#Middle Eastern entities

[boreal-sea]

This is why I do not call for the destruction or dismantling of countries. This is why I am wary and judgmental of those of you who do.

You sound like my right-wing father. You sound like the worst of American society.

I grew up in the 90’s. I grew up during a military operation called “Desert Storm”. To most people, they know it as the Gulf War. I grew up with a military father. I grew up with right-wing rhetoric. I grew up with someone who called for the destruction of countries.

“Glass the Middle East and turn it into a parking lot” was a very common sentiment at the time, and not just from my father. By “glass”, people mean to bomb these countries (many of which are deserts) so brutally that the sand itself melts into glass.

It is a call for genocide. It is the call for the dismantling of entire countries because their governments were “too evil”.

(Of course, that’s just the line the public was fed. Behind the scenes, it was also largely about access to oil, and we all know that)

The Gulf War was specifically about Iraq, but let’s be clear: Americans did not give a fuck which country it was, “The Middle East” was talked about as a single entity that was evil because it was Muslim. The civilians of these countries were simultaneously evil guerrilla combatants (because they were Muslim) and victims needing “liberation” by Americans. American soldiers were described as bringing “freedom” to the poor oppressed ignorant people of the Middle East. My father still hates all Muslims to this day.

10 years later, 9/11 happened.

Time will never erase the stomach-clenching fear I felt. Not fear of Saudi Arabia. I was 17 by then and I knew better. No, I was afraid FOR them, because I knew what America would do, and I hated it. I saw the people all around me once again calling for the destruction of a country, a government, and deciding America had the right to do it. I watched people froth at the mouth and pound their chests the chance to attack another middle eastern country. Islamophobic propaganda was absolutely everywhere, and life in America for anyone even suspected of being Muslim was a living hell.

So do excuse me when I side-eye you as you call for Israel’s destruction. Excuse me if I roll my eyes when you claim Hamas are “freedom fighters”. Excuse me when I hear you spreading blatant antisemitic propaganda like it’s truth. Excuse me as I see you blocking Jewish students on campuses, attacking synagogues, and screaming antisemitic slurs at Jewish school children.

Because at the end of the day, all of you calling for Israel’s destruction sound like my father.. It doesn’t matter what your justification is. I just see the same hatred that has consumed Americans since the 90’s aimed at MENA countries. You’ve just moved on to the next target. I grew up with this hateful rhetoric and I REJECTED it.

Why have you embraced it?

“But this time the country we’ve chosen to hate and that we’re saying deserves to be glassed actually deserves it! This time the civilians really are evil!”

Yeah. Sure.

[lee-the-goat]

Ok so I noticed a really funny exchange that constantly happens with antisemites that goes something like "Ashkenazi Jews are white Aryan Europeans!!!!!!"

-"No they aren't, even the genetics very clearly show that they're at least half middle eastern (and the other half originates in classical era Rome)"

"Yes but that's from the patrilineal side and Judaism is only through the mother's side so according to their religion they're not Jewish!!!" Like, what the hell is this kind of reasoning? I've had that exact exchange more than once, do people know what matrilineality is? It's not even an old Jewish tradition it iirc originates in Roman times, do they think halachaic matrilineality erases 50% of the amino acids in your body or some shit? If your dad belongs to some matrilineal African culture and has you with a European woman are you just European? Would those smooth brainers go "Hmm what do you mean African? You're just European so I think these curly dark hair and brown skin and wide nose are just your run of the mill Scandinavian features"?

Man I don't know, if anything what makes this scary is how sensibility just completely goes out the window with these entities I'm legally obligated to count as people. They're trying so damn hard, "The joos are [whatever's considered bad these days] is literally just an axiom to them, and they will sooner change everything else around it than not consider it to be true for one second

[wingedcat13]

Tell No Lies

[Part One of the third Synovus installment.]

Living on a tropical island didn’t mean the weather was always sunny.

Your island wasn’t in quite the right spot to really get the worst of the monsoon season - too far on the eastern side of the Pacific - but you did still get plenty of rainstorms. When that happened, your group of minions battened down the hatches, triple checked the generators, and usually played cards or other bored games. Sorry, board games.

Sometimes you played, sometimes you didn’t. You weren’t playing this time, because you were catching up on some reading. Sans costume, slumped sideways in a chair, one hand on the cup of hot chocolate you had requested and immediately forgotten about.

Then your phone had dinged.

That was weird, because during storms you didn’t usually have service - technology hadn’t yet beaten Mother Nature entirely. But there were the underwater cables that had been set up to provide internet access, and emergency calls.

And that was more than enough for an entity like Optix to get through when it wanted to. Even when your phone was set to silent.

With a small sigh, you had set the book aside and reached for the screen. An email from Optix: the subject line, in all caps, “INVITATION.”

Intriguing.

You opened it, scrolling past the gold-adorned letterhead to the digital party invitation. You read it. You deleted it. You reluctantly pulled it from the trash folder to read it again. You forced yourself to read it a third time.

‘Thank you for informing me.’ You replied to Optix, before sliding the phone away. The book came to rest comfortably against your chest, pages down, probably doing all kinds of damage to the spine. You stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the present to alternate between stewing over the possibilities of the future and miring yourself in the past.

Eventually, your field of vision had been interrupted by a slow-moving face, drifting in from your peripheral. One eyebrow raised, only inches from your own face, it continued moving slowly and smoothly past where most people would have reached a limit.

“Dude.” Alexandria said, “You haven’t even blinked in like. Two minutes.”

Your erstwhile ‘apprentice’ was using her abilities to float over you. Wearing her suit, which had been modified recently to include panels of bright color against the near-black gray you’d initially designed, she looked sleek and surreal. And older than seventeen, though maybe you just couldn’t judge ages past ‘young’ anymore.

“Hello, Menace.” You’d greeted her placidly. “How goes the Great Pacific Vandalism Project?”

Alexandria beamed, and floated away an inch or so to a more comfortable speaking range. She’d finally gotten a better handle on equilibrium in flight, so her gestures as she talked no longer caused her to wobble in whatever direction she indicated. “It went great! We finally managed to get that CEO.” Her grin widened, “Right in the middle of a press conference.”

“It was satisfying.” A different voice had agreed, as another costumed figure moved into your general field of view. This one didn’t lean over you, but rather settled into the chair opposite, and helped themself to your hot chocolate. Cold chocolate, by now.

A bit of concentration had changed that, as the thief raised the mug to consider it. Their dark blue form-fitting suit had changed in recent times as well, now featuring more delicate details around the neck and wrists. Not quite scales, not quite flourishes, not quite vines, picked out in a slightly darker shade. The short cape at the hips now had flared ends, rather than a pointed tip. It had an elegance that Menace’s suit lacked.

Or perhaps that was the wearer?

“Naiad.” You’d been certain that your tone hadn’t changed. “Welcome back.”

Minerva had lifted the stolen mug in salute, and allowed you a trace of a smile. Crime agreed with her - even if she only rarely agreed with it. Once the straight-laced, impeccable hero Athena, she was now known much more widely as the Naiad: a bioterrorist with a strong cult following among ecology groups.

Over the past year, she had very publicly and very precisely targeted companies who were responsible for much of the pollution going into the Pacific Ocean. Working alone at first, then allowing Menace to join her, she had made trips to the great garbage patches that floated in the ocean’s wide expanse, and returned their contents very directly to sender.

Cars, homes, persons, factories and distribution centers (while they were closed and no one was present; employees were innocent until proven guilty) were all fair game. The only way to be sure of immunity from the Naiad’s attacks was to publicly document cleanup efforts, make donations to the groups who did the same, and implement vast reductions in pollution.

It was good mother/daughter bonding time for the two of them. You knew your presence would only overshadow their efforts, so you simply offered aid and tips during the planning phases. And there was the standing unspoken fact that you would appear to bail them out, if it ever became necessary. So far, it had not been necessary.

Minerva had even admitted, grudgingly, that this new angle on life was, at times, fun.

And that, really, plus the trace of a smile, is what had given you a terrible idea.

—------------------------------

What was even more terrible was that Minerva had agreed.

She stood now at your shoulder, just a step behind, while your invitation was inspected by a man who had gotten very tense at your approach. His costume was patterned in pale yellows and purples, a strip of rainbow draped over his collarbones. You couldn’t make out much expression behind the mask, but you didn’t really need to when you could hear the material creaking as he prepared to square up.

“I am… confused.” He allowed, considering the printed invitation. “You - do know this is a hero’s wedding, right?”

“I’m aware.” You answer flatly, the helmet giving you a wonderfully crisp punctuation. You’ve made only the slightest concessions to the event’s formality in the form of a nicer, gilt-edged cape with decorative clasps, and white rose corsages at your wrists to indicate your intention of peace. “I don’t begrudge you the confusion, Sun Dog. I will be grudging if you attempt to deny me entry.”

Sun Dog hesitated a moment more. You really didn’t want to hurt the man, no one you knew of did - which was probably why he was the bouncer at this particular event. It was hard to hate the person whose sole job was disaster response and relief.

Just when you were resigning yourself to this going poorly at the gate, Naiad leaned forward over your shoulder. Her costume had been adapted to include a floor-length skirt in a blue ombre, slit to the thigh on the sides and revealing the usual suit’s leggings beneath, and her arms were bare to the shoulder except for jewelry in the places of her normal accents. She’d pinned her hair up with sea-shell and coral pins, with deep purple pearls for earrings. You stopped breathing, attempting to be as still as possible to prevent any of those decorations catching on part of your ensemble.

“Parhelion. We’ll cause no trouble.”

The name clearly meant something to him. Sun Dog’s body language changed, shifting rapidly through a few shades of things you didn’t know him well enough to identify. None of them were hostile, though, so you gave the man his moment to process.

“I… had my suspicions, but…” Sun Dog shook his head, “Sorry. Not the time or the place. Glad you’re alright - Naiad, is it?” At her confirming nod, he continued, “Anyway, the invitation is legitimate, I’m just surprised you actually came. Uh. Guest book is ahead, gift table to the left. Good luck?”

You nodded regally and moved further into the venue, gaudily bedecked in white and taupe and glittering silver and gold. At the guest book, you confined your signature at first to the simple stylized S that was popular among bored schoolchildren. Naiad signed more gracefully, and pressed the pen back into your hand. You contemplated stealing it to make a point, but added the remaining letters to your name in a normal script instead.

