#So there’s no financial risk to me if I alienate them to the point of cutting me off. Not that I think that’s remotely likely.

[positivelyapunovexponent-good]

I am visiting extended family and experiencing a spectrum of shrimp emotions both positive and negative. Positive because I love them and love spending time with them. Negative for reasons I feel so self conscious about I can’t bring myself to explain them outside of the tags even in my anonymous personal blog. I can’t sleep even though I’m exhausted. every night I’m pacing from anxiety as I try to figure out which parts of me to be honest about and which to conceal for the sake of not? Deeply hurting the people I care about? Even though I haven’t done anything wrong so if they are hurt that’s not on me.

[gwemmieee]

Happy trans day of visibility. This is the first one I feel like I can really celebrate, because my life has finally started.

This year, having a real family that loves me unconditionally is new to me. Having a support network that puts effort into being there for me is new to me. Being able to meet other people like me in person and feel like we can all exist without fear is new to me, and amazing. Having a safe home where I can truly relax and stop feeling like I'm under attack by my family, by the world, by societal pressures, by lack of food/ housing security, etc., is new to me.

The fact is I didn't actually know what safety and love were until other people showed me. Despite a lifetime of obsessively studying it and trying to show it to others. It just doesn't sink in until you experience it firsthand.

2 years and 2 months ago I made the decision to stop suppressing who I really am. 2 years ago I made the decision to not unalive myself in the hospital after an accident resulting in permanent disability. 1 year ago I made the decision to leave the only home I'd known and the only family I'd known to go try to build a brand new life with brand new people in a brand new place. A few months ago I made the decision to stop turning all of the world's pressures inward on myself and finally allow myself to breathe. For my whole life, I've only ever made the healthiest choices available to me at the time. But these specific choices were the best decisions I ever made.

After 29 years of learning and knowing nothing but how I can best survive in the toxic masculine, misogynistic, transphobic, ableist, cruel, unfeeling, and downright predatory environment that I used to call home, how to survive when all of the closest people to me only value my usefulness to them and not my humanity, in 2024, I'm finally starting to learn how to do anything else. How to be anyone else. How to be myself.

Now, I get to start actually growing up and becoming who I've always wanted to be. And it feels amazing.

But it's not all amazing and good feelings all the time. 3 decades of trauma and a fascist colonialist capitalist state don't just go away.

Seattle is the safest place I've ever heard of for our people, and it's amazing how much better it is than anywhere else, but the overall treatment we get from society is still far below the bare minimum that less marginalized folks take for granted.

I still don't feel safe being outside by myself and carry pepper spray everywhere. I still feel alienated and unwelcome among my own people half the time simply because most people don't handle trauma very well. I still am objectively just one big financial hardship away from homelessness. I still am too burdened by trauma and stress and disability to actually work a full time schedule for all 12 months in a year, and working such a schedule at all still comes with severe mental and physical health risks, and there is simply not enough support from society to change that right now, but I'm having to make it happen anyway if I want to stay housed and fed.

I'm at the point now where for a few days out of the week on average, I get to actually feel happy and healthy on the level that most people take for granted. And it's amazing. But like clockwork, every time I feel that great for a few days, I inevitably have nightmares followed by a slow and heavy morning in which I just can't stop thinking about my past trauma. I'm trying to learn how to channel it better so that I can at least feel OK about times like these. Someday I want to be an accomplished author, musician, etc., but right now I'm only just learning from scratch how to begin to communicate my darkness in ways that are comprehended and healthy. With stuff like this tumblr post.

Ultimately, I think I'll be OK, but only because the people who can help me choose to help me, and I still need so much more help.

But most of all, I want you to have a specific takeaway from reading this. This might be starting to change now, but throughout my life, most of the people who got to know me enough to perceive all my scars, all the flaws and ignorances and miscommunications that still plagued my behavior at that time, would cut and run. They would make assumptions about me as a person and decide that they no longer wanted to have anywhere near as close a relationship with me. And without actually communicating a word of any of that, they would instead just flip that switch where they think of me as a person to the off position, and they would ghost me.

And I get it. I ghost people too. I stop giving eye contact to strangers on the street who gave me bad vibes. I cut people out of my life when they've knowingly crossed clear boundaries that I defined because I needed those boundaries respected to feel safe. These are safe and healthy things to do. I personally have seen most of the old friends from my old life that I still had, exit my life now in the past half year, simply because I put my foot down on boundaries I needed and they decided they liked their fictional version of me who didn't have such boundaries better than the real me.

But one thing I have never done and never will do, is get so close to someone that we start opening up to each other on some level, and then run away without a single attempt to clearly communicate boundaries and give them a chance to be better.

That shit is why I took so long to figure out what I was missing in my life. When you do that to someone, you leave them with every reason to suspect they've done something wrong, but no information to figure out exactly what it is they did that was wrong. So they start filling in the blanks with their own biases and misconceptions. Oh, I guess I scared her off by being too weird because I'm so autistic and effeminate. Oh, I guess he hates me now because I was too emotional. Oh, I guess they stopped inviting me to parties because of how annoying I am when I start talking about a subject I'm passionate about. Oh, I guess they're all doing better than me because they're better than me at just getting over all of these insecurities and being more charming and interesting, and that's why they're finally getting to marry someone who really loves them and have their happily ever after.

It's much worse when you're also brainwashed by your abusive family to think their conditional acceptance and inconsistent episodes of intolerance or hypocrisy are all normal healthy family behaviors. You start internalizing everything about you that they've ever disapproved of. You start burying everything about yourself that nobody has been brave enough to love, which in my case was everything about myself, period.

This becomes a source of trauma. It is literally a trauma trigger for me now every time someone who I've been given reason to think would likely understand me and want to get to know me, doesn't. It's the worst kind of trauma trigger, because just like when an edgy comedian singles you out for your marginalized identity, I do not get a chance to have any dialogue with the person who triggered me about how they hurt me and why, and if I don't have real love and support from others in my life, then the whole experience teaches me to be more selective and hypervigilant with who I let myself hope might treat me like a full person and how much of myself I let myself express outwardly. This is what it is to have abandonment issues and RSD.

