and a genocidal terrorist group that says it wants to repeat the atrocities of October 7 indefinitely. You don’t have to believe Israel is above criticism – and nor should we – to recognise this. 

Multinational organisations like the ICC are often held up as moral arbiters in themselves, when they will only be as virtuous or corrupt as their component member states, and reflecting the same biases. The World Health Organisation has long excluded Taiwan from its membership due to Chinese pressure. A ruinous decision, when Taiwan’s early warnings about the risks of human-to-human transmission of Covid in late 2019 were ignored. Something is rotten in the state of many international bodies and moral courage is in short supply. 

Given such a clear-cut case of evil as Raisi, the mealy-mouthed global response does not bode well. For genuine bravery, we can look to the people at the sharp end of such regimes. Because still, in the midst of it all, the women of Iran dance. 

[enriquemzn262]

Spain is currently going through a massive shitshow: last week the area around the city of Valencia was hit by a meteorological phenomenon called DANA, which is basically a massive amount of rainwater, the equivalent of a month’s worth, falling in a single day, which generate massive flash floods all over the region, killing hundreds and leaving thousands homeless.

The main issue has become the effectively non-response of the Spanish government, which has done fuck all to help many of the affected towns and it peoples, while at the same time rejecting all sorts of international aid, from France to El Salvador, in a weird bit of geopolitical save face, because apparently the central government can’t really directly intervene in the region as it is one of the many autonomous regions of Spain that’s always one bad electoral year away from declaring independence, so they have to tip toe around the local politicians, which seemly also don’t give a shit about the emergency, only caring about their own grip on power, to ensure they don’t use an unilateral response as an excuse to secede.

All of this has culminated in thousands of extremely pissed off Spaniards, who just want someone to help them, and therefore, are taking matters into their own hands, helping in whichever way they can, while actively cursing their leaders, to the point today the king of Spain, his wife, and the president of the country were insulted and thrown mud at by the angry locals as they attempted to visit the scene of the disaster almost a week after it all came crashing down.

Meanwhile all kinds of horror stories are coming out, from a son who traveled from his hole to look for his missing parents, only to find the body of his dad still trapped inside his wrecked car, people committing suicide after realizing no help was coming, others realizing the bodies of those trapped inside cars are now rotting away and there’s nothing they can do about the stench, to the usual assholes, the okupas, taking advantage of people getting out if their intact home to help those in need, to basically break into their now empty homes and claim them as their own (which is somehow legal in Spain).

It’s both extremely sad but also hilarious than my country Colombia, a place rife with corruption and government incompetence, can mount up a much more effective and comprehensive relief campaign in less than a day than the supposed first world nation of Spain, all because natural disasters keep happening here, so we have solid institutions tasked with dealing with them, which in theory Spain should also have, given than DANA and other kinds of natural disasters are also relatively common there, yet here we are.

Oh Spain, you never really did recover from the 2008 recession…

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

What's your opinion of President Snow as a character in THG trilogy? Was he a great villain?

* Spoiler for TBOSAS *

After reading the novel, what's your opinion about Coriolanus Snow 'transformation' in the end?

Was it his nature or the way he was nurtured that led him to become the character we know?

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

Snow was a Bond villain and I will die on this hill. He's awful, don't get me wrong, and I certainly would never want to meet someone like him, but there are so many more efficient ways for him to get what he wants, for him to keep control of Panem. He fixates so much on Katniss Everdeen that he loses sight of almost every other threat. I mean... why send Peeta back hijacked to kill one person when he could send Peeta to 13 carrying some kind of lethal disease that would wipe out a large portion of 13's population without harming the weapons or infrastructure? He takes on his fight with Katniss and Peeta with single minded determination and basically forgets that his real enemy isn't just this one girl and her pesky tag along baker boy. These are two kids from District 12 who, while they certainly have a large impact, are by no means the largest or most important piece of the rebellion game. At times it feels like they are because we're in Katniss's head and only see her perspective, but the rebellion and the overthrow of the Capitol happens mostly not in front of Katniss.

That said, Snow tells us in Ballad that he has a tendency to be obsessive and fixate on one thing, and if I remember correctly, Collins even drops the foreshadowing line of "it would be his undoing if he didn't learn to control it" or something to that effect in case we missed the point the first time around when he tells Katniss that he was so busy watching her that he didn't see Coin coming. So that's exactly what happened he didn't control his tendency to obsess when it came to Katniss and Peeta.

And I don't think that makes him a "great" villain. I think it makes him the villain that makes sense for this story. And the one with the right kind of flaws for the plot of the original trilogy to make sense and work well.

One of the things that's actually really good about Collins returning to Panem to tell us Snow's story with Ballad is that Snow finally makes sense in the original trilogy, rather than being a caricature villain. He spends the entirety of Ballads obsessed with Sejanus and Lucy Gray, even though he doesn't want to be. He can't figure them out, and while he manages to "beat" them both by literally getting the one killed and possibly killing the other, his actions still stem from his inability to understand them or control them, and therefore his obsession with them. And then 65 years later he does the same thing, only he can't understand and therefore can't control these two kids either and thankfully just keeps (ultimately) failing with his Drama King tactics like dropping a bunch of roses from a bomber in order to play with Katniss's head rather than do something that would, you know... actually be an effective war tactic. And he does it all in the name of trying to get them to kill each other the way he killed Sejanus and Lucy Gray.

As for the nature versus nurture question, I think it's a little bit of both? We are of course, always influenced by the people around us. But the whole thing about Snow being 17 and right on the cusp of adulthood in Ballads is that yes, how you were nurtured impacts your decisions, and he was certainly raised and taught to become what he did, but Snow in Ballads was also literally surrounded by a thousand chances to do the right thing or to become a better person. I don't think he was nurtured in a way that would've made him heroic in our eyes. Not at all. But he didn't have to be so awful. And a lot of it also has to do with the REASONS he does what he does. He only helps Lucy Gray because it helps himself. He only befriends Sejanus because it benefits himself (momentarily). He only listens to Dr. Gaul because it benefits himself, and he ignores Dean Highbottom because those thoughts make him uncomfortable and angry.

There were any number of people showing Snow or telling him how to be kind, humane, thoughtful, and he ignored them all or dismissed them as weak, stupid, inconsequential (how do you like that call back to Peeta's words huh?). Tigris, Lucy Gray, Sejanus, the guy from the bar whose name escapes me but who was always kind to Coryo and his family. And yet Snow actively kept choosing to be a violent, murderous, entitled dickbag.

Thanks for the ask, @curiousnonny!!!

[chaoskirin]

I have a slightly weird question and I'm sorry if this comes off in any way negatively but I'm worried as all fuck.