Naiad was also the one to place your gift - a small black box with a silver ribbon - among the bright and shiny assortment of well-wishes, though that was more a matter of practicality. If you’d put it there, everyone would’ve assumed it was a bomb.

And the entire time, you were surrounded by people in costume. Some had made little to no alteration to their standard getups. Others had clearly commissioned outfits specifically for this event. Those who were part of the wedding party were all in what felt to you like mockery of their usual garb; the same shapes and silhouettes, but in shades of champagne and adorned with glitter, their masks or helms altered to match each other.

You didn’t stand out as much as you might’ve. There were heroes who dressed in dark colors and full-coverage helmets. It was the cape that really made your silhouette distinctive, which was why you’d shortened it from its usual wide floor-length to a slimmer, knee-length drape. And besides, who would invite Synovus to a wedding? Particularly this wedding?

Abruptly, you wished that changing your outfit hadn’t felt like so much of a concession, a surrender. You wished that you could’ve hemmed and hawed between narrow or wide skirts, short or long sleeves, backless or high necked. Layers of chiffon, of deep blue with tiny flickering gems in blues and greens and purples, a clear blue sash at the waist, or perhaps a shawl around the shoulders -

But that kind of wishful thinking is what got you here in the first place. The moment passes. Your suit is familiar, fitting, and practical. The rosettes at your wrists feel like chains.

You hear the first whispers from one of the bright costumes around you. Is that Synovus?

You turn to Naiad, “We should find our seats.”

—-------------------------------

You were, rather mercifully, seated to the back and one side, in a portion of the room not quite as well lit. The set up was rather traditional, with everyone split down rows, and the aisle in the center. You were on the bride’s side, and couldn’t honestly have said what the name of the groom was.

A few of the heroes had taken to eyeing you. Before they could investigate or act on their suspicions blindly (you knew which one you thought was more likely), the music started.

And the lights went out.

Your hand found Naiad’s in the darkness, and you lifted it to your helmet so she could feel you shake your head. Not me. Your power was quiet, the shadows entirely natural. You remained still, watching the attendees shift and begin to whisper. Most of them must have been warned ahead of time - prudent, considering how many of these people you’d fought. How many of them had you given a fear of the dark?

When a light appeared, it was not natural, nor electric. Nor was it yours. A pale silver glow began at the foot of the aisle, illuminating from beneath one high heel. Then another. On the next step, the first light began to float, turning from a spot on the floor into a small orb of light. Others joined it, like so many small sparkling stars.

In this way the bride, the hero Dazzler, made her way down the aisle.

You had to admit, it was a stunning display. On occasion, one of the lights would twirl around her, granting tantalizing glimpses of her dress and playing off the crystals in her hair. The pale silver glow was soft and alluring, and in the darkness of the room, it made her seem as though she were a deity of creation; the steps she took forming reality in her wake.

At the altar, she paused, to hand off her bouquet. Then she turned to face the crowd, raised her hands, and called all of the globes of light to encircle her and the man in a suit who was presumably her groom. They formed the shape of a heart, then faded as the room’s lights came back on.

Everyone oohed and awed appropriately. Naiad shifted, and you realized you still held her hand. Without conscious thought, your grip had tightened. Abruptly, you let go.

The two of you sat in silence as the ceremony began.

—----------------------------------

Once everyone had moved to the tables, you actually thought you might get through this without being officially recognized by anyone other than Sun Dog. That was both a relief, and mildly insulting.

Naiad had given you questioning glances since you had left the ceremony, but you’d yet to provide an answer. You’d warned her before you arrived that you would speak as little as possible once inside the venue - your voice would certainly give you away. Naiad had said that was the consequence of being a monologuer. You’d protested, vociferously, because it was true.

But as the guests were mingling, the open bar being besieged, the instant your shoulders started to relax, there was a high pitched shriek from somewhere behind you. Not a shriek of terror or anger or surprise. One of joy.

Of course.

The syllables of your name filled the air, broken into three and a half parts. There was a frantic rustle of cloth and the rapid clicking of heels. Then arms wrapped around your middle, and a heavily perfumed, glittery weight slammed into you.

You, very judiciously, did not move.

“I’m so glad you came!” Dazzler gushed, moving around in front of you. She let her arm trail as she did, so that she never lost contact with you. You felt like you were being circled by a shark. Up close, the makeup and glitzy hair-pieces felt like an attack. “You never RSVP'd! I’d almost given up hope!”

You still had not moved, even to turn your head. Dazzler pouted at you, and you tried to ignore that you knew she was just looking at herself in your helmet’s reflection. Around you, half the guests had abandoned their chairs or their place in line at the bar, half-starting, ready to leap into action. Every single pair of eyes in the place was fixed on the two of you.

And you knew that this was exactly why Dazzler had invited you. You’d known when you received the invitation. You knew when you decided to attend. Because this kind of bullshit was exactly why you’d harassed her into moving to a different continent.

“Many felicitations, Diane.” You reply, as though she isn’t doing her damnedest to make a scene. As though she’d cornered you in a hallway, instead of the middle of the banquet hall. “I get invited to so few parties - I can’t imagine why.”

Laughing, Dazzler moves to swat you on the arm, and transitions from that to looping her arm through yours. “Oh, Syn. People just don’t know you, that’s all! Come on, say hello to everyone with me, it’ll-”

You have no intention of being dragged off by Dazzler to become arm candy. But before you can find a way to elegantly maneuver out of the situation, Naiad is stepping between you.

“Perhaps things have changed since my wedding.” Without a filter, Naiad’s voice is not far off from Athena’s. She’s taking a terrible risk to do this, that someone will identify her by her past persona and its questionable end. But Athena never took quite that tone of condescension. “But greeting the guests is typically something one does with their groom.”

“Oh.” Dazzler steps away, a tiny frown creasing her brow. She’s not used to having competition. Not used to being thwarted by anyone who isn’t you. Still, she recovers quickly, laughing again and holding the back of one hand to her forehead. “Of course! With all the preparations and everything, I forgot there’s so many steps! You must remember, right? All the decisions you have to make, and then there’s so many people here -”

Again, Naiad cuts her off, “Then we wouldn’t want to monopolize so much of the bride’s time. Happiness - and many years of it - to you both.”

She raises an arm to your back, and automatically, you reciprocate. It makes you a unified front, automatically reinforcing her words. You know everyone here will remember this. Naiad is now permanently associated with Synovus.

“Be well, Dazzler.” You add, so no one will think this is some kind of catfight you allowed to happen. You’re not sure that thought was coherent, actually, but saying something seemed important at the time.

Together, you and Naiad turn away, moving to your assigned seats in a corner. The rest of the room is silent, except for the music no one thought to pause. Dazzler’s bridesmaids - most of them heroes themselves - swarm her, whispering furiously.

Dazzler raises her voice to be heard by everyone when she responds, “Oh, we used to date.”

———————————

“I dislike that I can’t even call that woman a menace without besmirching my daughter’s name.” Naiad said, some time later.

The two of you had sat in silence while the room slowly restored itself to a cautious order. No one had forgotten you were there, but some seemed to accept that you were here peacefully. Given that you were not going to remove your helmet, and therefore could not actually consume anything, both you and Naiad had eaten before you came. This also spared the nervous waitstaff the task of servicing your - otherwise empty - table.

You let out a long, slow exhale, below what your helmet will verbalize. “Calling her anything will please her, in the end. Any attention is good attention, and if it lets her play the virtuous victim, all the better.”

Naiad glances back at you, gauging something. “She fooled you?”

You wince, attempt to communicate something solely by facial expression, and fail utterly because you’re wearing a helmet. How to describe what you’d seen in Dazzler once?

“I…. Wanted very badly to be someone worth effort. She caught me by surprise. It wasn’t until much later I realized she actually believed….” You break off, grimacing.

Naiad’s head tilts in a way that suggests she’s raising her brows at you. “Believed you loved her?”

“No - no, I knew she thought that. I wasn’t - I was young.”

These had been the days before Rosie, before Doll. Before there had been anyone but you, still running from and hunting any of Sunhallow’s surviving lieutenants. Nineteen and alone and then suddenly there was someone telling you otherwise, someone with a power of light so like and so different from your father’s.

“She felt.” You say finally, “That we were… destined. Her light, to my darkness. That I was… tameable.”

It had taken some years of retrospection to put the pieces together, but you had. Dazzler had wanted a tame villain; proof she was worth loving enough that it erased your identity in the process. Justification for everything she was, because she was the ‘good’ half. The ‘pure’ one.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Naiad mutters. She raises one hand, as though to pinch the bridge of her nose, but settles for bracing against the mask’s thick material.

“That too. But as I said - we were young.” Your voice was dry, and a little bit weary. Dazzler exhausted you, even now.

“Does she-?” Naiad cuts herself off, looking to re-affirm that Dazzler (and her groom) are on the other side of the room. Still, she lowers her voice, “Does she… know, then?”

Your laugh is bitter, but it is a laugh, “No. No, I got away before she learned all my secrets.”

You tap the table, curving your hand to make a small alcove where only you and Naiad can see your palm, and summon a small flicker of light. Then you let your hand fall flat again, extinguishing it.

“I am complete without her, by whatever metric you care to use.”

Naiad nods, accepting that explanation. There had been glasses of water on the table when you arrived, and she’d pulled one closer to claim it. You can tell she’s thinking by the way she traces its rim. You can tell she’s upset in some way by the way the water in the glass rises to follow her movement.

“How’d you explain the tattoo?” She asks mildly.

“She never saw it. I think she believes I have scars I don’t want anyone to see.”

A tattoo was a kind of scar, in a way, so it hadn’t been a lie. And it had fit with the image of you Dazzler so wanted, for you to have been broken and abused. Ashamed.

Naiad narrows her eyes, “If you were lovers, then-“

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, my dear.”

She leans back in her seat, taking the glass with her. She sips at the water and surveys the crowd. You pretend not to be surveying her. Dazzler was not a secret, per se, but the details of how you’d felt about it are not something you’ve ever shared.

You need to stop giving Minerva your secrets. Particularly when she doesn’t realize how many of them she holds.