And it is hard to go on living like this even after my happy ending. Yes, I have real family now. Yes, I have a support network and real access to my community now. But for the rest of my life, I will always be cursed with a harsh truth about the world. I will always intensely identify with a category of people who more often than not will hurt me given the chance. Because at the end of the day, most people are awful at handling their trauma in healthy ways without hurting others, and marginalization only makes you more likely to have more trauma that makes you more harmful. Marginalization raises the bar you have to cross in order to survive and have a positive impact on the world, based on how kind a person you are. It lowers your chances of ultimately being a good person. That's the biggest reason why marginalization needs to end.

I am fundamentally an amazing person. I'm tied with a few others as the most patient, kind, inviting, understanding, and compassionate person I know. But it doesn't always look that way to other people. I've spent so much time in hell that I have rough edges that I never asked for, that I wound never have had if it was up to me, that are a direct result of abuse and trauma. But sometimes, when people see those rough edges, and they can't fathom on their own that I have just been through that much hell that I internalized some of it, they choose to make assumptions and leave. And it's their loss, because if they'd stuck around then they might have noticed that my natural state is to bend over backwards to help someone else feel comfortable. I truly love learning new lessons about how to help people feel more comfortable and I'm really good at learning them quickly and permanently adjusting my behavior. And they miss out on all of that because they weren't willing to even try. But before now, it was my loss too. The primary reason I took 27 years to figure out my gender, 28 years to figure out my family was always going to be abusive, and 29 years to figure out that I can escape all of that and be happy, is because it simply took that long for less than a dozen wonderful people to find me and actually give me a chance.

And again, I get it. This shit can be scary. If you're seriously considering ghosting someone without communicating first, then I'm willing to bet they hurt you or scared you so much that you're struggling to empathize with them as a person. That's why it's so easy not to think about what ghosting them might do to them. I have had so many moments where I was so afraid of communicating with that person that I was shaking from fear and belaboring over it for hours. And let me be clear, nobody should ever have to feel that way. If a situation like that is scaring you that much, please consider your own safety first. But that doesn't mean you have to ghost them. These kinds of situations are exactly why we've invented practices like mediation and setting boundaries. These are fair and rational ways to come to an understanding when we're so scared that empathy isn't enough. Take a break from thinking about it, if you have to. Nobody needs to hear from you immediately. There is nothing wrong with taking some time to ground yourself and separate yourself from that situation until you can come back to it from better place. Just remember that if you've made them feel like you're a friend they can trust, then you owe it to them not to break that trust. All you have to do is communicate clear boundaries one time, and then if they keep being awful, then they've broken your trust and it's fair to ghost them.

So please, be safe, and set boundaries, but also, please communicate those boundaries and give others a chance. There are so few of us out there who are kind enough to respect every clear and fair boundary we know of, and every single one of us has very little hope of survival until someone else like us gives us a chance. There are too few of us. We are too valuable. Please lift a finger to help each other.

This, I think, is the biggest lesson that everybody needs to learn next if the world is going to become safer for us anytime soon. Happy trans day of visibility!

[cerebraldischarge]

“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” - Terry Pratchett

My right ear is still a little wonky from the loop-de-loop I did around the Catholic bits of the Second World - the doubly traumatized bits, if you will. But I don’t wanna talk about trauma again, lest I risk sounding thoroughly bromidic. But how about blue milk?

I know, it’s a Star Wars gimmick. But in the center of Warsaw, behind a towering hotel that’s so expensive it made me turn my tail and run, there’s a little place that’s simply called “the place to drink beer and vodka”, according to what Google told me about the blue neon sign above the door. (Straight and to the point, I guess.) It gave refuge to me when I was forlorn, my phone was dying and I was thirstier than a 50-year-old virgin looking at OnlyFans pages. Here, blue milk consists of: milk (obviously), white rum, and curacao liqueur, and it’s absolutely ambrosial.

Oh, that bit about being desperate. Yeah… I wandered out of my comfort zone a little too much this weekend. I’ve been to foreign places before, but written Dutch is easily decipherable if you have some idea of English, German, and how they are related to one another, so at least I could read the signs there; and even in the beach town in Croatia I could rely on finding someone who spoke at least rudimentary English when I got confused. I even liked to strike up some conversation with the Bolt drivers I hailed for succor. One of them - a handsome bald lad - told me that his best friend hung himself due to financial difficulties and that’s why he’s studying finance at university now. Another - an older gentleman - urged me to start going to church again and confess my sins. He just assumed I was raised Catholic by default - which I sort of was, but it’s not as much of a given for me as it would be down there. It was a charming interaction, albeit a little awkward - as it always is when religion comes up. My tattooist was also an older gentleman there, in Zadar’s medieval old town center, and we chatted throughout the 20-minute procedure, mostly about his interesting and very ocean-connected life. I also talked a bit with the cashier at a sex shop. (For some reason, I always end up going to these to ask for directions. Not even kidding, it happened in Munich and Berlin.)

All of that, and I mean all of it, went out of the window in Poland. Two people - the guy who made me blue milk and the hostel receptionist - understood me. The rest of them inexplicably assumed that if they talk louder in Polish, I’ll get it eventually. In the Vietnamese restaurant, I could rely on the good old “point at your order” method; in the grocery store I did not say a word, just like at home - by the way, some of their dried meat products are freaking phenomenal. As far as getting around goes, I glued my eyes to the little blue dot that was representing me, and relied on automatic functions as much as possible. Truth be told, I couldn’t read a damn thing on the streets, nor could I make heads or tails out of what was said to me, and this was utterly disorienting. It’s not like I let it stop me, but holy mackerel, it did put some things into perspective. So this is what my father experienced when he overheard me on a Zoom call (with the additional weirdness of his own offspring slowly becoming a foreigner to him, no doubt). So this is what all monolingual people go through when they get out of their little cultural bubble - or nonverbal autistic people every day, for that matter. This is the scary part I’ve been hearing about!