I'm Irish, living in Ireland, but American politics has a huge influence over here. Conservative groups here pay folks from American lobby groups to come speak at their events to push banning abortion or queer/trans rights or denying asylum seekers. Not to mention the reach of social media and how a bunch of far right/fascist groups over here get riled up by people on the other side of the Atlantic to start riots and shit.

The prospect of trump being re-elected terrifies me because as bad as it is now, it was even worse when he was in power. Even if Biden didn't have a blue congress for this term it was still better. I'm sorry if this sounds like fear mongering or being unreasonable or naive but that's just way it seemed to me.

I don't know how to help y'all across the pond, I don't know what I can do from here. But is there anything we can do?

Hey, I thought about how to answer this for a while, so sorry it's taken almost a day to get back with you.

The reason I am so outspoken about Americans voting (and people from ALL countries who have a chance to stop fascism from taking over) is that there are FAR more progressive people than there are fascists. The fascists are just louder.

The problem is that progressive people are not playing the same game as fascists. The right wants total domination. They want to be able to jail or kill people who disagree with them. Whereas the left wants fairness, a right to choose, and peace.

The right has no qualms about using less than savory tactics to achieve their goals. Among these tactics are jailing people who disagree with them, denying those people the ability to vote, and engaging in voter suppression. The left believes that if they hold the course and play by the rules, everyone will eventually fall in line.

And, worst of all, the left currently believes in moral victory over damage control. A moral victory to the progressive left means voting for someone who has no bad marks on their record, and they continuously fail to see that that person does not exist. Whereas the right treats their chosen candidate as a god despite what they've done. The right will rally behind one person regardless of their actions, and that makes them terrifying.

In the United States, Republicans only make up about 25% of the population, and yet they account for half the vote. This is, in large part, because of voter suppression. But it's also because there are a lot of progressive voters who are refusing to vote because they believe this sends a message.

The best thing you can do is get the word out to everyone you know that not voting ONLY sends a message to the people who will be harmed by the result. One vote does not make too much of a difference. But a hundred votes? A THOUSAND votes? Every single vote adds up to something that WILL make a difference. And right now, the important task for everyone, both in the United States and abroad, is to impress on just how important it is to stop fascism from spreading.

Biden has done a lot of good things, but people tend not to listen to this. What they see is a man who allowed genocide. What they see is a man who has committed war crimes. A man who has allowed the transportation of weapons to Israel for use in this massacre. And they are all RIGHT.

But the alternative is worse. One of two parties will take the presidency. This is not in question. There has NEVER been a true independent candidate who has won in the history of the United States. And although people will point out that different parties HAVE won, it is only because they were backed by a political machine, and those parties then went on to become the current two party system we suffer with today.

An election year is not the time to challenge the electoral system, but it's only during election years that it seems to be brought up. So besides encouraging your American friends to vote against fascism, you should encourage them to work between elections to change the electoral system so that different parties have a chance at winning, and so the popular vote means more that the numbers achieved through the electoral college.

That's the most important right now.

[weirdestbooks]

The Discovery of a Kindred Spirit (Wattpad | Ao3)

Skullyville, Oklahoma

March 23, 1847

Logically, Choctaw knew he was not alone in his suffering. There were thousands of other indigenous peoples in this land, from his family to his enemies, all of whom had been experiencing the disease, discrimination, and violence brought over by the new personifications from across the sea. 

Choctaw thought they were all the same kind of people, people who took what was not theirs. They could never have enough because they were still young and feared death. They were people who saw anything that wasn’t them as different and wrong.

They made far too many assumptions. It would probably get them killed.

It was not that Choctaw was claiming to be a perfect man. He knew he had done great wrongs before, and he wasn’t free from making assumptions either.

After all, he presumed all Europeans were like France and England.

He didn’t realize that one of them had been going through the same struggles he had.

Ireland was not an unfamiliar name to him. He had heard of him before, someone who was part of England’s empire. Someone who he presumed supported what England was doing, that he was a loyal and willing member of a plague on the world. After all, he had seen many people who claimed Irish blood hurt him and his people, including the bastard who forced him off his land, Andrew Jackson.

But what he was hearing now painted a different story. A story that reflected his own.

A story of an indigenous personification who was colonized by an English-speaking white Christian who couldn't care less about what you went through, who just wanted you gone and replaced with more of his people. A person who thought your very existence was a crime and saw the deaths of your people as a good thing.

A person who wanted your culture gone and for you to fade away as your people become theirs. A person who, even if they didn’t say it, even if they denied it, was wishing for your death.

Ireland’s story wasn't like England’s. It was like his own.

“We are providing aid,” Choctaw said as he approached William Armstrong, the man collecting the donations to help relieve Ireland’s suffering. A kind of suffering that Choctaw most certainly could say was worse than anyone thought. After all, no one ever seemed to think the pain he went through on that Trail of Death was as bad as he said. Although no white people ever seemed to believe what he said.

“I know we don’t have a lot…but—”

William cut Choctaw off, smiling, “I’m glad that the Christian faith remains strong in you Indians.”

“I’m not doing this because some of my people follow your faith. I’m doing this because it is the right thing to do, and aid is something that I wished I had when I was forced onto this territory when your president made me leave my home despite the treaties I had with America and your court telling your president not to.” Choctaw responded, his voice even as he made eye contact with William, who looked less happy.

He probably wanted Choctaw to claim that it was Christianity and the lessons from it that made him want to help, as no one ever seemed to think that he had kindness before the people who invaded his land and killed his people taught him and his people about their religion. They never seem to understand that it had always been a part of his culture to be generous. Even if his people were warriors, they were also kind and generous souls.

You didn’t have to be Christian to be that.

“I don’t think we need to discuss prior issues right now. You did say you were going to help, right? Why don’t I collect your people’s donations so we can both be on our way and not start silly arguments?” William said, almost talking down to me like Choctaw wasn’t centuries old.

Humans. Whether they were his people or not, Choctaw don’t think he would ever understand them.

Then again, he’s sure they felt the same about him and his kind. Although the humans from Europe always seemed to revere their countryhumans more than anyone Choctaw had ever met here, it was an odd phenomenon.

Suppressing his urge to lecture William, Choctaw passed over my people’s donation. It wasn’t a lot, barely a hundred seventy dollars, but it was all they could spare. He hoped that even with the small amount, it would be able to help Ireland if it was just a little.

A little bit of help is better than nothing, and doing nothing about what was happening to Ireland, after all, Choctaw has seen and been through…

Choctaw doesn’t think he would have been able to accept or forgive himself if he did that.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Warsaw

Gaza City

While Gaza Burns

(A different take on the Middle East)

Stephen Jay Morris

10/10/2023

©Scientific Morality

            If you should come across two bears in the wild, fighting each other, you best run away as fast as you can. Regardless of which bear wins, you too will die, if you stick around.