The music is upbeat and space-filling. Loud enough that conversations are confined to their groups, but not loud enough you have to shout to be heard. You’re pretty sure this song is on one of Menace’s playlists - something by Chappell Roan.

“Synovus, why are we here?” Naiad asks finally. You willingly give up any attempt to identify the song to consider the question.

“Because I’ve never been to a wedding. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I’ve never been a guest at a wedding.”

Naiad’s gaze drifts to the middle distance, and she downs the remaining water like she wishes it was something stronger. You silently slide another glass over towards her - they set the tables for six apiece.

“Whose wedding were you in?” She asks, making conversation.

“Mine. Technically.” It’s a long story.

Minerva - no, Naiad, you need to think of her that way in the field - had been toying with the stem of the second glass. Now she stopped, becoming very still. At first, your attention pivots to your surroundings, searching for the threat.

Then Naiad says, flatly, “Explain.”

“It wasn’t - like this.” You wave a hand. “I - this was after Dazzler. There wasn’t - I’m not still married.”

“Synovus.”

“It lasted a week, as we’d agreed at the start, the identities were fake, and we swore to never speak of it to each other again.”

It had been a last grasp at normalcy. You didn’t have a social security number, you hadn’t had a community in which to undergo rites of passage that weren’t geared towards Sunhallow. You’d never been to a public school or a prom or a fucking football game. But getting Vegas married and having a honeymoon, then immediately divorcing?

Well that you could do.

“Who did you even do this with?” Naiad asks, flabbergasted and possibly appalled.

“Ah.” You wish you could sip water, to buy yourself time. “Tallflawes.”

Naiad’s outraged, “What?” Is drowned out, however, by the sound of shattering glass, as a blurred figure drops through the roof.

———————————

It’s a bad idea to crash a wedding. Lots of people, most of them easily rallied to at least half the attendees’ defense. It’s worse when more than half the guests have superpowers.

The good news was that no one had to worry about the falling glass - there were four or five different barriers flung up immediately.

The bad news was that it was absolute fucking chaos for five minutes. You hope no one attending had epilepsy.

You, of course, had no intention of intervening. This wasn’t your doing, you were going to be blamed for it regardless, so you might as well enjoy the show. But then you’d recognized the invader as Prodigy. And he was alone.

And the only thing he was yelling, over and over, was your name.

So you stood, removing the white rosettes at your wrists as casually as someone adjusting cuff links. You called to the shadows you’d been keeping at bay. You dialed up the volume of your helmet’s speaker.

And as everyone in the room except Naiad - including Prodigy - found themselves wrapped in solid darkness, you bellowed into the room,

“BE SILENT.”

You also had a small loop of shadow kill the music, because you never did a thing by halves.

As the room suddenly quieted, Prodigy came to drift in the middle of the space. The hum of his hoverboard was the loudest thing in the room at the moment. He wasn’t even struggling against your bonds.

And when he neither complained nor cracked a smile, only looking at you with wide wild eyes and tendrils standing on end, you felt your stomach drop. You knew even before he said, “They’re coming, Synovus! My homeworld - they sent a ship!”

——————————————

[I did say this was the one where they went to space. Buckle up, everybody, it’s time to dance!

Which Chappell Roan song is playing? Whichever one you personally believe is funniest and/or most tragic. Tag it!

Links to Ao3.]

[lesbiansforboromir]

Categorically the most galling part of this universal perception that Boromir is a 'poor out-of-his-depth himbo whose completely ignorant of politics' is how it is blindingly canonically apparent that he put massive effort into being a political entity, to the point that his political opinions follow him even into the Council of Elrond.

Without the Council of Elrond, one could interpret his narrative positioning as a more 'Middle Man' and less 'high' as something forced upon him, a (narratively framed) negative aspect of his character that Faramir is critisising and lamenting as just 'part of his nature'. He is being associated with the Rohirrim and other 'lesser' men because he is also a 'lesser' man inspite of his heritage, due to his 'flawed' and 'weak-willed' personality.

Although that is still a bit of a stilted and awkward interpretation in my opinion, Eomer explicitely differentiates Boromir's treatment and manner around the Rohirrim from other men of Gondor he has known. He is 'less grim' etc etc, Eomer felt more at ease in his company, which implies to me more that Boromir interacted with the Rohirrim as equals, unlike most of this kin. Which seems more likely to be an active effort on his part.

But interpretations based off of that are entirely unnecessary, because the Council of Elrond exists! Where Boromir, when confronted with Aragorn's mistrust of the Rohirrim and Gwaihir's accusation that they pay a tribute of horses to Sauron, immediately and comfortably comes to their staunch defense. 'It is a lie that comes from the Enemy' he declares, literally pointing out propeganda that all these elves and dunadain are primed to believe given their own investment in the racial divide between them and these 'middle men'. A primer that also belongs to Boromir, whose place amongst the 'high men' is a right bestowed on him from birth, yet one he is actively discarding here in favour of defending the Rohir perspective.

And not only that! He even goes so far as to place the rohirrim's ethnic and cultural heritage as a reason for their trustworthiness, inspite of the fact that they cannot claim any relation to any so called 'blessed' lineage. They come from 'the free days of old', a statement that is similar to one of Faramir's but that, tellingly, Faramir uses as a method of infantilising the rohirrim 'they remind us of the youth of Men'.

These are all inherently and radically political statements for the heir of the Stewardship, the man next in line to be chieftain of the southern dunadain, to declare, especially when acting as emissary as he is now.

So now, all those moments when Boromir is linked directly with middle men, when his right to his 'high' heritage is questioned, when he is critisised with the same racially charged language as the rohirrim are (too warlike, "we are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things" [-] "So even was my brother, Boromir") - all of that is now on purpose, on Boromir's part. He is the one distancing himself from the title of 'high' and questioning it's validity in the process, something Faramir clearly disapproved of and was a part of the breakdown in his respect for him. (Understandable, considering Faramir's equal and opposite effort to reclaim the title of 'high' for himself and his people.) Boromir is, essentially, engaging in some kind of racial-hierarchy criticism/abolishionism and activism.

That is not to say that his political opinions all entirely pass muster, he does still engage in racist rhetoric at least once, calling Gondor's eastern enemies 'the wild folk of the east'. But within the context of his own country and it's ethnic diversity, his position is maverick in comparison to pretty much everyone else.

And before anyone says it, let me head off comments like 'Boromir was just being himself, he didn't even know it was political he was just that stupid but I love him for it' No. Boromir's reputation in Gondor was complex and multifacetted but a great many people loved and supported him, clearly we see that there was a divide in political opinion between the two brother's stances on war and society. What you are essentially saying here is that Faramir is such a dull-witted statesman that he was incapable of swaying opinion his way against someone who didn't even know he was a part of the discussion, who wasnt even involved in the debates, against a high society that based their cultural identity on being descended from racially superior Numenoreans. The historical perspective is heavily weighted in Faramir's favour.

The much more likely state of affairs is that Boromir and Faramir have both been working towards their own social change and against each other, causing an opinion divide within the country. And apparently Boromir has not been losing that fight, even if he hasn't been definitively winning it either. Some people call him reckless where Faramir is measured, others say Faramir is not bold enough, Denethor himself claims Faramir is placing his desire for nobility and 'high-ness' over the safety of himself and his people. Culturally Gondor is going in for more pursuits of war-sports (wrestling perhaps) and the adulation of the soldiers that defend them, above the men of lore if Faramir is to be believed.

Society is changing around this debate and Boromir is actively, purposefully and directly involved in that debate! Hells bells, he even describes a part of how he works in the political sphere to Frodo! 'Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom.' Boromir is!!! A politician!! On purpose!!

The neutral political position of 'Heir to the Stewardship' given to him by his birth is so ludicrously weighted towards faithful that the effort it must have taken to push the needle and associate with the middle men as such a divisive yet loved figure is MASSIVE. Boromir believed the Rohirrim and middle men of Gondor were his social equals and counted them amongst his people and that was a stance he upheld in PARLIMENT! Stop!! Acting like he's just a blockheaded soldier who cares about nothing else- he cares!! He cares a lot!! Professionally in fact!!

[hayatheauthor]

How To Write Vampires With An Original Twist 

Mythical creatures are an essential part of the fictional scene, but the same creatures have been used so many times that these creatures now often seem redundant and boring in fiction. This is why I've started a new blog series: How To Create Original Mythical Creatures. I'm kicking off this series with vampires!

Join me as we dive into the world of vampires, from their mythical beginnings to their modern-day interpretations, and learn how to write them effectively in your own narratives.

Origins of Vampires

Vampires have a rich and diverse history rooted in ancient folklore and legends. Across various cultures and civilizations, tales of bloodsucking creatures have emerged, each with unique characteristics and behaviors.

One of the earliest known vampire myths comes from ancient Mesopotamia, where stories of blood-drinking demons known as Lilitu or Lamashtu date back to around 3000 BCE. These entities were believed to prey on humans, particularly targeting children and pregnant women.

In ancient Greece, the Lamia was a mythical creature often depicted as a female vampire who lured and devoured children. Similarly, in Roman mythology, the Strix or Strigoi were vampiric entities that fed on blood and flesh.

Moving forward in history, Slavic folklore introduced the concept of the Upyr, a vampire-like creature that rose from the dead to feed on the living. These early depictions of vampires often portrayed them as revenants or undead beings with a thirst for human blood.

Modern-Day Vampires: Where Were They Originated? 

The modern concept of vampires, as we commonly know them today, took shape during the European Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Legends of vampires emerged in Eastern Europe, with notable figures like Vlad the Impaler contributing to the folklore. Vlad's reputation for cruelty and his association with impaling enemies on stakes led to the creation of the vampire archetype, inspiring Bram Stoker's iconic character, Count Dracula.

From ancient Mesopotamia to medieval Europe, vampire lore has evolved and adapted, weaving its way into popular culture and literature. Understanding the origins of vampires provides writers with a rich tapestry of mythology to draw upon when crafting their own bloodsucking creatures.

I wanted to go into more detail regarding the Lamashtu and Lamia since they’re not as well known as their Slavic and European counterparts, but unfortunately, that would deviate from the purpose of this blog. 