This gets us back to where we started - or rather, why I started: why I opened Skyscanner, completely sober this time, and clicked some buttons in the first place. Because I was bored. Because I had enough of my room and my antisemitic ancient aliens conspiracy theorist landlord and my corrupt leaders and my own little environment, and wanted something new. Well, I got it. This morning, I couldn’t wait to get back to the bitch cave. I had enough of being confused, hearing unrecognizable words, feeling alone, and all that. I did get some seriously cool cemetery photos out of it, and I met some cats, and I got closer to a bunch of squirrels than I ever dared to surmise, and I shot some guns again (http://pmshooter.pl if any of you happens to show up the area; being Easterners, don’t expect the staff to be overly friendly, but they are definitely professional and you can actually get some limited full-auto time in, unlike in my corner of the woods) - I even got a fancy bracelet made of the bottoms of .357 Magnum rounds, so I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it or it wasn’t worth it, but by the gods, I was bone-weary by the time it was over.

Oh, and the beach part? I wish I could have stayed longer (I tried to ask for 3 nights but they only had vacancy for 2), but perhaps I got precisely what I went for. Namely, a moment of what felt like absolute clarity - something my skeptical, prying, curious, contrarian mind rarely allows to happen. Swimming in the ocean at sunset, I felt something enigmatic and numinous. First of all, I was no longer uncomfortable in my body. The ever-present itches, aches, stickiness, clumsiness dissolved in the water, and I was just frolicking around like a child. (Perhaps this is why I loved swimming so much as an actual child: it freed me from being a sensitive-skinned, gravity-bound klutz.) Then the waves started throwing me around like a wine cork. A thought occurred to me: This is the real world, the stuff that exists independently of humanity - and by dying, I’m not leaving it behind, I’m becoming a part of it. With this came a neoteric lightness, a beatific state devoid of wonted anxieties. I was having the time of my life bobbing up and down, half willingly, half out of control - and I accidentally drank a sip of the salty water. Another thought occurred to me: Sodium nitrite is going to taste something like this, I’ve been told. So I shouldn’t be scared of it. Yeah, it’s not my original favorite, but… At that moment, I felt like I could completely trust it and shouldn’t be afraid of failure. What’s more, this happened on Thursday evening - that is, the 17th, which is my lucky number and the start of the last month countdown to the first anniversary of my father’s death (and likely my final day, unless something else happens - I dare not to make promises anymore, for as my dear father used to say: “Man plans, and god…dammit, there’s always something in the way”). I’m not one for magical thinking, but this coincidence pleases me greatly. If I was into the pervasive mysticism of our age, I’d take it as a sign - as the universe trying to reassure me that I’m on the right track. As it is, I take everything with a grain of salt. But this experience definitely put me more at ease with my circumstances, including the one that has been a thorn in my side for as long as I can recall: the conspiracy between my ineptitude regarding illicit activities and the bureaucratic paranoia of all the governments I’ve seen so far, which results in the vexatious fact that I still don’t possess a firearm and in all likelihood never will. Before you ask - yes, I did ask around for leftovers from the 1990s while I was in Croatia, but all I got was apologetic smiles and something along the lines of “I don’t know about that” every single time. Whether that answer was honest or not, I couldn’t discern. Perhaps someone with more time, better people skills, and more knowledge of the local language could conduct a more fruitful expedition.

My budget suffered greatly, but I grew as a person. The end becomes clearer and clearer, and I’m present for the grand finale.

[teasdays]

Alright, hold up: this is ALL REAL AND TRUE !! 100%

That being said, artists often benefit from appealing to leftist audiences. People who CLAIM to respect women may very well be lying. This is a normal & acceptable risk btw when it comes to large-scale artists who we do not know & never will. They are strangers to us: that's how it goes.

With the ever-growing emphasis on social media, all artists--musicians, authors, actors, etc. --have strong incentive to maintain a big online following, which often means appealing to left-wing youth (we're a really big audience!). It's increasingly common for companies to include social media presence as a requirement in contracts, because social media can make or break an artist's success.

So that being said, if an artist's politics ARE important to you, there are certain indicators which can be useful to watch out for ! Here are a few things that stand out to me:

It IS wise to pay attention to the communities in which these artists circulate. Do they work closely with many women, queer people, racialised people? I don't mean 1-2 examples, I mean relative to their whole community. If almost all of their buddies are white men for example, that's... usually telling.

If they talk politics, what do they talk about? Do you know if they take action? If they talk about supporting the working class, or tenants, or migrants, etc., do they sound knowledgeable? Or do they just make sweeping, vague statements (e.g. "fuck racists") ?

It's actually very useful to know YOUR rights, responsibilities, and recourse--as tenants, as workers, at protests, etc. <3 not only will this serve you well in life, it can ALSO help to identify people who DON'T know what they're talking about.

Artistic content: yes, yeah, this is a tough one lol. PLENTY of people write about things they're morally opposed to. This is A GOOD THING. My personal guideline? If someone Keeps On Repeating that they're a bad person, they're shitty, they treat people poorly, other people dislike and distrust them (especially if they seem to be Consistently self-pitying OR self-congratulatory): at a certain point, it's wise to consider why they keep saying this. (this goes for real people too btw)

Consider their financial position, and how their online politics influence their income. Are they willing to make controversial statements, alienating their colleagues or members of the audience, in support of a cause they believe in? Or do they only stick to "safe," uncontroversial topics? Do they seem like they would be WILLING to rock the boat?

These are just a few considerations to keep in mind! I do NOT want to suggest that y'all should worry about the politics of every artist you ever engage with--that would be exhausting, if nothing else. But if you're really invested, and you DO care about how genuine their politics are... I hope this can be a helpful guideline <3

I hate when an artist gets exposed for being a bad person and people start the narrative “why would you even want to listen to their shitty music” when are we going to be freed from the idea that only good people create good art and bad people create bad art. It just makes it harder for these types of people to be exposed because now you got people thinking “how is this possible, his music is so good!”

[therealvinelle]

Do you think sulpicia actually loves aro?? Or just knows that if she even thinks a bad thought about him he would probably kill her

My thoughts on their marriage.

I think Aro found the perfect woman for him, and... I think this song puts it better than I could. When you've shared your life with another person, love grows.