This adage I heard many years ago. What does it mean? It means that when two evil forces are fighting each other, you don’t have to take a side. Let’s say that White nationalists are having a war with the Taliban. Would I support either of the two?

So, now—let me get this out the way, Okay? Fuck Hamas! Fuck Benjamin Netanyahu! Got it? Hamas wants to make Palestine an Islamic state. Netanyahu wants to make Israel a Jewish Theocracy. He wants to get rid of all Arabs living in Israel. He is a Jewish separatist; a lukewarm Rabbi Kahani.

As it stands now, Israel is a secular democracy. The Likud Party is a war mongering, right wing party, one of the many parties in Israel. That is Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s party. They are a bigger threat than Hamas. Ask the thousands of Israeli protesters who wanted him ousted as Prime Minister. He wants to weaken the Israeli Supreme Court. Essentially, he wants to be Israel’s dictator.

Meanwhile, in Gaza City. Hamas—the flunkies of Iran—is putting innocent Palestinians at risk by breaching Israel’s border and kidnaping Israeli women and children, beating elderly Jews, and raping female Jews. Oh, did you see the video of a jihadist trying to behead a Jew with a backhoe? He couldn’t get the job done. I guess he couldn’t find an ax. I saw this video on mainstream media. Man, Israeli propaganda is a ratings grabber! What about the videos on how when an Israeli bomb falls on a building in Gaza, it crushes the occupants to death. The B.B.C. might show you that one.  Yeah, those videos shown on major networks are supposed to enrage you, to make you think, “Those Palestinians are vicious animals! Kill them all!”

Those videos don’t faze me at all. I know war propaganda when I see it. Doesn’t mean I am a heartless sociopath. I am just a cynical, 69-year-old with a callous heart after having seen how propaganda works.

Now I want to say a few words about the Authoritarian Left who support this Islamic group. Are you fucking nuts!?! The Left is supposed to be anti-religion, no matter whom they are! A lot of Tankies and Trots support Islamic groups because they represent oppressed, Third World people opposed to American Imperialism. Are you fucking stupid!? Islamic groups will oppress their own people! As an Anti-Authoritarian Leftist, I hate the religious Right, whether they be Jewish, Christian, Islamic or even Hindu!

You American, Right wing Chuds, are a hopeless case. Of course, you support Israel! In your Bible it says that Israel is where Jesus will be when he returns. It will be the headquarters of Christianity and Israel will become be a Christian state. Oh, speaking of Right wing dumbasses, Donald Trump couldn’t stand the fact that Israel was getting all the news coverage lately. So, he had to insert himself by jumping on the Congressional Republicans’ bandwagon and declaring that President Biden is at fault for inflaming the Israel/Palestine war.  Shut up, Donald! Go away!

How will this conflict end? I don’t know! However, nothing good will come out of it, of that I am certain. Both sides will lose. Oh, one question I have: What happened to Israel’s Iron Dome? Somebody forgot to plug it in?  I wouldn’t feel too sorry for Israel; they do have the Nuclear Bomb.

I said it before, and I’ll say it again: Being Jewish is not my ideal race for being. I wish I had been born Italian; Irish; Shit! Even Polish Catholic! Am I self-hating Jew? No, not really. In the early 20th Century, in New York City, there were Jewish Anarchists’ newspapers written in Yiddish! That’s the Jewish identity I crave. Did you know there are more Jews in the United States than in Israel? There are 7,300,000 in the U.S. and 7,106,000 in Israel. I guess that this diaspora is too cool to Aliyah to the holy land of Israel. What does that mean? Look it up.

P.S. Dear Lefties: Stop calling Israel an Apartheid state! Palestinians are a nationality, not a race of people. Racially, Arabs and Jews are Semitic. As far as Indigenous Americans go, they were and are victims of American apartheid, as are Mexicans, Asians, and Blacks. But, Israel and Arabs? No such deal.

חופש לכל האנשים על פני כדור הארץ

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Madeline Grant

Published: May 21, 2024

The women of Iran are dancing. Women blinded, with one eye, or one arm, are dancing. Iranian Kurds are dancing. Across Europe, Iranian dissidents are dancing. Iranians – often, relatives of the regime’s victims – are drinking to show their joy. The daughters of Minoo Majidi, a mother shot dead by security services during the 2022 protests, shared a video of them raising a glass to President Raisi’s death. 

Dark humour – the jokes of an oppressed people – are circulating. “Mr Raisi, you surprised us. We have no tapas for our drinks,” chuckles one Iranian in a celebratory video on social media. There was the gag about how a Mossad agent called “Eli Copter” had caused the crash. People have handed out cakes and sweets in public squares – an act of symbolic importance in Persian culture, often associated with joyous events. Celebratory fireworks filled the skies in Iranian cities.

Such courage is all the more impressive given how little Raisi’s death is likely to change anything in this closed prison of a society. It may somewhat alter the succession, since he had been one of the men tipped to succeed Khamenei, but the Ayatollahs retain their stranglehold. The bravery of anyone involved in any celebration or act of civil disobedience such as removing a headscarf, is astounding. Those letting off fireworks or handing out sweets are risking their lives. 

History will remember Raisi as a squalid tyrant who took a twisted pride in human suffering. He was involved in the torture and extrajudicial murder of thousands of political prisoners held in Iranian jails and the mass killings of opponents in 1988, when as many as 30,000 are believed to have lost their lives. As Mariam Memarsadeghi wrote in a chilling article for the Tablet, “virgins were systematically raped before their execution, to circumvent the Islamic prohibition on killing virgins and to prevent women and girls from reaching heaven”. 

And yet, the BBC posted about “President Ebrahim Raisi’s mixed legacy in Iran”. You can imagine the 1945 headlines about the mixed legacy of “motorway-builder, vegetarian rights enthusiast and dog-lover” Adolf Hitler, or that of “inspirational plus-size influencer” Hermann Goering. Reuters described how Raisi “rose through Iran’s theocracy from hardline prosecutor to uncompromising president, as he burnished his credentials to position himself to become the next supreme leader”. 

Reading such things you would think Raisi was, at worst, a slight renegade. A cheeky chappie in a kaftan whose loss will be felt by light entertainment for generations. They tweeted like he was Rod Hull – rather than, you know, someone nicknamed “the Butcher of Tehran”. But in the real world, faced with the real consequences of the regime he ran, people are dancing. 

It wasn’t just the BBC in its classic “tightrope walk” mode, either. Things were getting a bit Candle in the Wind at the UN, as the entire Security Council (including both the UK and US representatives) stood to observe a minute of silence for President Raisi. Goodbye Tehran’s rose. 