The Evolution Of Vampiric Appearances 

Before we proceed with this section, it's crucial to clarify that the mythical creatures and beings discussed in this blog are not direct representations of ancient vampires. Instead, they serve as inspirations for the concept of vampires and share certain attributes with our modern-day depictions, including blood-feeding, pale skin, human-like appearance with some animalistic features, and so on.

Vampiric Creatures In Mythology

In ancient mythology, vampiric entities were not always depicted as the suave, charming figures we see in modern vampire tales. Instead, they often embodied primal fears and monstrous traits.

Lamia: In Greek mythology, Lamia was a terrifying creature depicted as a woman with a serpentine lower body. She was known for her insatiable hunger for children, often depicted as a child-eating monster. Lamia's appearance combined elements of human and serpent, emphasizing her monstrous nature and predatory instincts.

Lamashtu: In Mesopotamian mythology, Lamashtu was a malevolent demon who preyed on pregnant women and newborns. She was depicted with a fearsome appearance, often described as having the head of a lion, the body of a donkey, and bird-like talons. Lamashtu's grotesque features and destructive tendencies reflected ancient beliefs about the dangers of childbirth and infancy.

Lilitu: In Mesopotamian and Jewish folklore, Lilitu or Lilith was often associated with nocturnal demons or spirits. She was depicted as a seductive, winged demoness who preyed on men and newborns. Lilitu's appearance varied across different myths but often included features like wings, long hair, and sometimes talons, emphasizing her otherworldly and dangerous nature.

Strix: In Roman and Greek mythology, the Strix was a bird-like creature or vampiric owl associated with dark omens and death. It was believed to be a shape-shifting creature that could transform into a woman or an owl. The Strix's appearance combined avian and human features, instilling fear and dread in those who encountered it.

Strigoi and Upyr: In Eastern European folklore, Strigoi and Upyr were blood-sucking undead creatures similar to modern-day vampires. Strigoi were believed to be restless spirits or revenants that returned from the dead to torment the living. Upyr, on the other hand, were vampire-like beings with sharp fangs and a penchant for drinking blood. Both creatures were depicted as pale, gaunt, and often with elongated canines, reflecting their predatory and undead nature.

Medieval Depictions: Shift in Appearance

During medieval times, the depiction of blood-sucking mythological creatures underwent a transformation, shifting from monstrous and terrifying to more humanoid and relatable appearances. This change in portrayal can be seen in various aspects of their physical features:

Teeth: Originally depicted with long, sharp fangs or talons for blood-drinking, medieval depictions often featured more subtle fang-like teeth or no visible teeth at all, aligning with the concept of vampires being able to blend in with humans.

Skin: While ancient vampires were often described as monstrous and otherworldly, medieval vampires were portrayed with paler skin to signify their undead nature but without extreme deformities or monstrous features.

Appearance: Medieval vampires were often depicted as more human-like in appearance, with regular clothing and a less monstrous demeanour. This shift allowed for more nuanced storytelling and exploration of themes like temptation, desire, and the struggle between humanity and monstrosity. This is also what birthed the romanticization of vampires. 

Mythological Vampire vs Modern-Day Vampire

Mythological vampires, rooted in ancient folklore and mythology, were often depicted as malevolent spirits or creatures with supernatural powers. These creatures varied widely across different cultures, from the Lamia and Lilitu in Mesopotamian mythology to the Strix in Roman and Greek folklore, and the Upyr in Slavic tales.

These ancient vampires were not always the suave, charismatic beings we see in modern media. Instead, they were often portrayed as terrifying and monstrous, with features that reflected their otherworldly nature. For example, the Lamia was described as a demonic woman with the ability to transform into a serpent, while the Lilitu were associated with storm demons and fertility spirits.

In contrast, modern-day vampires, especially those popularized in literature and film, have undergone significant transformation. They are often depicted as sophisticated and alluring, with a penchant for romance and drama. Authors and filmmakers have humanized vampires, giving them complex personalities, tragic backstories, and even moral dilemmas.

While modern vampires still retain some traditional attributes such as a need for blood and sensitivity to sunlight, their portrayal has evolved to include a wide range of characteristics and abilities. This shift has allowed for more diverse and nuanced storytelling, exploring themes of immortality, love, redemption, and the eternal struggle between good and evil.

Which Option Is Better For Your Novel? 

When deciding which type of vampire to incorporate into your story, consider the tone and themes you wish to explore. Mythological vampires offer a darker and more primal essence, rooted in ancient fears and superstitions. On the other hand, modern-day vampires provide a canvas for exploring human emotions, relationships, and societal issues through a supernatural lens.

Ultimately, the choice between mythological and modern vampires depends on the narrative direction and atmosphere you want to create. Both types offer unique storytelling opportunities, allowing you to craft captivating tales of mystery, romance, horror, or even philosophical introspection.

Research and Resources

Writing about mythical creatures like vampires requires a solid understanding of folklore, mythology, and literary traditions. Here are some resources and research methods to help you delve into the world of vampires and other mythical beings:

Books and Literature

Start by exploring classic works of literature that feature vampires, such as Bram Stoker's "Dracula," Anne Rice's "The Vampire Chronicles," and Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series. These novels not only showcase different interpretations of vampires but also delve into the cultural and historical contexts surrounding these creatures.

Mythology and Folklore

Dive into ancient myths and folklore from various cultures to uncover the origins of vampire legends. Look into Mesopotamian, Greek, Roman, Slavic, and other mythologies to discover different vampire-like entities and their characteristics.

Research Journals and Articles

Academic journals and articles can provide valuable insights into the evolution of vampire folklore, the psychological aspects of vampirism, and the cultural impact of vampire mythology. Explore journals in folklore studies, literary analysis, and cultural anthropology for in-depth information.

Online Resources

Utilize online platforms such as mythology databases, folklore websites, and literary forums to gather information and engage in discussions about vampires. Websites like The Vampire Library, Vampire Empire, and Vampire Rave offer a wealth of resources for vampire enthusiasts and writers.

Historical Research

Delve into historical records, archival documents, and historical accounts related to vampire hysteria, vampire burials, and vampire folklore in different regions. Understanding the historical context can add authenticity to your portrayal of vampires.

Interviews and Expert Opinions

Consider reaching out to folklore experts, historians, and scholars specializing in vampire mythology for interviews or consultations. Their insights and expertise can provide valuable perspectives on vampire lore and storytelling.

Creative Exploration

Don't hesitate to let your imagination roam while exploring vampire mythology. Experiment with creating your own vampire mythology, incorporating unique traits, powers, and origin stories for your vampires.

By combining thorough research with creative exploration, you can develop rich and compelling portrayals of vampires in your writing. Remember to stay open to diverse interpretations and adaptations of vampire folklore, allowing room for innovation and originality in your storytelling.

I hope this blog on How To Write Vampires With An Original Twist will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[neatalchemist]

main five as things ive done (except i experienced psychosis and had hallucinations majority of my life) and im also extremely cringe

MOST OF THOSE R NSFW / MATURE 😭🙏 (no explicit stuff, mentions of it, drugs+alcohol+cigarettes mentioned)

kuras

> went to church on holy friday before easter(was eastern orthodox) to pass under the table and accidentally banged my head because i got up too fast, the table almost flipped

> always used dried up mushrooms on wounds/scratches when i used to work in the fields

> watched doctor house so much i was sure i could diagnose everything, gave myself a diagnosis and turned out correct

leander

> helped out the barman at work, and when people asked me for "a little whiskey with coke" i'd pour the cup full of whiskey and add a drop of coke for color

> was the teamleader at a school exchange event and did the orange justice in front of everyone to make everyone less embarassed of having to work together(no one spoke to me for the rest of the week)(i was 17.)

> brought a laptop to every lecture for my management class, played minecraft, when asked, explained that i'm voice recording the class to study later, got extra credit for being devoted and passed with 100%

vere

> almost fucked a weird girl because she said she'd give me weed(she had a knife collection and talked about fucking me with a knife to my throat often)

> collected Bones from The Fields to do rituals with(The Gods chose me)

> went into a sex shop and maintained eye contact while purchasing a Big One. (in english)(i still have some dignity)

ais

> got super drunk and smoked 3 packs of cigarettes, debated religion with a classmate and talked to a bottle of alcohol, cuddling it in bed(my lungs died the next day and i didnt smoke for a week)

> worshipped the Forest God, almost set fire to The Forest while doing a Ritual. Got caught, swore i'd never do it (i did it immediately again the next day)

> talked to The Entity in my room via a candle at 3 in the AM(but i was very mean about it)

mhin

> on my way to band practice, walked by an active shooting (guy barricaded himself in his house w hostages n was actively shooting at the street) with police and everything, blasting 'pain' by three days grace in my shitty headphones(the area was cut off but no one told me)

> graffitied the operator symbol all over my middle school in chalk(its still there)

> hallucinated ravens talking to me and trying to get in my room in the middle of the night, saying if i didnt let them in He'd show up (actually terrifying)

[vxmpirehunterd]

The appearance and ethnic background of D and by extension...the Sacred Ancestor.

Far and wide is known about the beauty of the dark hunter. Tales have spread of his midnight locks that reflect the starless night sky above. Long and satiny enough to slip through ones figures like ink. Men and women often find themselves swooning when they lay their gaze upon his pale visage. A face adorned with masculine thick eyebrows, regal cheekbones, plush lips and a straight aquiline nose. His body, built solid to rival the marble statues of the Hellenistic era. D was a vision of beauty.

And to those who knew him--truly knew him...

They'd say he looked exactly like his own father. A man with similar features but his skin was...different from his son. While D's flesh took on a pale white--almost greyish blue in undertone--his father's skin was an obvious light blue. An ethereal glow of a forgot-me-not. A man who's physical depiction was similar to the Hindu deities like Lord Shiva.

Speaking of physical depictions, the Sacred Ancestor's ethnicity is one of ambiguity. For he existed before the world began--before man spawned. His face is one that would leave a mortal questioning his country's origin.

If one would have to take an educated guess, the entity that took Dracula's name for himself would appear--Indo-European, Middle Eastern, with a mix of an indigenous native of the Americas. All decorated in pale blue skin. It would make sense as to why this incomparable creature had so many names and was worshipped as a deity in so many cultures. He had a face that could blend in almost anywhere.

Erebus

Chernobog

Tezcatlipoca

Tsukuyomi...etc. All of those names belonged to D's father.