As it is, Aro was looking for a woman who'd be with him forever, in a life where she would not be stuck with him the way a mortal woman would be. There would be no children tying her down, no financial dependency, no society making it impossible for her to divorce him. Remember, this was before Corin, Chelsea, Demetri, or any gifted guards, Aro only had himself as a reason why she should stay, or her leaving would be as simple as her leaving.

I'm at risk of repeating what I said in the post linked above, so I'll just say that I think Aro chose someone harmonious and who would stand by his side. What part love played from there is anybody's guess (I for one will point enthusiastically to "Do You Love Me?").

And it must be said, with a gift like his Aro must hear terrible thoughts about himself all the time, even from the people near him. He sees all of their unfiltered opinions and impulses about him, just as he sees all their unfiltered opinions and impulses about each other. No one is 100% positive about another person, if they do (COUGH Edward and Bella(and even they have their problems!)) then that's a red flag for their relationship.

In other words, if Aro judged people by idle thoughts or silent opinions, then he wouldn't be able to be around anybody. Nobody would be able to trust him, either, and the very exercise of trying to think positive Aro thoughts only would alienate them from him.

I imagine Sulpicia, being his wife, knows this perfectly well, so if she has a bad thought about him then she had a bad thought about him. He probably does her too. It happens.

[wisdomrays]

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Are Muslims Guilty of Imperialism?

This charge continues to be leveled against the Muslim world. I would like to counter it by asking the following questions:

Given the existing circumstances of 1,400 years ago, how would any one living in Makka or Madina go about exploiting his own clan and tribe? If the supposedly exploited lands and people were those of the Hijaz, which were poor, unfruitful, and barren, who would have wished to invade or exploit them? It is ludicrous to level the charge of imperialist colonialism against the most noble-minded Muslims, who risked their lives to spread the message of Islam; who spent the greater part of their lives far from their children, families, homes, and native lands fighting armies ten or twenty times their size; and who felt deeply grieved when they did not die on the battlefield and join the earlier martyrs for Islam. We ask ourselves what worldly gain they obtained in return for such struggle, deprivation, and sacrifice!

Those who invaded, occupied, and exploited others with the worst intentions (and results) of imperialism are power-hungry individuals or nations. To mention a few: Alexander the "Great" and Napoleon, the Roman empire and Nazi Germany, the Mongol armies unleashed by Genghis Khan and the colonizing armies unleashed by western Europe, Russian dictatorship (whether czarist or communist) and the American empire (whether "manifest destiny" or "making the world safe for democracy"). Wherever such conquests came and went, they corrupted the morality of the conquerors and the conquered, causing chaos, conflict, tears, bloodshed, and devastation. Today their heirs, like bold thieves who bluff property owners to conceal their theft of that very property, turn to besmirching Islam, its Prophet, and his Companions.

True Muslims have never sought to exploit others. Nor have they let others do so where Muslim government had jurisdiction. At a time when Muslim armies were running from triumph to triumph, Caliph 'Umar said: "What befits me is to live at the level of the poorest Muslims," and he really did so. As he took only a few olives a day for his own sustenance, who was he exploiting?

After one battle, when a Muslim was asked to take the belongings of an enemy soldier whom he had fought and killed, he said: "I did not participate in the battle to take spoils." Pointing to his throat, he continued: "What I seek is an arrow here and to fall as a martyr." (His wish was granted.) While burning with the desire for martyrdom, who was he exploiting?

In another battle, a Muslim soldier fought and killed a leading enemy who had killed many Muslims. The Muslim commander saw him pass by his dead enemy. The commander went to the head of the dead soldier and asked who had killed him. The Muslim did not want to reply, but the commander called him back in the name of God. The Muslim felt himself obliged to do so, but concealed his face with a piece of cloth. The following conversation took place:

-Did you kill him for the sake of God?

-Yes.

-All right. But take this 1,000 dinar piece.

-But I did it for the sake of God!

-What is your name?

-What is my name to you? Perhaps you will tell this to everyone and cause me to lose the reward for this in the afterlife.

How could such people exploit others and establish colonies all over the world? To speak frankly, those who hate Islam and Muslims are blind to the historical truth of how Islam spread.

Let's look at what exploitation and imperialism are. Imperialism or colonization is a system of rule by which a rich and a powerful country controls other countries, their trade and policies, to enrich itself and gain more power at the other's expense. There are many kinds of exploitation. In today's world, they may take the following forms:

• Absolute sovereignty by dispossessing indigenous people in order to establish the invader's direct rule and sovereignty. Examples are western Europe's conquest of North and South America, as well as Australia and New Zealand, as well as the Zionists' conquest of Palestine.

• Military occupation so that the invaders can control the conquered nation's land and resources. One example is British colonial rule in India.

• Open or secret interference and intervention in a country's internal and foreign affairs, economy, and defense. Examples are those Third World countries who are manipulated and controlled by various developed countries.

• The transfer of intellectuals, which is currently the most common and dangerous type of imperialism. Young, intelligent, and gifted people of the countries to be exploited are chosen, given stipends, and educated abroad. There they are introduced to and made members of different groups. When they return to their country, they are given influential administrative and other posts so that they can influence their country's destiny. When native or foreign people linked to exploiters abroad are placed in crucial positions in the state mechanism, the country is conquered from inside. This immensely successful technique has enabled Western imperialists to achieve many of their goals smoothly and without overtly rousing the enmity of the people they wish to subjugate. Today, the Muslim world is caught in this trap and thus continues to suffer exploitation and abuse.

Whatever kind of imperialism they are subjected to, countries suffer a number of consequences:

• Various methods of assimilation alienate people from their own values, culture, and history. As a result, they suffer crises of identity and purpose, do not know their own past, and cannot freely imagine their own future.

• Any enthusiasm, effort, and zeal to support and develop their country is quenched. Industry is rendered dependent upon the (former) imperial masters, science and knowledge are not allowed to become productive and primary, and imitation is established firmly so that freedom of study and new research will gain no foothold.

• People remain in limbo, totally dependent upon foreigners. They are silenced and deluded by such empty phrases as progress, Westernization, civilization, and the like.