European Council president Charles Michel tweeted out his sincere condolences, while the “European Commissioner for Crisis Management” committed the EU’s Copernicus satellite system to help locate Raisi’s helicopter, in the name of “#EUSolidarity”. 

Lest we forget, Johan Floderus, a young EU official from Sweden, has been incarcerated at Iran’s notorious Evin prison for more than two years. We don’t see much “#EUSolidarity” coming from the other direction. Not to be undone, President Higgins of Ireland channelled the spirit of Eamon de Valera c.1945, by offering his “deepest sympathies” upon the death of a tyrant. 

Such statements go well beyond basic diplomacy. Nobody asked anyone to gush; they chose to. The message it sends is a slap in the face to those bravely putting their lives on the line for freedom. But it’s par for the course in what is (sometimes optimistically) termed the “international community”. 

Speaking of which, on Monday, the International Criminal Court put out joint bids for arrest warrants for the leaders of Hamas and the prime minister and defence minister of Israel. Given that the ICC has no jurisdiction, nor power of its own to arrest anyone, there was something bleakly comic about the manner of the announcement. Chief prosecutor Karim Khan delivered his statement flanked by a couple of glaring bureaucrats. The ICC appeared to be putting on its best “don’t mess with us” face. It looked like a geriatric version of Bugsy Malone.

The ICC application refers, pointedly, to the “territory of Israel” and the “state of Palestine”, which makes it clear which side its bread is buttered. It notably ignores Hamas’s use of human shields, surely a factor when assessing the civilian death toll. It even holds Israel entirely responsible for “closing the three border crossing points” after October 7. 

Yet Hamas destroyed the Erez crossing, murdering its operators and blowing up the barriers separating it from the Gaza strip. Small wonder border checkpoints weren’t up and running immediately. Condemning Israel for this is grotesque; gaslighting on an international scale. 

The timing is also telling. We have known about the crimes of October 7 from day one, thanks to the body-cams Hamas terrorists so proudly wore to document their butchery. Yet the ICC waited until May 2024 to condemn both Israel and Hamas on the same day. The effect is to suggest a moral equivalence between a democratic state and a genocidal terrorist group that says it wants to repeat the atrocities of October 7 indefinitely. You don’t have to believe Israel is above criticism – and nor should we – to recognise this. 

Multinational organisations like the ICC are often held up as moral arbiters in themselves, when they will only be as virtuous or corrupt as their component member states, and reflecting the same biases. The World Health Organisation has long excluded Taiwan from its membership due to Chinese pressure. A ruinous decision, when Taiwan’s early warnings about the risks of human-to-human transmission of Covid in late 2019 were ignored. Something is rotten in the state of many international bodies and moral courage is in short supply. 

Given such a clear-cut case of evil as Raisi, the mealy-mouthed global response does not bode well. For genuine bravery, we can look to the people at the sharp end of such regimes. Because still, in the midst of it all, the women of Iran dance. 

[juodojimirtis]

Adriel from Warrior Nun is such a great example of the traditional Antichrist image in media.

Adriel has similarities to both the Antichrist and Satan, really. For example, he was imprisoned for a thousand years. If I remember correctly, in the traditional Christian timeline, Satan is imprisoned for a thousand years, then released, the Earth experiences a period of Tribulation, after which comes the whole Eschaton. Adriel was imprisoned for a thousand years. Tribulation is supposed to last for seven years I think, but the Antichrist apparently rules for three and a half (according to Revelation). In Warrior Nun, Adriel "reigns" for two months, but who knows, William Miller was so active in the efforts to save the show, maybe he'll return for season 3 (#warriornunsaved). We can only hope. Besides, Adriel's girlfriend's name is Lilith...

Now, let's start from the obvious. The Mark of the Beast. The ironic part - the Mark is a cross (eh, still, "Six six six, Number of the Beast" sounds better than "Spiked Cross, Symbol of the Beast", or something like that). Adriel's followers have it tattooed (be it not necessarily on the forehead, or the right hand). The show didn't portray it as needed for things like buying and selling (Rev. 13:18), it's more symbolic. But, Adriel is merciless to opposition, he tortures them, intimidates them, kills them, and, his weird burning light scorches them. Very on-point for the Antichrist.

"The Beast" in Rev. has seven heads and ten horns. I haven't noticed a nod to it (let me know if anyone else did), nor to leopards, but one of the heads is supposed to have a healed mortal wound, which makes people hail the Beast. Adriel literally receives a head wound that heals in Season 1 finale. And, he gets stabbed in the neck in S2. On live TV. And heals. Then laughs like a crazy person. The whole "who could compare to the Beast" is true in the show - people literally have posters saying "Only Adriel can save you". Like Kristian said, he's here. He's not an idea, he's not distant. He's living and breathing, and among people.

The Second Beast, or the False Prophet, I think is Kristian. The False Prophet is essentially The Antichrist's PR angent, which is a good way to describe Kristian. He helps Adriel perform his false miracles, he does his best to convert people (most notably Jillian and Duretti). Also, Kristian is a former clergyman who lost his faith in pursuit of "truth". Very fitting.

Rev. makes it clear that the Beast comes before the Great Battle. Lilith mentions there's a "Holy War" coming. Adriel was doing his best to stop it. That's all I need to say.

The Antichrist is supposed to blaspheme against God. If Reya is "God", Adriel certainly does that. But... Is she? I have my suspicions about her. I wouldn't be surprised if she were the Dragon instead, Adriel being her "Beast with Wrath", who maybe rebelled against her. She is a being of Light (Lucifer...), her servants are suspiciously demonic. Still... Would Adriel identify with Satan, then? The "Devourer of Worlds" he spoke of coud be someone else entirely.

V. Soloviov describes the Antichrist as someone with plans to bring great things to mankind, someone who would inspire peace, not war. That's literally Adriel. Adriel also doesn't "deny God" - he either seeks to be superior, or portrays himself as the Messiah for his own gains. Adriel is extremely intelligent, charming, powerful, and extremely prideful (not to mention attractive). He doesn't exactly become the President of Europe, neither the Emperor of Rome, but people for sure do give him the highest of honours (it's a shame the show didn't pay too much attention to his political influence; he's a born politician, he's so Machiavellian). Adriel seeks to take over the Church. He offers great gifts to Religions (I assume not only Catholicism, but others too; he focuses so much of Catholicism because of it's power, as well as a personal vendetta) if they cooperate with him. He demands to be recognized as the true Lord and Savior, and he wants to erase Christ. Duretti refuses, so he's killed with the whole World as the witness. I'm sure if the season were longer, Kristian would have become the Pope (he reminds me so much of Apollonius, even though Apollonius is obviously meant to be Rasputin; when you compare Soloviov's work to historical context (Russian Empire), the allegories are clear - people often write what they know after all, and philosophers criticise their own society). Adriel scorns the notion of "higher life", wants to create "Heaven on Earth". He literally asks " What about this World?" The Opposition isn't banished to the desert in a literal sense, but is small, and has to go into hiding, however briefly.