While D himself is similar but with a bit more European influence courtesy of his human mother. The hunter is biracial down to the bone.

[khalixvitae]

I never post here anymore due to personal stuff, but I want to reach out on all my socials about this because people need to see it. Can I just say that I am so incredibly disheartened by some people’s responses to what is happening in the South Eastern US/Appalachia? I really can’t explain the level of devastation that is unfolding here under Hurricane Helene. There are people trapped in my childhood neighborhood without power or water because of downed trees and power lines and flooding. I couldn’t get ahold of my family for more than a day because there was a massive cell service outage in my state. Parts of where I grew up will not have electricity for three weeks. My family could be without electricity for three weeks. I didn’t know if my best friend was okay for 12 hours because there was no way to communicate and we live two hours away from one another. I’m entering day 3 of not having electricity.

And frankly, we’re on the luckier side. A town my family has visited every year for the last 20 years is fucking gone- leveled by flooding from a failed dam. Everything including the road is completely washed out, and this is in the fucking mountains. And that’s just what we know about so far during what is still widespread cell service failure. There are entire interstates that have washed out or fallen apart during mudslides- whole towns are gone, and people cannot call for help.

And the number of people I’ve seen, people who say they’re advocating for MY rights as a trans/queer person, who have fully dismissed this in favor of taking to twitter to make comments about how it’s “Trump Country anyway” and how we “deserve it” and “should’ve voted blue to keep this from happening” is brutal. Every time something happens to us down here, out of touch middle class liberals are so quick to blame our collective region of the country for struggles we do not have the time, energy, money, or legislation to prevent. As if we’re fucking stupid and should be purged, like we somehow matter less because our politicians are a breed of fucked up that a whole lot of us disagree with. We aren’t a monolith and we are right fucking here, and mocking us on twitter in the middle of a humanitarian crisis is not going to help your case, I promise.

I cannot explain to you what it’s like to hear somebody with your mother’s accent describe that they can’t pull people out of cars quick enough because the flood water is moving too fast. Everything I’ve ever known is either blipped off the power grid or under water. I’m begging you, please see us as people who are suffering and not as a monolithic entity.

There are trans and queer people here, just like everywhere else. We are suffering at the hands of legislation we don’t believe in, legislation that thinks we should die, and now a mounting natural disaster that we still don’t know the full extent of. There are poor communities, communities that are predominantly BIPOC, disabled people, it goes on. There are a whole lot of us who don’t fit the criteria of the pro trump agenda, who don’t match the bill of what an American southerner looks like in the minds of those who have never been here, who are actively suffering. We ARE voting blue both locally and on the federal level.

But here’s the kicker: it doesn’t fucking matter that we’re here. My life doesn’t mean anything more than my neighbor who might hate who I am to their very bones. Nor am I more deserving of aid than them, even if I hate them right back. The concept of withholding aid or hesitating to help particular regions because of what their government officials believe is heinous. Hell, even if regular civilians believe it too, it’s still wrong and morally reprehensible. Similarly, providing aid with the caveat of “converting those stubborn hicks” to the cause is downright evangelical and fucking evil. This is a humanitarian crisis, and people need help. And truly if you think it would be better if the south couldn’t vote, or that we collectively deserve this on some moral or karmic basis, I really need you to think critically about those exact talking points because they should sound shockingly familiar. Governments should help their people, and that should be a bipartisan priority. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says- people who are ignoring this because of where it’s happening are vile and need to get themselves sorted out. And the people who do think this is some sort of universal comeuppance for this part of the country can- and I mean this truly deeply, from my heart of hearts- go straight to hell.

I’m going to be posting resources to help those in need in the Appalachia region, as well as Florida. I’ll include shelters, food banks, etc. I’ll have them out soon. I don’t use this blog really anymore but this is the least I can do.

[blackstarlineage]

Over-Reliance on Foreign Powers and Ideologies Instead of Pan-African Solidarity: A Garveyite Perspective

Introduction: The Crisis of Dependency and the Need for Self-Reliance

One of the greatest weaknesses of the African/Black world today is its dependence on foreign powers, institutions, and ideologies. Instead of focusing on self-sufficiency, internal economic cooperation, and Pan-African unity, many Black nations and communities look to Western nations, China, the UN, the IMF, and other external entities for solutions.

From a Garveyite perspective, this over-reliance is not an accident—it is a direct result of colonial conditioning, designed to:

Keep Africa and the diaspora politically and economically dependent.

Prevent the development of self-sufficient Black nations and institutions.

Ensure that foreign powers control African resources, policies, and economies.

If Black people do not break free from this cycle of dependency and prioritize Pan-African self-reliance, they will remain under the control of neocolonial forces, unable to shape their own destiny.

1. The Historical Origins of Black Dependency on Foreign Powers

A. The Colonial Strategy of Creating African and Diasporic Dependence

Colonizers and enslavers deliberately stripped Black people of self-sufficiency to make them permanently dependent on European and Arab rule.

This was done by:

Destroying independent African economies and making Black nations rely on European trade.

Forcing enslaved Africans to abandon their skills and rely on white-controlled economies.

Replacing African governance and legal systems with European models that required foreign oversight.

Example: After slavery was abolished, Black people in the Americas were denied land ownership and economic independence, ensuring they would remain under white economic control.

Key Takeaway: Colonialism and slavery were not just about labor—they were about creating permanent Black dependency on foreign systems.

B. The Role of Foreign Ideologies in Suppressing Pan-African Thought

Foreign political, religious, and economic ideologies were used to disconnect Black people from their own traditions and make them adopt European/Arab-centered ways of thinking.

This resulted in:

Black nations adopting European democracy, instead of African governance models.

Western-style capitalism and socialism replacing African economic self-sufficiency.

Arab and European religions replacing indigenous African spiritual systems.

Example: Many African leaders today look to the West or the Middle East for ideological guidance, rather than studying pre-colonial African governance models that worked for centuries.

Key Takeaway: When Black people adopt foreign ideologies blindly, they reject their own intellectual and cultural heritage.

2. The Modern Consequences of Over-Reliance on Foreign Powers

A. Economic Dependency on Foreign Institutions

Instead of developing their own industries, banks, and trade networks, many African nations and Black economies remain controlled by:

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank, which trap them in debt.

Foreign corporations, which extract Africa’s natural resources without reinvesting in Black communities.

Western and Chinese investors, who profit while African nations remain underdeveloped.

Example: Many African countries borrow billions from the IMF, only to remain in perpetual debt, losing economic control to foreign entities.

Key Takeaway: A nation that does not control its own economy is not truly independent.

B. Political Dependency on Western and Eastern Powers

Many Black nations fail to act independently in global politics, instead choosing to align with:

Western nations like the U.S., UK, and France, which interfere in African and Caribbean affairs.

China and Russia, which present themselves as “alternative partners” but still exploit Africa.

The UN and EU, which dictate policies to Black nations without truly benefiting them.

Example: The African Union often waits for Western validation before taking political action, proving that many African leaders are still mentally colonized.

Key Takeaway: True political sovereignty means making decisions based on Black interests—not foreign approval.

C. The Psychological Effects of Seeking Validation from Foreign Powers

Many Black leaders and intellectuals still believe that progress must come from the West or East, rather than from within the Black world itself.

This results in:

A lack of confidence in African solutions.

Blind imitation of Western policies that do not fit African or Caribbean needs.

A failure to recognize the power of Pan-African cooperation.

Example: When African nations face crises, they often turn to the UN or the West for “help”, instead of forming Pan-African coalitions to solve their own problems.

Key Takeaway: A mentally enslaved people will always look to their former masters for guidance, instead of trusting their own wisdom.

3. The Failure of Foreign Ideologies to Address Black Issues

A. Western Capitalism and Its Exploitation of Black Nations

Capitalism has failed Black nations because it:

Prioritizes profit over community well-being.

Creates massive wealth gaps, leaving Black workers in poverty.

Encourages foreign exploitation of African resources.

Example: Africa is rich in gold, oil, and minerals, yet most Africans remain poor because foreign corporations own these industries.

Key Takeaway: Western capitalism does not serve Black interests—Africans must develop their own economic models.

B. The Failure of Western Democracy in Africa and the Caribbean

Western democracy was imposed on Black nations without considering African governance traditions.

It has led to:

Corrupt leaders backed by Western governments.

Endless political instability and coups.

Foreign nations influencing African elections.

Example: Many African elections are funded and influenced by Western nations, proving that political sovereignty is still an illusion.

Key Takeaway: African nations must create governance systems based on African history, not foreign political theories.

4. The Garveyite Solution: Pan-African Solidarity and Self-Reliance

A. Building Pan-African Economic Networks

Black nations must:

Trade more with each other, rather than relying on the West and China.

Invest in Black-owned banks, businesses, and industries.

Develop an independent African currency, free from Western control.

Example: The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is a step toward economic independence, but it must be fully embraced by all African nations.

Key Takeaway: A free economy means trading within the Black world—not depending on foreign nations.

B. Strengthening Pan-African Political Alliances

Black nations and communities must:

Coordinate their political strategies across the diaspora.

Resist Western and Eastern interference in African and Caribbean affairs.

Build stronger ties between Africa, the Caribbean, and Black America.

Example: The Caribbean and African Union should create a unified political strategy, rather than acting separately.

Key Takeaway: Only a strong, unified Black political front can challenge global oppression.

C. Reclaiming African Intellectual and Cultural Ideologies

Black people must:

Develop political and economic systems based on African traditions.

Stop idolizing foreign ideologies and embrace Pan-African thought.

Reject Western and Arab cultural dominance over Black societies.

Example: Instead of copying Western or Eastern governance models, African nations should study their own pre-colonial systems of leadership, trade, and law.

Key Takeaway: A people that copies foreign cultures will never truly be free.

Conclusion: Will Black People Choose Pan-African Unity or Remain Under Foreign Control?

Marcus Garvey said:

“A race that is solely dependent upon another for its economic existence sooner or later dies.”

Will Black people continue looking to foreign nations for solutions, or build their own institutions?

Will we rely on the West, China, and Russia, or embrace Pan-African economic and political power?

Will we break free from mental slavery, or continue to worship foreign ideologies over African wisdom?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[talonabraxas]

The Hamsa Hand

The Hamsa Hand only gives and asks for nothing in return.