• All state institutions are penetrated by foreign aid, which is in reality no more than massive financial and cultural debt. Imports, exports, and development are wholly controlled by or conducted according to the exploiter's interests.

• While no effort is spared to keep the masses in poverty, the ruling classes become used to extravagant spending and luxury. The resulting communal dissatisfaction causes people to fight with each other, making them even more vulnerable to outside influence and intervention.

• Mental and spiritual activity is stifled, and so educational institutions tend to imitate foreign ways, ideas, and subjects. Industry is reduced to assembling prefabricated parts. The army tends to become a dumping ground for imperialist countries, for its purchases of expensive hardware ensure the continued well-being of the latter's industries.

We wonder if it is really rational to liken the Islamic conquest to imperialism, which brought disastrous consequences wherever it went.

The victory of Muslim armies never caused a great exodus of people from their homes and countries, nor has it prevented people from working by putting chains on their hands and feet. Muslims left the indigenous people free to follow their own way and beliefs, and protected them in exactly the same way it protected Muslims. Muslim governors and rulers were loved and respected for their justice and integrity. Equality, peace, and security were established between different communities.

If it had been otherwise, would the Christians of Damascus have gathered in their church and prayed for a Muslim victory against Christian Byzantium, which was seeking to regain control of the city? If Muslims had not been so respectful of non-Muslims' rights, could they have maintained security for centuries in a state so vast that it took more than 6 months to travel from one end to another?

One cannot help but admire those Muslim rulers and the dynamic energy that made them so, when we compare them to present-day rulers. Despite every modern means of transportation, telecommunications, and military back-up, they cannot maintain peace and security in even a small area of land.

Today, many scholars and intellectuals who realize the value of Islam's dynamics, which brought about Islam's global sovereignty and which will form the basis of our eternal existence in the Hereafter, expressly tell us that Muslims should reconsider and regain them. While conquering lands, the Muslims also were conquering their inhabitants' hearts. They were received with love, respect, and obedience. No people who accepted Islam ever complained that they were culturally prevented or ruined by the arrival of Muslims. The contrast with the reality of Christian Europe's conquests is stark and obvious.

Early Muslims evaluated the potential of knowledge and art in the conquered lands. They prepared and provided every opportunity for local scholars and scientists to pursue their work. Regardless of their religion, Muslims held the people in high regard and honored them in the community. They never did what the descendants of the British colonialists in America did to the American Indians or in Australia to the Aborigines, the French to the Algerians, or the Dutch to the Indonesians. On the contrary, they treated the conquered people as if they were from their own people and religion, as if they were brothers and sisters.

Caliph 'Umar once told a Coptic Egyptian who had been beaten by a Makkan noble to beat him just as he had been beaten. When 'Umar heard that 'Amr ibn al-'As had hurt the feelings of a native Egyptian, he rebuked him: "Human beings were born free. Why do you enslave them?" As he went to receive the keys to Masjid al-Aqsa, 'Umar visited and talked to priests in different churches in Palestine. Once he was in a church when it was time to pray. The priest repeatedly asked him to pray inside the church, but 'Umar refused, saying: "You may be harassed by other Christians later on because you let me pray in the church." He left the church's premises and prayed outside on the ground.

These are but a few examples to indicate how Muslims were sensitive, tolerant, just, and humane toward other people. Such an attitude of genuine tolerance has not been reached by any other people or society.

[joinsideke]

Oh, I always respond in good faith. (Except when I don’t, but I don’t write paragraphs when I’m fucking with someone.)

The hyperbole is annoying and potentially harmful. I see it all too much in pro-choice circles, going on about how pregnancy is torture and will ruin your body or kill you and the baby is just a parasite, etc, etc. The way these people talk, you’d think the baby bursts outta the mother’s chest like that scene in Alien. You’re just scaring girls and young women who might not know better. Yes, pregnancy can be unpleasant, and yes there can be risks, but it’s also something female bodies are literally built for, not some kind of eldritch curse that takes over and warps us.

And speaking of good faith, you’re ascribing too much to women who “baby trap.” There are absolutely women who will get pregnant for the money. Nine months is nothing if they can get a free ride for eighteen years, maybe more if they’re lucky. Sure, there are some who also want a baby, but it’s just as likely that they don’t give two shits about it. Sometimes people are just bad people, and you going “but--” is trying to lessen that. Maybe you can’t imagine it because it’s so incongruous to your own morals, but that doesn’t mean it never happens.

Moving on, I don’t really care about the stuff about making allies with feminists. My personal experience with feminists and what I’ve seen from them just tells me it will accomplish nothing. Hell, most of them will actively work to keep the law from being more accommodating to men. (See Sir above.)

I’m more interested addressing your double standard. You’re putting all the responsibility of sex on men, saying they have to accept the risks of a pregnancy. Why not women as well? There would be no issue of bodily autonomy if they didn’t get pregnant. Assuming the sex is consensual, then they are also aware and accepting of the risks, are they not? Both the man and the woman are making a choice. A baby doesn’t just pop into a women’s womb outta nowhere, she played a part in making that happen.

This also makes the argument of bodily autonomy a tricky one. What about the baby’s autonomy? They didn’t “opt in” to being conceived. It’s not really comparable to organ donation either. The mother’s organs are not being taken from her, they’re being shared with the baby that her body created. She, along with the father, put it there. No one else did, and the baby did not have any control over it. It’s not the same as someone stealing your kidney.

I think a point could also be made about the father’s bodily autonomy, in that he has to use his body for labor in order to provide for the child financially. If that’s the way you wanna go. But my main point is that if the woman can opt out via abortion, then the man should able to opt out via custody and child support. Even if the woman does have the baby, she can still opt out via adoption and isn’t on the hook for child support for that either.

For the record, I’m not entirely against abortion. I also believe that, ideally, men and women should take responsibility for the children they do have, accident or not. But I believe things needs to be consistent and fair overall. A man should not be able to force a woman to carry a child she doesn’t want. Likewise, a woman should not be able to force a man to pay for a child he doesn’t want. You saying “having kids is scary and expensive, but you knew the risks when you had sex, so deal with it” and only applying it to men is just wild.