That being said, shame on Duretti. How hard was it to shout "Children, Antichrist!" while pointing at Adriel?.. Would have been more impactful than a dusty Bible verse.

According to Soloviov, the Antichrist builds a cathedral to unite all cults. That, I need not comment on. Like the Antichrist, Adriel writes his own Bible. Shame we never learn more about it.

Soloviov describes the Antichrist's followers as a "nameless crowd". The FBC, and Adriel's followers, match such a description. That being said, they have a great taste for uniforms. He also mentions how the Antichrist's miracles only appear supernatural to people. Use of ArqTech, anyone?.. Besides, it can also be true because Adriel isn't a biblical entity, he only pretends to be one.

Lithuanian author A. D. Jakštas described the Antichrist as becoming incredibly cruel to opposition once masses follow him. It isn't portrayed too widely in the show, but implied pretty heavily, and in more ways than a burning light from the sky. I had to mention one of my own at least once, and without a comparison of the Antichrist to Soviet Russia or bolsheviks. I know why people did so (especially when Christianity functioned as an important part of cultural resistance), but still, it's incredibly hurtful to me personally, to see a concept I admire (the Antichrist) compared to something I despise.

I guess one could wonder if the show's creators knew about such views, given Adriel said something about power being shared by everyone, not hoarded by gods, but at the same time, his actions reflected the hypocrisy of... certain regimes and so-called philosophies. I wouldn't be surprised. They clearly knew what they were doing. Was I upset about it, being a fan of Adriel? Of course. But artists do what they want. I always say that, I must stand by that. Oh, and I'd rather not have arguments about politics with anyone. We're here for Warrior Nun, not that.

R. H. Benson describes a leader who rises above all nations of the world, and who has an incredible ability to manipulate people's minds and lives. That's Adriel. The world flourishss in regards to science and culture. That can be said about the Warrior Nun Universe. The author identifies the Antichrist with the Freemasons. That isn't reflected in the show. But, the show does portray a conflict of Christianity and other movements - both with Adriel, and with ArqTech.

Like R. H. Benson describes, Adriel is talked about by everyone (social media...), many have a good opinion of him even before meeting him. He's charismatic, knows a lot of languages, can be described as an erudite (why does he have a bunch of books in piles on his porch, I'm not sure, but he deserves a Supernanny finger wag for it... At least.) There isn't an episode of like... All countries signing a peace treaty, but it's something I think Adriel would have them do. Again, I think he deserved more screen time. The effect he, and his cult, had on society, deserved more screentime. We only see his followers chanting his name. What other forms of worship does FBC practice? What are their main philosophical and theological dogmas? How to they reflect in daily life? What is written in Adriel's Bible? And so much more.

Adriel obviously idolizes peace, as I've mentioned already. A direct quote from him: "Hasn't humanity suffered enough?" I think that could be from Benson. He creates a new religion. I'm sure Adrielism has it's own ceremonies, feast days... So much potential. Of course, it's new, and it needs better liturgy. A proper hymn or two. Adriel, honey, come on... You had a thousand years. "Ave Adriel, Salvatore Mundi..."? Or something?

Adriel calls himself the Savior. I think the only reason why the show's creatos may not have had him call himself the Alpha and the Omega (the Beginning and the End), is because they are in touch with fandom culture... We all know how these beautiful Greek words have been desecrated in our demented world. We all know... If you don't, I beg you, stat innocent. Stay sane.

Adriel does not desecrate religious sites. But maybe his followers do. I wouldn't put it past FBC, running around the streets with bats. Cultists will be cultists.

I think WN takes place in current times (2000 20's). So, first half of the 21st century. According to many, that's when the Antichrist is supposed to show up. I'm not Ava. I will not make any jokes about the current state of the world.

Adriel certainly imitates Christ enough. His Messiah Classic fashion (which he looks rather attractive in), walking on water... Don't you, Mr. Walks Barefoot In Dead Insect Fountain Water Soup?.. And, not only imitates. He inverts. He builds an inverted temple.

Like the Antichrist according to Spirago, Adriel lets people live how they wish, do what they want (the scene in S2E1 illustrates it well - the one where Vincent "brings a lady home"). Spirago says that the Antichrist will have an easy time fighting Christianity because of godlessness in the world. I think, Adriel has an easy time for other reasons - Christianity has been used in many horrible crimes, and he has many good arguments, even though his "I ask for nothing" isn't exactly true.

The Pope defends the faithful (according to many authors). Which Duretti does, despite all his machinations. I saw some say he cared only for his own power, but I doubt it. Did he care for his own power? Yes. But did he also sincerely saw a threat to everyone in Adriel, and wanted to help others by exposing him? Also yes.

Can the OCS be seen as the religious order opposing the Antichrist spoken of by some?.. I's say so. They are his main adversaries. His main capable adversaries. Despite the irony of him helping create the Order. Now as I mention it, was Areala supposed to be the original Second Beast? Maybe. The only theory I really entertain about the early OCS, is that Adriel was really in love with Areala, and she with him, but she saw him for the... Beast he was, so she sacrificed herself, and her heart, for everyone else. Parallels with The Omen III, huh?..

Adriel has a whole army (FBC), even though his Capital is Madrid, not Babylon. Adriel talks about the tendency of people to worship money, in spite of avoiding the strategy in favor of terror. He doesn't raise the dead (Ava does...), or heal the sick, but he talks about it. His followers being possessed also reminds me of something. I don't remember who said it, yet apparently, the people the Antichrist resurrects are supposed to be devils in disguise.

The moments ifn the show of various screens showing Adriel's broadcast... That screamed Antichrist. And him killing the Pope. Everyone talks about the shot of Vincent putting the Crown on Ava. For me, it's Adriel striking Duretti. That scene makes my heart skip a beat, it's so beautiful. So meaningful.

I didn't go as in-depth as I thought I would, directly mentioned only a few authors... I'm afraid I could talk about this for days. I love to talk about this. Warrior Nun, and the Antichrist. Write me if you noticed something I missed! I apologize for any mistakes I left, and the... Personal bit. But hey... Everything is personal interpretation. Oh, and I apologize if the style I wrote this in is rather horrid. It's supposed to be the "crazy person ranting" style.

If I didn't make it clear enought, I love Adriel.

[historyandarthijinks]

West Virginia Coal Wars: 1912-1921

Also referred to as the Mine Wars was a war started between American Coal Miners and the Coal Companies over demands to unionize and gain higher pay in the United States.