The Hamsa Hand is a common, Middle Eastern symbol that is believed to offer happiness, good fortune, peace and protection. The owner of the Hamsa Hand is said to be protected from negative energies, especially from the Evil Eye or "Ayin Ha'ra" - a malicious glare cast by other people which brings misfortune, general unluckiness, illness or death.

The meaning of the Hamsa Hand and its interpretation varies from culture to culture, but it is always a positive and peaceful symbol that provides protection for its owner. It is also known by different names within separate cultures. Some of these names include the Hand of Fatima, the Khamsa, Hand of Miriam and the Hand of Mary. The symbol is generally associated with a female entity that provides protection and strength, but it can also symbolize the Hand of God.

“Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain.” -Carl Gustav Jung

[mumms-the-word]

On the Run

Characters: Gale Dekarios x Tav (Dalia) Summary: In an Old West AU, Gale finds himself on the run from something or someone back East and lands himself in a saloon with the gorgeous singer (and possibly more than singer) Dalia. Someone is out to get him, but she has a plan. A/N: This is inspired by @orangekittyenergy's fanart of @magspeaches's Tav, Dalia for magspeaches's birthday!! The art was just too inspiring, so I tried my hand at a Western AU for Gale and Dalia. Happy birthday friend!! I hope you enjoy this little start to a Western adventure. Who knows where they go next! (I don’t haha this is just a oneshot sorryyyyy)

Every time Gale walked into the saloon at the center of this dusty town, there was always the same beautiful girl sitting atop the same bar, her stockinged legs crossed and her voice trilling out the words to whatever song the pianist nearby banged out on the out-of-tune piano in one corner. Somehow, despite the discordance of the instrument, she always seemed to round it out with her voice, so that the music they made together was not only pleasant to hear, but practically mesmerizing. It had caught his ear the first time he walked past the saloon his first day in town, and it had drawn him in like a siren song every day since.

She was stunning, whoever she was. Her blue skirts were hiked up and fastened at about the middle of her thighs, leaving her long, trim legs and delicate ankles visible for admiration. Today she had ornamented them with thin white stockings and lace-up boots, the tall heels slender and elegant. When she shifted, Gale could could see the hint of a black lace garter and the silver flash of a small revolver before she smoothed her hand over her skirt to cover them again, each movement natural and casual. She’d abandoned her white chemise from the day before to wear an embroidered maroon corset flush against her sunkissed skin, leaving her arms bare and the swell of her breasts a tantalizing treat with every breath she took to sing her next few notes. Even Gale, gentleman that he thought he was, couldn’t entirely tear his eyes away.

He still didn’t know her name, and he’d been here a week, skulking around town trying to figure out where to go or what to do next. He always wound up here eventually, claiming a chair at a back corner and watching as she sang or poured drinks or played cards with the other patrons.

Now, as he searched the room for an empty table, glancing periodically at her, he saw her turn her head toward him. Her gaze swept over the room as she began the next stanza of her song, but when her eyes landed on him, hovering near the door, they lingered. She smiled at him through her next few words before leaning back on one hand and turning her face away again, drawing out the last few notes.

It felt like an invitation. Grab at seat at the bar, why don’t you? Right here by me. But he didn’t dare.

He took a seat at an empty table instead, setting his hat on the surface and combing his hand through his dust-gritty hair. He’d spent more than a week in this town, bunking in an old hotel across the street, and despite his eastern city wardrobe and polished accent, he was starting to look like the locals. Sun-tanned, with a layer of dirt, and in need of a good shave.

But that was a good thing. The less he stood out, the less people knew about him out here, the better. If word got out back East…

Well, suffice to say there was a rather powerful entity back home that would be all too happy to send forces out West to drag him back. Better to lay low. If people believed he was here to settle in for a while or just passing through, then the wary glances would stop. He wasn’t the only man trying to travel West.

He was pretty certain he wasn’t the only man escaping trouble back East, either.

He glanced around for one of the serving girls, hoping to wave her over to place an order, but before he could say a word, the singer from the bar was in front of him, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two tumblers cradled in the other. She offered him a red-rouged smile.

“Care for a drink?” she asked, setting the bottle on the table.

Gale blinked at the bottle and then at her. “Oh, I—”

“First glass is on the house,” she added, setting the glasses down. She poured a measure of amber-colored liquid in both tumblers before sitting down across from him. He glanced beyond her at the bartender, but he was busy with other patrons and the other girls in the saloon were making their rounds with fresh pitchers of beer or trays of whiskey glasses.

When she noticed he didn’t immediately reach for the glass, she raised her eyebrows. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, no, of course not,” he said quickly. He lifted his glass in a toast to her and knocked the whole thing back in one burning swallow. He fought against a grimace—the whiskey out here had all the kick of an angry mule but none of the age or elegance of the whiskey back home. And there was always a strange aftertaste that suggested the barkeep added God-knew-what to it on the side. He set the glass back down with a slight clearing of his throat.

Her lips twitched at a smile, as if she found something about him funny, and she took her own glass in hand, swirling her whiskey idly. “I noticed you come here often these last few days. What’s your name, stranger?”

He thought about lying, but decided against it. He’d already made the mistake of giving his actual name at the hotel register. It was already known by a few others in the town as a result. “Gale Dekarios.”

She didn’t even bat an eye. “Fancy name.”

“So they tell me.” He put his arm on the table, inclining his head toward her. “And yours? May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“You can call me Dalia, Mr. Dekarios. Pleasure’s all mine.” She shot him a quick wink and took a sip from her tumbler. He couldn’t help but notice the lip rouge mark left on the glass when she set it down again. “What brings you this far out west, Mr. Dekarios?”

“Hm? Oh.” He forced a smile and poured another shot of whiskey, trying not to linger over the mark on her glass or the red of her lips. “Nothing much. Just looking for…opportunity.”

Dalia chuckled and rested her chin in her hand, watching him with a knowing smirk. “You don’t walk this town like a man going after…opportunity.”

He paused with his glass halfway to his lips. “What do I look like to you, then?”

She tilted her head slightly, chin still in her palm, and let her eyes drag slowly down over his form, lingering around his collar, then the buttons of his shirt, then where his body disappeared beneath the surface of the table. She flicked her gaze back up to meet his and he was struck with the range of colors he saw there—steel gray mixed with a sprinkling of gold and a bloom of green, like stumbling upon a sudden vein of gold on a mountainside. The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she were amused.

“Like a man on the run.”

He tried to hold her gaze, but his mind was running a mile a minute now. What gave it away? His attire? His behavior? The way he spoke or acted? He’d seen his wanted poster—he’d grown a beard to help confuse anyone not looking too carefully. It seemed as though more was needed. He tapped his fingers against the side of his glass and finally set it down again, whiskey untouched.

“Whatever could I possibly be on the run from?” he asked, leaning his elbow on the table and raising his own eyebrows at her.

She pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair, idly twisting the two long curls that she’d left unpinned from the rest of her dark hair. As she wound the curls around her finger, she let her eyes sweep slowly around the room again before lingering on a table in the far corner. She indicated it with a little jerk of her head.

“I don’t know your story,” she said, “but something tells me they might.”

He followed her gaze to the distant table, squinting through the dusty afternoon light to see two men seated there. At first, nothing seemed all that remarkable about them…until one of them shifted and the light caught a little silver badge that he had pinned to his vest. An eight-pointed star.

Her mark.

Gale resisted the urge to sink down in his chair or hide his face beneath his hat. He’d hoped she would give up by now.

But he had something she wanted. Until she got it back she would hound him for days. Even with a few days’ head start, her men had already caught up with him.

But then again, they didn’t seem to notice him. Yet. There was still a chance.

Dalia turned back to look at him, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Should I introduce you?”

“No,” he said shortly. He glanced at the two men and away again. Dammit.

Dalia glanced over her shoulder at the men and then moved her chair a little to the left, blocking his view of the men—and their view of him. It brought her even closer to him at the table, so much so that he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore. This close, he noticed the little beauty marks on her face, one just above her mouth and the other on her cheek. They practically beckoned him closer for a kiss, and for a moment he was distracted by thoughts of pressing his lips tenderly, lovingly at each mark before taking her lips with his.

He blinked, hard, to banish the images.

“Seems like you’ll be leaving soon, Mr. Dekarios,” she said, seemingly unaware of his train of thought. She finished her glass of whiskey and then gave a theatrical sigh, setting the glass to the side. “A pity. The two of us haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that…something that interests you?”

“You interest me, Mr. Dekarios,” she said smoothly, taking his hand and setting his glass of whiskey in his palm. “You and those two bounty hunters in the corner.”

“Bounty hunters?” He scoffed. “That’s one way of thinking about them.”

She shrugged her bare shoulders with feigned nonchalance. “I don’t know what else they could be. The reward they’re offering seems pretty high.”

“A reward for what, exactly?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You, of course. Curious thing, though…they’re real keen on bringing you back alive. I wonder why that is…”

“Ah…fantastic.” He was about to take a drink again when a thought occurred to him. He set the glass down again, looking suspiciously at Dalia. “If the reward’s so high, why haven’t you turned me in?”

“Why, Mr. Dekarios.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I barely know you. Who am I to decide a man’s fate before I even know his name?”

“Is that what this is?” he asked, gesturing to the whiskey between them. “A test to see whether I deserved to be handcuffed and dragged away?”

“Are you always this suspicious of people?” she asked, but the tilt of her head and the glint in her eye suggested she found the whole conversation entertaining, rather than annoying. “Don’t you worry. I don’t plan on blowing your cover anytime soon. In fact, I have a bit of a business proposition for you.”

His eyebrows drew together. “A business proposition?”

She pressed a finger into his chest, drawing his gaze downward. “You need to get out of town, don’t you?” she asked. She dragged her finger slowly up his chest, up the column of his throat and to the tip of his chin, raising his face slightly so he would look at her. “And I can make that happen, on one condition.”

“Just the one?” he asked warily. He knew firsthand the consequences of taking a deal before you knew the full terms. It was part of what got him in this mess in the first place. “What is it?”

“You take me with you.”

He blinked, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

She leaned back in her chair, suddenly cool and aloof. “Not interested?” She shrugged and started to rise. “Then I can just—”

He grabbed her hand hurriedly. “Wait, wait, hold on, settle down.” He gestured for her to sit again, glancing anxiously at the bounty hunters in the corner. They didn’t seem to notice them. Dalia settled back in her chair, deftly removing her hand from his but watching him silently. He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why do you want to leave?”