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part One

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: I’ve written a decent portion of this but know I won’t keep writing it or post it unless I hold myself accountable and get it out there in the first place 🙈 I haven’t written much for Marvel yet but I’ve read plenty and have written for other fandoms in the past (not to mention the writing degree on my wall lol). I’ll try to post every 2-3 days to keep this moving! And if you like it and want to, buy me a coffee!

No one knew Tony Stark had a daughter. No one but Tony Stark and his daughter. Well, and her step-mom Pepper. And her godfather Rhodey. And her uncle-not-uncle Happy. But no one in their everyday lives knew. She was given her mother’s maiden name and kept a secret, even when she turned 17 and moved to a small apartment near NYU’s campus (with Happy stationed right next door, of course) to start life as a truly normal adult, or as close to normal as an undercover Stark could be. When she graduated with her PhDs in robotics and electrical engineering at 25 — proving brains really do run in the family — she moved into her own apartment in Manhattan, funded by her father under the pseudonym “Michael Myers.” Subtlety was never his strong suit.

Fortunately for you, growing up without the Stark name let you live a relatively normal life. It also allowed you to apply for a position within Stark Industries without being ushered past any red tape because of who your father is. Outside of the financial advantage you had, you worked for your spot in a STEM career. You suffered through every man in your field belittling your work despite knowing less than you. You dealt with the constant interruptions and “well, actually” because of your gender. You powered through late nights and early mornings when your mind was flowing too smoothly to quit.

The last thing you wanted to do was have all that work disregarded because you shared a name with genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. So you filled out the application, sent in your resume and cover letter, and attached three letters of recommendation from your professors. You went through hours of interviews, background checks (conveniently redacting your father’s name), and polygraph tests until that offer letter showed up in your email. You even had to sign the Non-Disclosure Agreements that would bar you from discussing *anything* work-related with anyone outside of your department.

You spent your first year in the weapons analysis department, evaluating alien weaponry and determining how it worked and how to disable it. You had your fair share of mishaps, of course. Holes blasted into walls, fried robot dummies, even burnt animal carcasses. By the end of your first year, your supervisor sent a commendation and proposal for you for an undisclosed promotion. After Pepper Potts “thoroughly examined your resume, cover letter, and accomplishments during your tenure with Stark Industries,” as the letter read, you were awarded a position working on the Avengers’ weapons as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist. You’d never see a fight in-person, but you were assigned to work on advancements and post-battle repairs for everyone, from the Winter Soldier’s arm to the Falcon’s wings to Vision’s... everything. The only heroes you wouldn’t work on were Iron Man and War Machine (those were your dad’s territory) and Spider-Man.

On your first day in your new position, the one and only Pepper Potts showed you to your new lab on the 47th floor. It took all your willpower to look your step-mother in the eye and say, “Wow, Miss Potts. This is amazing. It’s such an honor to meet you,” with a straight face to convince any passerby that you had no outside affiliation with her. Even if her eyes stayed steady on you, you could see her mentally rolling them.

Once you were alone behind the doors of the elevator, conversation changed course.

“You’re going to be sharing a lab with someone else,” Pepper said.

“Sweet. As long as they’re competent, that’s fine by me,” you shrugged. Part of earning your degrees was learning to share a workspace with others, even those who bumbled and fumbled with no idea what they were doing. You’d had more hair singed by nearby explosions than you’d like to admit.

“He’s still in college so he’s not here as often as the others. Most of his work will be on Spider-Man’s gadgets and suit, but you can use him for any help you need.”

Walking past the familiar faces of Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho in their respective labs, Pepper ushered you into your lab, where you were met by your father and put on the same excited facade you did with Pepper.

“Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark! This is incredible! It’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”

He shook his head at you and reluctantly accepted your outstretched hand. Oh, the jokes you’d be making at family dinners.

“Yeah, anyway, this is your new lab, Miss [Y/L/N]. Make yourself at home. This lab rat over here is mister Parker. If you have any questions, he can at least bullshit an answer for you.”

The young man on the other side of the lab perked up at the sound of his name. He tugged the goggles off his face and set down his soldering rod to rush over to you.

“Hi. Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s nice to meet you, lab partner.”

He looked to be a bit younger than you and at least relatively smart, if the MIT sweatshirt peeking out from under his lab coat said anything. If your dad gave him an internship like this, you knew you shouldn’t question it. He had to be a genius.

The kid just smiled at you, continuing to shake your hand past what most would deem socially acceptable.

“Okay, enough of that,” Tony said, pushing on your joined hands to separate you two. “Mister Parker might be in and out of the lab from time to time. He joins the Avengers on the occasional recon mission for immediate repairs but since he’s on break from classes, you’ll see him more often than not. Play nice.”

When he noticed you surreptitiously looking Peter up and down, he added, “Remember, no fraternizing with coworkers.” He pointed a finger directly at you before he spun and pointed to your fellow lab mate, realizing he should warn Peter too to save face.

“All the blueprints you need for the Tin Man’s arm are in the system. We’ll have you start on that and see what you can do about minimizing the sound that thing makes. Any other questions, give Pep a call.”

“Thank you, mister Stark. I really do appreciate everything,” you said genuinely.

“Yeah, well… don’t let me down,” he replied, patting you on the shoulder on his way out. Pepper followed close behind, leaving you alone with Peter Parker.

“So Peter,” you started, sliding onto the lab chair next to where he remained standing, “tell me about yourself.”

“Uh… what do you want to know?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“How old are you?” you asked immediately.

“I’m 21.”

Only four years younger than you. So you’d probably get along just fine.

“I assume you’re at MIT?” He nodded. “What are you studying?”

“Biomolecular and mechanical engineering.” He said it so casually, you’d think he was talking about the last song he heard on the radio.

“Damn,” you responded, eyes wide. “I thought robotics and electrical engineering was wild but fuck, that sounds like hell.”

He laughed and nodded, letting a bit of the tension in his shoulders fall. “Yeah, it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

He shot you a small smile before gesturing back at his project. “I should probably get back to work and let you get started.”