Our story here starts with the Pain-Creek Cabin-Creek Strike

Here we see an important character to these events, Mother Jones, rallying miners

Mother Jones, or Mary G. Harris Jones was an Irish-American labor organizer. She herself was a wild person with a rough and unforgiving life, her family immigrating to Canada and later the United States. She experienced discrimination based on her Irish background and Catholic faith.

After not getting payed enough as a teacher (some things never change in the US), she would move, fall in love with a union organizer, and become one herself. She worked as labor organizer for the International Molders and Foundry Workers Union of North America, but figured her husband made enough for the both of them, and decided to do some housekeeping.

The 1860s Yellow Fever Epidemic of the United States would arrive at her doorstep, killing her husband and four children. She moved to Chicago and tried dress making, only for the Great Chicago Fire to consume her house, shop, and everything else she owned.

Jones decided to help rebuild the city, joining the Knights of Labor, where the life of organizing strikes and protests became her thing. She became a living symbol of activism in the United States for laborer's rights (and yes, she was also a socialist).

People like her, mixed with the chaos of WW1, strained US workforces, making unions more and more powerful.

Unionized Coal Mines in West Virginia demanded safer working conditions alongside significantly better pay, having originally mostly being payed in vouchers, which they could only use in company stores. Their housing was also controlling by the mining companies, and rising up against them was a threat to every livelihood.

The strike began May 1912, with the United Mine Workers Union pledging support. The first month went without violence, but things started to go to shit when Paint Creek and Cabin Creek companies hired Baldwin-Felt Agents to break up the strike, sending 300 guards to the mines.

Picture of Hired Agents, walking around and smoking, with guns in hand

Striking miners were evicted swiftly in the thousand, having been renting their homes from the coal companies, and Mother Jones arrived in June, where she begun to help organize miners in the strike.

Over the course of the strike hostilities exponentially increased. There was sabotage, arms, and even snipers. Mother Jones and socialist parties got the striking miners armed, and in exchange the companies doubled the numbers of guards. Jones went around, pushing herself through crowds to convince more mines to join the strike. Vice-President of the United Mine Workers visited the encampments appearing.

Tent colonies for evicted miners and families begun to pop up. Eye witness accounts describe terrible living conditions, homeless pregnant women and newborn babies. Threats between the Baldwin-Felt Agents and Miners were exchanged, the governor attempting martial law hoping to die things down.

But things were just getting started...

By 1919 around half of the mines in West Virginia unionized. Another strike was attempted, and quelled, with non-unionized mines continuing the West Virginia coal output, but a singular town proposed hope.

Bring in, the town of Matewan. The local police chief, Sid Hatfield and the mayor, Cabel Testerman, were with the miners. 3000 of Matewan's were unionized. Under the yellow dog contracts (the crummy housing ones) the Baldwin-Felts Agents arrived.

A shoutout occurred by Baldwin-Felts Agents shooting miners out of their homes, prompting the county to proclaim it was an illegal act. When Baldwin-Felts Agents returned to Matewan to finish what they started Hatfield and the mayor confronted them.

It was then that at some point in the heat of the moment the mayor was shot dead, and a shooting started. Albert Felts himself was also killed in the shootout, along eight others. The strikes only grew from here.

Forces were starting to build against the unions and the strikers, including more agents, volunteers, and mercenary groups. The government itself began to aid the coal companies, by taking Sid Hatfield to court over conspiracy. Violence continued to grow.

Hatfield would be ambushed on the steps of the court house by Baldwin-Felts agents, and shot dead in front of his own wife. It didn't matter what would happen next, because all out war was imminent.

5000 armed miners arrived to a rally over the matter, miners beginning to be veterans of the world war, eye witnesses accounting that the miners were more professionally organized and military prepared than expected.

Planes with home made bombs, Baldwin-Felts agents, mercenaries prepared one on side of the Blair Mountains. Trenches were dug, and the strikers prepared to armed conflict. A conflict resolution negotiation sparked, and it seemed like thousands of miners were ready to return home.

Only then did agents show up to arrest miners, and a firefight began, rumors bringing in thousands of more miners to the area to fight amongst their brethren to protect their families. An ultimatum was given out to the miners, leave within 48 hours, or face the US army.

The battle of Blair Mountain began, including machine guns, rifle fire, plane bombings, makeshift cluster bombs, and chemical gas. All though the miners were looking unorganized and unable to win, the defenders were losing ammunition. Federal troops would be sent in to pursuit the miners, and the battle would recede.

Although the miners lost the fight, they won the rights to miners and paved the way to powerful unions.

when he starts talking about how much he hates unions but you’re from Appalachia

[thejesusmaninred]

"The Anti-Ablative." From Mark 14: 10-11.

All things in Judaism called "object lessons" which become offices or religious responsibilities are dual. They go both ways. There are evil offices that accompany the former. Now Jesus warns us about an Anti-Ablative, and its name is Judas Iscariot.

Judas Iscariot means "the glory of the popularity contest, to piece together a conspiracy to forcibly pound down the weak."

"The verb אנש ('anash) appears to emphasize the weakness of the human individual and mankind's consequent tendency to clan up and have strength in numbers first and then in social stratification. It either means to be weak or even to be sick, or it swings the other way and means to be friendly and social. It yields the important noun אנוש ('enosh), man or human male individual who is weak yet social.

Root קרר (qarar) means to cool off in a thermodynamic sense: to go from hot gas to cool liquid to a cold solid. Socially this would describe warring tribes "cooling off" into culturally compatible peoples and liquid trading networks and ultimately the formation of cities and solid nations. Intellectually, diverse viewpoints might congeal into local conventions and ultimately a global standard.

Adjective קר (qar) means cool. Nouns קר (qor) and קרה (qara) mean cold. Noun מקרה (meqera), meaning coolness.

Noun קיר (qir) is one of a few words for wall. It might relate to the root because bricks are congealed mud, and a wall is bricks pieced together (non-standard bricks take some puzzling and pounding). The noun קרקע (qarqa') means floor; earth trampled into a compact state. The verb קרקר (qarqar) means to forcibly compact, to pound down.

Verb קרא (qara'), which is identical to the by-form of the previous, means to call or call near. Adjective קריא (qari') means called or summoned. Noun קריאה (qeri'a) means proclamation. And noun מקרא (miqra') means convocation or called assembly. The noun קרא (qore') describes a partridge; literally "a caller."

The lore says Jesus was rejected by His own people, the Jews and this drove mankind mad crazy for thoudands of years. The actual literature says Jewish people gathered in the tens of thousands to hear Him and support Him. He was quite beloved by other Jews, this man who came on a white donkey to free them from Rome. In spite of the Lore, even among the Jews who said Jesus was a bit of a disappointment, He was quite an excellent Jew and did some amazing planning in order to toss Rome out of Jerusalem on its ass.