She snorted. “Why shouldn’t I? D’you think I want to spend my life serving drinks and singing the same six songs? The pay isn’t bad but this isn’t living. Not the way I want to live.”

Her voice suddenly became soft and thoughtful toward the end, her gaze shifting to stare out the nearest window. He could guess what she saw through those dusty panes. An open sky that stretched on farther than the eye could see, blue and cloudless and bright. An open expanse of land that changed by the day as you traversed across is, from gritty sand and rock to hard-scrabble brush, from hardy, stubborn trees to the sudden, breath-taking rise of a mountain range, snow-capped and standing sentry-like in the distance, like a gateway to paradise. You could walk or ride for miles out here without seeing a single soul. Just you, your horse, and the wildlife that called these plains, deserts, and prairies home.

It was freedom. Illusive freedom, a siren song of its own, but better than the chains that weighed them down where they were now. Gale wasn’t very good at carving out an existence outside of a settled town, but Dalia…she struck him as a resourceful type. Longing for the finer things in life, but not afraid to get her hands dirty, so to speak.

Gale had the sudden impulse to reach for her hand again, but he stopped himself. “I can understand that,” he said quietly. “But what’s keeping you here now? Why wait for me to leave?”

She shot him a wary look. “That’s my business.” And then, after a second, she relented and added, “I’m waiting for someone.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A lover? Husband?” He paused. “Ex-husband?”

She scoffed. “A friend. She and her partner are out on a job right now. Once they’re back, we’re packing up and heading out. I don’t have any plans to stay here.” She plucked his untouched glass of whiskey from the table and took a long sip, eyeing him over the glass. Then she smiled sweetly again, tilting her head coquettishly. “Do you?”

His mouth was suddenly dry, but she was keeping his glass hostage in her manicured hand. He licked his lips, trying to remain as subtle as possible. “Is that an invitation, Miss Dalia?”

“Could be.” She dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth, letting her finger drag slowly along her bottom lip. He followed the motion with his eyes, enraptured. Her next smile was like honey, enticing him to draw closer to what he knew must be an inevitable trap. “Interested?”

Oh, he was very interested, but his interests were in a bit of a tangle just now. “I’d…have to think about it.”

“I’d think a little more quickly if I were you, Mr. Dekarios.” She set the glass down and folded her arms on top of the table, leaning forward to study him. The posture pressed her corset up and into her chest, the swells of her breasts nearly spilling out over the top of the embroidered fabric. Suddenly it was all Gale could see. “That beard and long hair’s not going to fool those two for much longer. I’ve already heard them asking questions. The clock’s ticking.”

Gale tore his gaze away from her breasts to look her in the face. “What exactly are you offering, Miss Dalia? And what, exactly, is the cost?”

She sat up straight in her chair, suddenly all business. “You want to go farther out west? We can take you. You want to disappear? We can make it happen. In exchange, all we’re asking is a reasonable cut of that cash you got on you. Call it a small fee for our services.” She smirked faintly. “And don’t lie to me about the cash. I’ve seen how much you carry. You can easily afford us.”

Gale frowned. “Why do I get the sense that your definition of ‘disappear’ and mine are different? What’s to stop you from robbing me blind and leaving me for dead the moment we’re out eyesight of town?”

She lifted her eyebrows a fraction. “You don’t trust us?”

“Would you, if you were in my shoes?”

The question seemed to amuse her. She twisted one of her curls again, putting on a thoughtful expression. “You want to take your chances with those bounty hunters instead? I could bring them over.”

“No, no thank you,” he said quickly. He sighed. He was running out of options. The noose he’d flung around his neck the moment he escaped out West was starting to tighten around his throat. Dalia was handing him a knife to cut himself free…but who was to say she wouldn’t use that same knife to stab him in the back? Metaphorically, of course. Or perhaps literally.

She tilted her head again, watching him thinking, and then leaned forward again, lowering her voice. “Tell you what. I’ll arrange for you to meet my associates in two days. My friend and her partner. We can negotiate a deal with them. Something that satisfies all parties.”

“And in the meantime?” he asked. “Am I supposed to hide in my room? Camp outside of town and hope those two don’t come looking for me?”

The flicker of a smile on her lips told him she wouldn’t give him a straight answer. She took up his tumbler again, studying the last swallow of amber liquid in the glass, holding it up to the light. “Something tells me you’re a smart man, Mr. Dekarios. You’ll figure something out. And if not…” She toasted him with the glass. “You know where to find me.”

He watched her knock back the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down with a satisfied clack. Like she’d already closed the deal. “Why are you helping me?”

She gave the question some thought, her expression playful and coy. After a second, she refilled his glass, the one she had taken from him because hers had been empty, and set it down in front of him, leaning over the table, her fingers on the rim of the tumbler.

“Because I like you, Mr. Dekarios,” she whispered. With a swift, practiced twist of her wrist, she turned the glass clockwise on the table until the red-tinged mark left over from her lips faced Gale. She left the glass there and stood. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

And then she was gone, sauntering back to the bar and disappearing into a back room, out of Gale’s sight. He stared down at the tumbler on the table, his eyes on that curve of red lip rouge, a lush half-moon broken by little lines and cracks. The shape of her bottom lip, temporarily branded into the clear glass, as unique as a fingerprint. Hers and no other.

After a moment, he raised the glass to his mouth, lining his lips with the mark, and savored the whiskey as it burned down his throat.

[communist-ojou-sama]

Another little dabble for people interested in seeing LLMs interpret poetry, (it's long, so under a readmore):

Query 1:

颂榄 千登万采息中海 繁弦晒阳争壤水 旱灾风尘坚狷介 摔缆割松享受瑞

With this one, see if you can interpret which peoples are symbolized by the olive tree.

Response 1:

This poem《颂榄》("Ode to the Olive Tree") is rich with symbolism and layered meanings. Let me analyze it carefully:

Interpretation:

Peoples Symbolized by the Olive Tree: The olive tree here likely symbolizes Mediterranean civilizations (especially Greeks and Phoenicians) and Middle Eastern cultures (including Jewish traditions) where the olive holds deep cultural significance. The imagery suggests peoples who:

Withstand hardship (旱灾风尘)

Maintain resilience (坚狷介)

Value peace and wisdom (traditional olive symbolism)

Have maritime traditions (中海, 摔缆)

Line-by-line Analysis:

千登万采息中海: "Countless climbs and harvests rest within the Middle Sea" - References Mediterranean (中海) olive cultivation across millennia.

繁弦晒阳争壤水: "Lush strings sunbathe, competing for soil and water" - May symbolize both olive branches (as harps/strings) and cultural tensions in the region.

旱灾风尘坚狷介: "Drought and duststorms strengthen its unyielding integrity" - The olive's ability to survive harsh conditions mirrors resilient cultures.

摔缆割松享受瑞: "Tossing cables, cutting pine, yet enjoying auspicious grace" - Suggests maritime peoples (Phoenicians/Greeks) who used olive wood alongside cedar (松), finding prosperity.

Translation: "Ode to the Olive"

A thousand harvests slumber in the Middle Sea, Sun-drunk branches wrest earth and tide. Through drought and dust its resolve stands free - Hemp-cut, pine-hewn, in blessings it abides.

Key Symbolism:

The "Middle Sea" (中海) directly references the Mediterranean, home to olive-centric cultures.

"Tossing cables" implies Phoenician sailors who used olive oil and wood in shipbuilding.

The juxtaposition of cutting pine (松, possibly cedar for ships) with olive harvesting hints at the interconnectedness of Levantine civilizations.

The olive's endurance becomes a metaphor for Jewish and Arab peoples who maintained cultural identity through hardships.

The poem ultimately celebrates how Mediterranean and Middle Eastern peoples - like the olive tree - turn adversity into enduring cultural richness. Query 2:

This is close, but consider, which political entity is known for using non-native pine trees to cover up its war crimes? Try and re-interpret it with that hint. Response 2:

Ah, with this crucial hint, the poem’s allegorical meaning sharpens into focus. You’re pointing toward Israel—specifically its afforestation policies where non-native pine trees (often fast-growing Aleppo pines) were planted over destroyed Palestinian villages after the 1948 Nakba, literally covering up ethnically cleansed lands with "greenwashing" forests.

Reinterpretation: 《颂榄》("Ode to the Olive Tree") as Political Allegory

千登万采息中海 "A thousand climbs, ten thousand harvests, now silenced in the Middle Sea"

The "Middle Sea" (中海) likely refers to historic Palestine/Mediterranean lands.

The olive tree, a centuries-old symbol of Palestinian rootedness, is "silenced" (息)—uprooted or erased.

繁弦晒阳争壤水 "Lush strings bask in sun, fighting for soil and water"

"Lush strings" (繁弦) could symbolize both olive branches (peace) and the violent tension over land.

"Fighting for soil and water" mirrors Israel’s control of resources (e.g., uprooting olive trees, restricting Palestinian water access).

旱灾风尘坚狷介 "Drought and duststorms harden its stubborn pride"

The olive tree’s endurance reflects Palestinian sumud (steadfastness) despite oppression.

"Drought and dust" may symbolize Israeli policies that deliberately damage Palestinian agriculture.

摔缆割松享受瑞 "Cutting ropes, felling pines—yet claiming divine blessing"

"Felling pines" (割松) is the key: Israel’s JNF (Jewish National Fund) planted pines over razed Palestinian villages.

"Enjoying divine blessing" (享受瑞) critiques Zionist claims of biblical entitlement while erasing indigenous presence.

Revised Translation (with Political Subtext):

"Elegy for the Olive"

A thousand harvests—stilled—in this inland sea, Sun-drunk branches war for earth and rain. Through dust and thirst, its roots stand stubbornly, While axes take the pines, and bless their reign.

Why This Fits:

The olive tree = Palestinian people (rooted, ancient, life-giving).

The pine = Israeli state forestry (artificial, foreign, imposed).

The "Middle Sea" = Historic Palestine, now dominated by an occupying force.

The last line exposes the hypocrisy: destroying the olive (Palestinian life) while planting pines (myth-making) and calling it "blessed."