For the rest of the day, you familiarized yourself with the Winter Soldier’s arm to figure out how to… turn the volume down? You assumed it was the gears inside causing the noise, but part of you wanted to outfit an audio jack and speaker just to fuck with your dad.

You and Peter worked in relative silence, aside from the playlist he had quietly playing through the lab sound system. When lunch rolled around, however, you finally spoke up.

“Hey Peter,” you called, his eyes flicking from the chemical beakers in front of him up to you. “First of all, what are you doing?”

“Um, it’s Spider-Man’s web fluid. Just trying to find more durable combinations.”

“Interesting.” As much as you wanted to touch the stringy substance, you knew better than to fiddle with someone else’s lab work. “Okay so second thing, in my last position, I’d just order food and have it brought to my floor but now that I’m on an exclusive floor, what do you do for lunch?”

“Oh, there are a couple security guys who have clearance to come into this floor. They just can’t get into any rooms so you’d have to meet them at the elevator. But I usually find something in the kitchen down the hall.”

“Oh, sweet. Thanks!” you said as you made your way out the door. Before you could fully exit, you turned back to see if Peter wanted you to grab anything. Once he promised he’d take his own break ‘once I get this one thing figured out,’ you continued to make your way to the kitchen.

As you drew closer to the doorway, you could hear three voices speaking over each other. They didn’t sound angry, but they were definitely arguing. You opened the door anyway and almost immediately froze in your tracks. The Falcon stood with one hand on his own head and one on the Winter Soldier’s head while Captain America rolled his eyes before those same eyes landed on you, along with the rest of the room.

“Perfect,” Sam started. “Hey new girl, between the three of us,” he said, pointing to himself, the Soldier, and the Captain, “who has the best hair?”

“First of all, my name is [Y/N]. Second,” you continued, making your way past them to the fridge you hoped your dad kept stocked with goodies, “that’s an unfair question.”

You grabbed a soda and popped it open before turning back to the three men. “Your hair suits each of you. Cap wouldn’t look good with Winter Soldier hair and Falcon wouldn’t look good with Cap’s hair.” You took a few steps closer, leaning against the island counter between you and eyeing each of them. Your eyes settled on the Winter Soldier, unashamedly flitting across his face and admiring the sharpness of his features. “You,” pointing at him, “could probably pull off either of their looks, though.”

Bucky smirked at you, but his rosy cheeks gave away a hint of embarrassment at your compliment. Steve and Sam, on the other hand, weren’t taking it quite as gracefully.

“What?!” Sam shouted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. I could pull off Cap’s hair for sure.”

“You know, I think shaggy hair would really suit me,” Cap said, only half sarcastically.

You giggled to yourself as the three of them started talking over each other again, all dead set on their own hair being the best of them and positive they could pull off the others’ looks. While they bickered, you searched the pantry until you found a snack to at least get you through the remainder of the day.

“Alright boys, it’s been fun but I have work to do,” you said as you walked past them again. “Actually, wait. Bucky — can I call you Bucky?” He nodded even though you continued anyway. “If you could stop by lab six today, I’d love to check out your arm in person. The digital renderings aren’t quite the same.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll find you,” he said quietly.

“Sweet, thanks!” And with that, you skedaddled back to your lab.

[thewhiteroseofvermilion]

Moving Forward

Hello everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to you all, and an even longer time since I’ve last updated this story. Over the months and years, my absence has saddened, frustrated, and even angered many of you. Despite my own valid feelings of how—to put it bluntly—I don’t owe any of you anything as this is something I do for free and in my own free time, I still recognize how it must feel for you all to see something you enjoy so much slowly lose momentum and eventually grind to a halt. Furthermore, my habit of making enthusiastic yet empty statements in between didn’t help either. 

As such, a proper and honest explanation is due, as anything less would be unkind. This will be lengthy, but please bear with me. 

For the past four years, it’s been increasingly difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation for me to properly sit down and write. Seemingly gone are the early days of this story’s life when I was able to publish a new chapter every month or so, or even every two weeks when I was at the top of my game in terms of activeness. Even though I had an immense workload due to being a double major in college, leading me to adopt the best work ethic I’ve ever had, I still led a sheltered lifestyle where I didn’t have to worry about the many looming, inevitable adult responsibilities that were ahead of me.

Those tranquil years of course came to an end when I graduated, and I soon felt immense pressure to shift my attention to finding work, living independently, and working on things that would further my career. While I received support as an aspiring writer from the majority of my family, those being my mother and sister, the both of them commented more frequently as time passed by that my “fanfiction” wasn’t something that I should be spending so much time on anymore. After all, it’s not like I could sell the work as my own, and the fact that despite fanfiction absolutely being a valid artform, it wasn’t something that the world of professional employers cared about. 

Nonetheless, when I did eventually find work as a film freelancer, I still tried to persevere and write on the side. My goal back then was to work in film in order to sustain my pursuit in writing. Film was something I went to school for, greatly enjoyed, and even saw a possible future career for myself in, but it was the writing aspect of it that I was truly after, that being primarily screenwriting. 

After two years of living at home, I felt the need to try and live independently as I outgrew my tiny room and my mom started dating a man that I didn’t particularly like. I knew it wasn’t financially smart of me to do so when my mom allowed me to live with her rent-free. But at the time I thought that it would help me to become more mature and productive, as I would have to force myself to work in order to put a roof over my head and food on the table—as opposed to living a sheltered life at home where everything was taken care of for me. Essentially, I was longing for the lifestyle I had in college, thinking that once I returned to it, I would be able to reacquire that once incredible work ethic I had. 

So, I became roommates with a friend from college and together we rented a townhouse together. Rent wasn’t terribly expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, I was able to make ends meet. My greatest challenge however, was to live up to my family’s spoken and unspoken expectations. On one hand, my mother was sweet and understanding, naturally giving me her full support. My father, on the other, always thought that it’d be better for me to pursue something safer and more lucrative, and to not risk being a starving artist. But the one I had to prove myself the most to was my older sister, who was wildly more successful than I was—financially and professionally. My pay compared to hers was like a drop in a bucket, and I felt both indirect and direct pressure from her to be more “professional” like her. Therefore, I threw myself into my work, which is when things slowly began to go downhill. 