There were splendid results, they did not feature 100 percent of what one would hope for, but Jesus did what God told Him to do to protect and rescue the Jewish people.

I am trying to follow in His Footsteps and get the soldiers and generals in Russia to turn their firepower and anger at the Kremlin and its punitive pedophile president and escape certain death at the hands of NATO. I expect the IRG in Iran to do the same and dispose of that half-wit, Ali Khamenei and free themselves from certain destruction,

The Quran (21: 76-80) forbids an Islamic Republic from using young men to feed the machine of war. Ali Khamenei is trying to mechanize the world for this purpose. He has to be removed from power and a real Mufti needs to lead his people out of danger.

Most importantly, the world, the entire world must kill the root of the evil we are being forced to confront, the Mormons and kill every last one of them for what they have done.

The altneratives, pitting and pockmarking the earth in order to free it from tyranny, littering it with body parts, and then salvaging what is left for century is not going to work. We will still need to have this conversation again- follow the Words of Moses, stop fighting, put the weapons down, contract between the nations for peace and then send as many people as possible to the field, to school, the factory, and the theater to begin the work God assigned.

Nothing else will work. We know it won't. Jesus explained:

10 Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them.

 11 They were delighted to hear this and promised to give him money. So he watched for an opportunity to hand him over.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 10: One of the twelve betrayed Him. The word betray is not in the Torah. Not even once. The Number is 7173, ז‎א‎זג‎, "it appeared."

=

That evil was fattening around them the whole time.

v. 11: So He watched. The Number is 7517, ז‎האז, "that's when you will recognize the Ace."

The purpose of the Anti-Ablative is to add visibility to the rise of the Ace, the Falcon of the House of Israel.

The Republicans, Mormons, Iranians, Jehovah's Witlesses, all the dopes on a rope in the Family Research Council, etc. who have convinced themselves this, that, and whatnot about the Torah, the Bible, and Jews have so far been 100% wrong. Now we are being forced to deal with people that simply do not care they are wrong, they are going to do evil in the eyes of the Lord anyway. They do not know nor are they open minded to the return of the Christ. They have betrayed Him for money. This time, it is they who will be going to the cross, not He.

‎‎

[thatstormygeek]

"J.D. Vance, United States Senator for the state of Ohio, candidate for Vice President of the United States of America, a man with a very real path to becoming the most powerful person on the planet, is actively trying to get people in his own community murdered, for no reason other than the fact that they are immigrants and they are Black."

It's worth noting that these fascists, who claim to be concerned about danger, have created the only real danger, and they've created it for the people they claim are the danger. These poor Haitian people—who have done nothing other than be the exact thing the community of Springfield needed, which is to say to be themselves—are now in hiding from people who support a party with a long history of running candidates who abuse animals. They're in hiding from people who insist that police—a group that actually does kill thousands of family pets each year—must enjoy total immunity for their crimes of summary execution of both humans and pets, and I mention that only to demonstrate that what the people terrorizing Haitian immigrants want is not to keep pets safe, but to terrorize Haitian immigrants. It has nothing to do with pets.

[the-firebird69]

Let's get something in the news it says that he is courting parents he's trying to say that we're going to go to court and people are blocking him and he's going to go to court and has Dr Curran pretty soon several other of his doctors and about him no it's group lawsuits they were part of. There are a couple more things and they're pretty big.

++since announcing that he was planning to leave and come back people have become very mean to him and said look we're not going to carry you or help you or float you or get you through your day you're going to have an arduous time no matter what you're doing until you stop doing or disappear forever and that's what's going to happen because you are an incessant loser and you're an incessant more not in the door all the time so it's not yours getting injured and getting killed getting your people killed near a waste of time we have a huge army to fight and you're pulling more s*** than you did before and you have been jailed and all sorts of horrible things and you're still running for president like everybody thinks it's the greatest thing when it's actually gone past it and you stated that you're not one of us it is not how it is we don't like people who don't believe that we should have our own rights and our own place in our own things at our own peace of mind and right to happiness. You believe that you do whatever you want and you're a dictator is not what the Constitution and declaration mean so they explained it to him once a while they do and he said I can't understand and said so what you don't understand it you're not going to be our dictator we don't want one we don't worship with dictators we've all done and we know what it is it's not that great and we need you out here and he started yelling during the competition you're just trying to push me out and all this other crap a couple more things to report these guys are Wise guys they have a lot to say about every stupid single flinch that somebody makes that they're watching no just my husband I told him what the f*** are you doing and the guy didn't do a bad job but usually he's a nightmare it is Brad he says it's out of control his thinks he's a dead spots and he's going to win everything so the stuff and take over the planet and tell your people would have put it and we keep trying to tell him we see these huge lasers you c********* and you don't know if they're Mac and you don't know if they're hours but both of them sound like Max and you know that you can go down the street and talk to Stan and he can tell you these are empire bases for sure these might be and we kind of a thousand very high powered lasers that make the starkiller look like a little baby so he started whining and said I'm telling you so you can tell your big mouth she can tell everybody eventually come back to the s*** head and they'll take his toes and flatten them like pancakes I mean this is ridiculous you and I can't afford still you were like mental patients for Dr Curran f*** that guy I'm drain him for social security I need you to set up a program with your people and your group internal when we're going after the social security you go after his other stuff you know what I mean and other people might do it later but so he's setting it up and not many people will but everybody hates the mental hospital they just too wimpy and think it helps them and all this other s*** and he'll probably call for help but it's a great idea there's other people doing it but not that many so we have other ideas but these are great ideas people say and the guys a piece of trash and unfortunately he works the empire and he tries to work for himself and he tries to work for no one else and his own people are getting butchered hills of his dumb mouth we have other news but we're going to publish

Thor Freya

Olympus

[aceing-on-the-cake]

So I'm really hoping this doesn't start a fight because that is not my intention at all, I do get your point, trust me, it terrifies me as an American to sit here with those options.

And I know that America does affect the rest of the world oftentimes and not just us. I get that it's scary to consider someone like Trump becoming president, but you've gotta realize, we're scared too.

I am terrified. I am so damn scared everyday man. We have states who are declaring cells on a petri dish have rights that would supersede mine as an AFAB person. We have states across the nation practically burning books. We have children being beaten to death in schools because they were trans. My little brother is a trans high schooler.

My little brother is a trans high schooler.

We have bills like KOSA that are being pushed to pass by both groups, blue and red, that will effectively put us in a surveillance state that could honestly rival China's.

I haven't been had a PCP in two years because my options are food and a roof over my head or getting my wrists looked at. They ache daily. They're getting to the point where I can't use them at the end of the day sometimes.

But if I become homeless they're working on being able to put me in prison and if I end up in prison I am legally the equivalent of a slave.

So my wrists ache.