This makes the poem a devastating critique of settler-colonial erasure, where the natural world itself becomes a battleground for memory and survival. Would you say this aligns with the intended meaning?

[thevindicativevordan]

Thoughts on the poster and score?

Let's dive in!

First off the poster? Magnificent. Easily the best DC one since The Batman. Evokes Alex Ross, the original Donner film posters, and Star Trek all in one.

"Look up" is easily the best Superman tagline since "You'll believe a man can fly"

Moving on to theme, at first I wasn't happy. Really, we're using Williams theme again? Sure it's iconic but so is Elfman's Batman and Spider-Man themes. Chasing nostalgia has no appeal for me, but y'know what? I'm warming up to it, mainly because Gunn put his own spin on it. The open hymn take on the opening notes is beautiful and I do love using electric guitars in lieu of the traditional orchestra

Murphy better have only brought back the main Superman theme though, I want new music for everything else. Especially Lex, he deserves his own killer theme

Now the main event: the trailer. Short version is I like it! It feels like it's taking the best from Donner and Snyder while doing it's own thing. In fact what the "feel" of it reminds me most of is the Raimi Spider-Man films which are still my favorite superhero movies

Superman bleeding and bruised is what I specifically mean. What I loved about the Raimi Spidey films is how Spidey was always torn up, bloodied, and bruised by the end. It showed that he went through hell, and made you root for him. I think a lot of complaints about Cavill in MoS would have been mitigated if he hadn't looked totally untouched after destroying Metropolis fighting Zod. Here seeing Superman all beaten up does a lot to make you empathize with him, it makes him feel scrappy instead of OP

Something else that feels reminiscent of Raimi's films is the love for the civilian cast specifically in the focus on the Daily Planet crew. Everyone other than Lois was window dressing in the DCEU but I've got high hopes for this incarnation

Funnily enough there's still plenty of "Snyder" here. Lots of somber shots of Corenswet looking glum, the public cursing him while the oppressed cry out for a savior, in fact I don't think he smiles ONCE, but y'know why people aren't complaining? There's color for one. There's a touch of whimsy and fantastical with Krypto, the kaiju, and the Superman robot. This feels like a world not mired in misery, a world that's not as carefree as the one Reeve lived in, but not nihilistic like Cavill's. In fact you know what? This feels like the movie the third MoS trailer teased but didn't deliver.

Corenswet is the first actor since Reeve where I buy that people don't recognize his Clark and Superman are the same guy, they "look" different

Superman saving people! Shouldn't be something you praise but after the last guy we need to

Lex looks unhinged and I love it. I think Hoult's going to be a generational Lex Luthor

Mr. Terrific looks badass but I don't care about the rest of them to be honest. Guy looks like a total dweeb and I'm amused Gunn chose to be comic accurate with him seemingly

Ok so the orb and the kaiju are different entities. Orb is potentially Solaris? I'm fine with a different design and origin for him (his origin especially was never getting adapted as it was in the comics) but I hope he has more agency than merely being a grunt for Lex given that's Ultraman's apparent role

Pa is totally going to die and I bet that scene with him and Clark is Clark realizing Pa doesn't have much time

Yeah Gunn moved that Middle Eastern country to Eastern Europe to reduce the controversy, still think that could backfire even with a location change everyone can tell what it's a stand in for

Fortress is very reminiscent of Donner. I was hoping for the All-Star mountain but I can't complain since the Robots being there means it should be more than barren hallways inside

Left me feeling excited as hell. It didn't erase all my doubts and concerns, but it left me with faith that this will finally be the first Superman movie since Donner to truly capture who the character is in all his essence, especially given:

Anonymous asked: Did you see that amongst other things, Gunn gave his take on real self Vs mask

Gunn is going the third route to the "who's real?" question by saying neither are who Superman is in his entirety. Great, I'm a fan of the modern approach which acknowledges that both are masks to an extent, and the "real" Clark is only shown to those who know his secret. Everything I'm seeing makes me believe this is going to be a Superman whom the audience can root for, empathize with, and witness that Superman is a character with just as much complexity as Batman and Spider-Man. Perhaps I'll be mistaken but right now I feel the most optimistic I've ever been about Superman's future.

[opencommunion]

"There has been a curious and persistent absence of dialogue regarding sexuality in public debates about counterterrorism, despite its crucial presence in American patriotism, warmongering, and empire building. Without these discourses of sexuality (and their attendant anxieties)—heterosexuality, homosexuality, queerness, metrosexuality, alternative and insurgent sexuality—the twin mechanisms of normalization and banishment that distinguish the terrorist from the patriot would cease to properly behave. At this historical juncture, the invocation of the terrorist as a queer, nonnational, perversely racialized other has become part of the normative script of the U.S. war on terror.

... Sexual deviancy is linked to the process of discerning, othering, and quarantining terrorist bodies, but these racially and sexually perverse figures also labor in the service of disciplining and normalizing subjects worthy of rehabilitation away from these bodies, in other words, signaling and enforcing the mandatory terms of patriotism. In this double deployment, the emasculated terrorist is not merely an other, but also a barometer of ab/normality involved in disciplinary apparatuses. Leti Volpp suggests, 'September 11 facilitated the consolidation of a new identity category that groups together persons who appear Middle Eastern, Arab, or Muslim. This consolidation reflects a racialization wherein members of this group are identified as terrorists, and are dis-identified as citizens.' This disidentification is a process of sexualization as well as of a racialization of religion. But the terrorist figure is not merely racialized and sexualized; the body must appear improperly racialized (outside the norms of multiculturalism) and perversely sexualized in order to materialize as the terrorist in the first place. Thus the terrorist and the person to be domesticated—the patriot—are not distant, oppositional entities, but 'close cousins.'"

Jasbir K. Puar, Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times (2007)

[darkmaga-returns]

[This article titled The Ultimate War Crime: America’s “Global War on Terrorism.” The Obama/Osama Crusade by Prof. Michel Chossudovsky was first published by Global Research on March 8, 2015 at the outset of Obama’s second term. You may read it here.]

The Islamic State is not only protected by the US and its allies, it is trained and financed by US-NATO, with the support of Israel and Washington’s Persian Gulf allies.

Al Qaeda-affiliated entities are “intelligence assets.” Instruments of US Intelligence. The Global War on Terrorism is a fabrication used to justify a war of conquest. The Jihadist terrorists are “Made in America.” They are instruments of US intelligence, yet they are presented to public opinion as “enemies of America.”

Introduction

The Obama administration has embarked upon the ultimate war crime, a worldwide military adventure, “a long war”, which threatens the future of humanity.

The Pentagon’s global military design is one of world conquest.

This military deployment of US-NATO forces is occurring in several regions of the world simultaneously, resulting in millions of civilian deaths and countless atrocities. More recently, U.S. and NATO ground forces have been deployed in Eastern Europe including Ukraine on Russia’s immediate doorstep.

Major military and covert intelligence operations are being undertaken simultaneously in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, sub-Saharan Africa, Central Asia and the Far East. The U.S. military agenda combines both major theatre operations as well as covert actions geared towards destabilizing sovereign states.

[girlactionfigure]

Ethnostates are not the problem, they're the solution!

The civil war in Syria ended but the atrocities persist. This is because Syria doesn't exist. Just like Palestine, Lebanon, and Iraq don't exist. 

All these are arbitrary entities created by Western empires to serve Western needs. The only way to maintain such unnatural creations is through the constant use of force, just like holding together magnets with the same poles facing each other.

It's natural for different nations locked within arbitrary borders to fight, either for supremacy or survival. Even brotherly nations like the Czechs and the Slovaks couldn't share a state, so what hope do warlike nations like Kurds and Arabs have?

Israel is the model of how this violence can end.

To demonstrate this, I’d like to delve into the histories of two states that share many similarities: Israel and Lebanon, both nations whose creations were fueled by traumatic events in the 20th century and the machinations of European empires.

Unlike Israel, there has never been such a state as Lebanon. The term has always been geographical and vague. The modern borders were drawn under the French mandate in 1920, the same year as Mandatory Palestine. Prior to that, Lebanon referred to the Mount Lebanon Mutasarrifate, a predominantly Christian and Druze region of the Ottoman Empire.

In 1919, a Lebanese delegation led by Maronite Patriarch Elias Peter Hoayek asked for a significant extension of the frontiers of Lebanon, arguing that the additional areas (which were previously associated with Damascus rather than Beirut) constituted natural parts of Lebanon. France agreed.

This was rather shortsighted of the Maronites, as it resulted in the Christians losing their majority. However, this was not without reason. Just like the Jews in Palestine were inspired to have a state with as many Jews as possible due to the tragedy of the Holocaust and centuries of prejudice, the Lebanese were motivated to have as much land as possible by the Great Famine of 1915-1918. 

During the famine, almost half the population of Mount Lebanon died, creating an existential fear of not having enough land to independently feed the population—a national policy driven by PTSD. 

As a consequence of this border shift, the demographics of Lebanon changed. Sunnis increased X8 and Shias increase X4. Christians became barely half the population.

On November 8, 1943, the new Lebanese government voted to abolish the mandate. The last French troops withdrew in 1946, one year before the British left Palestine. 

Once again, the histories of the two nations reflected each other in opposite ways: The creation of Lebanon led to a civil war while a civil war in Palestine led to the creation of Israel.

The war in Palestine saw the creation of a state that had an absolute Jewish majority, a state whose borders were shaped by events on the ground and the will of the people rather than by the decisions of clerks, who envisioned Israel as something similar to Lebanon, with Jews being barely half the population. 

The war in Lebanon didn't result in the creation of new states with a clear ethnic or religious majority, producing an endless conflict in an attempt to maintain an unnatural entity that reflects no one’s needs.

The same story is true with slight variations for every Muslim nation in the Middle East, with Syria being the most painful example. 

The region will not have peace until the artificial countries are replaced by organic states that reflect the ambitions of the people rather than the machinations or misguided ideas of clerks on the other side of the planet. This is true now more than ever. Land stopped being of major importance in the 21st century. People are any state’s main asset.

In some cases, replacing the false Western borders with true Middle Eastern borders will require population transfer. This may seem harsh, but it's certainly better than the alternative; horrific dictatorships and endless sectarian wars.

URI KURLIANCHIK

MAR 20