And all of this has occured under Biden. And some of it literally within just the past few months alone.

Meanwhile he's been sending my money, because I pay taxes, to pay for another country's free healthcare and to kill tens of thousands of people. My wrists ache and my brother is at risk everyday he goes into school but I know where he is. I'm terrified but I have a roof over my head and food.

I'm so scared, but I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try to stop what people with my name and my money are doing.

A man just set himself on fire because he believed the same.

And like I read and hear Europeans telling us to protest a lot (especially the French, I hear the French telling us to take to the streets a lot) and the thing is we have.

We have taken to the streets in hundreds of thousands multiple times, across multiple states. We have shut down highways from one side of the country to the next. We have called and called and emailed and sent letters and told the people who are supposed to be working for us that we don't support any of these things. That these are not things we want. That we're terrified and we want them to stop.

And they aren't listening.

At this point the only thing they have listened to and paid the barest of attention to, is us pulling the final card and stating we refuse to take part in a system that's going to treat us and everyone to this hell scape.

Don't get me wrong, this is a game of chicken.

This is us having done everything else first, this is us pleading and protesting and calling and doing everything we can to get them to do what they say they do and act as our voice.

But people are dying in mass. I have children being popped like balloons from being run over by tanks playing in repeat in my head. I think about Hind laying for 2+ days surrounded by the rotting bodies of her family because the paramedics had to make sure they were allowed to go get a six year old who's worst crime might've been not brushing her teeth and knowing she's dead. She's dead, she's fucking dead, they're all dead.

And I have blood on my hands. I didnt put it there myself, and I certainly didn't want it but I was born here in this god forsaken country and that means they're putting blood on my hands whether I wanted it or not.

So yes, this is a game of chicken. We are effectively holding the detonator switch to a bomb and saying "Neither of us wants this, but we need you to listen. We just want the killing to stop. We just want to be safe." because we don't really have any other choices.

None of us want Trump, but I don't think Europeans realize Democrats and Republicans are basically becoming the same coin whose sides argue they're two completely different coins, but they're not.

We already have state and God merging, across state after state, and Biden isn't stopping it/able to stop it.

We already are attacking other countries because of this genocide.

We're already in a fascist hellscape. Biden and Trump don't change that.

So at this point the only goal is they listen. The goal is to get them to just stop killing people, and then we can move on, we can try to rebuild, we can try to move forward with less risky moves.

But this is effectively the only option they've given us left.

Threats are only as effective as your ability to back them up. They aren't listening to our calls because they thought the "you have to pick us no matter what we do because we're not Trump" would work. They aren't reading or counting our emails because they thought the "you have to pick us no matter what we do because we're not Trump" would work.

They are building cop cities to militarize the police so we can't go to the streets. Like they are turning cops, into a military force, across state after state after state, trained in urban warfare, so they can make it so we can't even go to the streets without risking our lives.

I...what options are you saying is left? The calls aren't working. The emails aren't being read. They're trying to criminalize taking to the streets. They are effectively, shutting their ears and trying to tie our hands in every way they can.

There's no good options left. There are no safe options left.

I get people who are voting for Biden because they're terrified of Trump.

I get the people risking it hoping this desperate game of chicken will pay off.

I get the people who have given up and say it doesn't matter and are just not voting.

I get lighting yourself on fire if it means you don't have to look at your hands stained with the blood of families and children and women and men you didn't choose to kill but whose blood lives there nonetheless.

When you are faced with impossible options there is no right choice. I'm sorry other countries have the chance to be fucked up because of it, but there is no right choice. Every option fucks us up in some way, or might fuck us up in some way.

I'm sorry it scares you guys too.

I'm sorry because we're scared too, and we're terrified, and we've tried everything else.

We've tried, literally, everything else.

so cute to hear americans say "i'm not voting for genocide, i can't vote biden". you do know your third party choice won't win, right? you do know that voting blue is literally your only option if you want to live past 2025, right? you do know that trump will continue the genocide, right? you do know that trump will take it further and possibly support the invasion of other countries, right? you do know the plan the republicans want to put in place if they win, right? you do know that trump supports putin, right? you know that trump is currently preaching about merging the state and god, right? you do know that if blue doesn't win the actual entire world is fucked, right?

[the-color-blue]

Oh Il-nam was Wrong

In the last episode of The Squid Game we see Oh Il-nam dying in a bed and he reveals who he is and why he was in the games. He said that rich people and poor people aren’t so different because they’re both looking for something to feel alive. This is rich prick bullshit, and the prime example of this is the contrast of why he played the games versus why everyone else played the games. He played the games because he was bored, everyone else played the games because they realized after they quit that they were just going to return to their crappy lives where they’re going to slowly die from being poor and in debt anyways. They figured it’s better to play a few short games for the shot at a better life than waste away over the course of a few decades. Rich people, even if they once came from poverty, cannot relate to the current struggles of the lower class. Their biggest struggle is excess in everything, which leads to boredom because they’re never challenged. And now I’m going to go on a bit of a rant on that, so I digress. People always claim that rich people shouldn’t be expected to pay a dime for anything because they worked hard for what they had. In reality, they came up with a system where the working class makes their money for them and they barely have to lift a finger. Then you have the working class where people will work two full-time jobs and barely make enough to live, and they’re called lazy. The rich will always get richer, and not because they’re better at handling money, but because they profit off of people’s hard labor and barely pay them a thing. It is disgusting that there are people out there with more money in their bank accounts than they or ten of their family members could even spend in a lifetime while others have bleeding hands working in the best jobs they can get which pays them less than $10 an hour. The rich spend thousands of dollars to attend events where they parade around the souvenirs of their wealth on their body and expect the public to fawn over them for it. They buy real rockets to play with like toys. And we all buy into this bullshit. A person should have to work to live, but no person should have to kill themselves slaving away just to barely survive. And the working class can’t even try to gain some type of foot hold for power to fix this because only the rich can afford to pay for the costs of running to become leaders. Especially in the United States. If you’re a nobody than nobody is going to endorse and sponsor you. This means that the rich are the people who are able to run for president. And not even just for president, a majority of pricks working in the white house are rich. Do you honestly believe that they’re going to have our best interests in mind, all the while they’re letting us suffer because they refuse to raise the legal wages to cover the rise of inflation over the last two decades so they can keep getting cheap labor out of us? No. Why do you think the poor are taxed the most? Because the money has to come from somewhere and they’re certainly not going to legalize it being forced out of their own pockets. Which is ironic considering the history of why we left Britain in the first place. Some rich people donate their money, but in the end they’re only going to give so much and charities can only do so much. To conclude, the government doesn’t care about you and neither does the rich, mostly because they’re the same thing. Which is a far summary from what I started off this post about lol. Oop.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.