As a film freelancer, my work hours usually averaged between 10-12 hours a day, and with my work taking me all over my home state of Maryland and even into neighboring Washington DC and Virginia, my commute time to and from work ranged anywhere from an additional 1-3 hours. It became incredibly common for me to wake up for work anywhere between 3-6 AM and not get home until 8-10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I slowly slipped into a routine where when I did have the “time” to write, I had zero energy or motivation as my work was so taxing. I reached the point where I had to drink two energy drinks with 300mg of caffeine to get myself to and from work. I saw less and less of my roommate and friends. I spent an alarming amount of money and gained weight from ordering take-out so often because I hadn’t the energy to cook for myself when I got home late from work. There would even be days when I fell into what felt like comas, sleeping up to two days straight at one point. My physical, mental, and emotional health was in serious decline. And yet I didn’t see it that way, as I had become obsessed with trying to prove to my family, my sister in particular, that I wasn’t a failure and that my pursuit of writing wasn’t a hopeless one.

During the first month of COVID-19′s outbreak last year, I finally had a much-needed vacation. This was undoubtedly the best time for me to have returned to writing—but I didn’t. At this point, so much time had passed since my last proper writing session that the few times I did try to write, I found myself completely unable to write anything. I was so out of practice and so out of touch with what I had written. This honestly frightened me, and I soon began to doubt if I could ever be able continue the story with the same quality that so many readers fell in love with. Regrettably, I fled from this revelation long enough for a full month to pass by, and I soon found myself busy with yet another distraction: unemployment. 

I was out of work for about 4.5 months, from the middle of March to the beginning of August. During this time, I had to rely on state unemployment, which earned me great scorn from my older sister. Our relationship had always been uneven since we were kids, but it was becoming increasingly toxic as of late since our college years. I felt so ashamed to tell her how much money I made in a year from my job as a film freelancer, and how I barely managed to move to a better position after four years of work. Riddled with guilt and disappointment in myself, when work became readily available again in August, I frantically threw myself back in harder than ever before. In the past where I had turned down the occasional job to give myself some time to relax or in order to make it to a social outing with friends, I now accepted every job thrown my way, only declining those that would make me double-book myself. I earned a lot of money during those months as a result, and I was so happy to finally distance myself from the stigma of being “unemployed.” However, I once again failed to see that I was yet again sliding back into the lifestyle that had been slowly poisoning me for the past two years. 

After essentially working non-stop from August to March, my body, mind, and soul soon returned right back to the brink of collapse. It wasn’t until then at my lowest point when I finally realized how I initially went from working to sustain myself in order to write, to not writing at all and only working to sustain myself to work even more. It was truly scary to see myself fall victim to a brutal cycle of unfulfilling work that could have trapped me for years to come if I hadn’t broken free first. That’s when I realized that my lifestyle was personally unsustainable, and that something had to change. 

Henceforth, I’ve made the difficult decisions to both transition out of film freelancing and to soon return home to live with my father. At the end of April, the homeowner of the townhouse my roommate and I had been living in for close to three years gave us our 30-days-notice to vacate, as they no longer wished to rent but to sell the property. As my roommate had been planning on finding a place of his own with his girlfriend for quite some time, we split amicably at the end of last month in May and I’ve since moved into a temporary apartment with a friend who has traveled back to Maryland for seasonal work. 

Regarding the change in my career, I’ve been looking into applying for writing positions for something that I’ve grown to enjoy over the past few years, which is to write reviews for media such as film, anime, and videogames. This of course is not what I truly want to do in life, but I think that because it actually involves writing, it would be both good practice in terms of practicing my writing and experience in terms of resume-building. Furthermore, a stable “9-5″ job as such would be good for me, I think, as it would introduce some desperately needed structure back into my life. Being a freelancer was definitely fun as I had the power to choose my own schedule, but it unfortunately fostered a lot of laziness and procrastination when I wasn’t completely burnt out. 

I’ve shared with you all this information, a great deal of it being very personal, in the hopes that it helps you better understand who I am as a person and what I’ve been going through these past four years. 

I understand that my word may be difficult to trust due to my history, but I sincerely wish to let you all know from the bottom of my heart that I do plan on continuing writing The White Rose of Vermilion until it’s completed. My fears and insecurities may have alienated me from that promise, but not once did I ever entertain the idea of fully dropping the story. And I promise you, I never will. It most likely will not further my career in any way, bring any revenue in, and will continue to consume a great deal of my precious free time—yet I still choose to pursue continuing it because I can’t see a future where I don’t finish it.

It is after all my most cherished project; the reason that I was able to truly find my calling as an aspiring writer, its success also ultimately being the proof to my mother that I had some skill as a budding writer, who then gave me her full blessings to pursue it as a career. But most important of all is that it’s the reason why I was able to experience first-hand one of the most important and beautiful discoveries in my entire life. That being the incredible phenomenon of how art is like a beacon—its bright light is powerful enough to reach out and inspire others to create art of their own. From Monty Oum to Nancy Phetchareune to myself, I was blessed enough to see readers create wonderful fanart to show me or tell me in a review that reading my story had inspired them to create something of their own.

I am officially leaving behind my prolonged hiatus and returning to working on The White Rose of Vermilion. While I am extremely hesitant to even estimate when the next chapter will be published, please know that I am genuinely trying to leave behind my habits of old and returning to a more consistent schedule. 

The White Rose of Vermilion will return in:

Arc II, Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranger in the Night

[floatingcatacombs]

Evaluting Gatchaman Crowds Through Rui’s Outfits

12 Days of Aniblogging 2020, Day 1

Oh, I’m fashionably late to this one. Gatchaman Crowds is a 2013 superhero anime that serves as a soft reboot of the old tokusatsu franchise, only now with 21st century shitty anime tropes. From this painfully generic setup emerges a surprisingly layered evaluation of technological disruption in the smartphone era. For this reason, Crowds is a favorite amongst anime bloggers as a superhero work that’s actually trying to do something interesting.

Unfortunately I don’t care about any of these guys

But it’s also a favorite amongst all sorts of weirdos because of the character Rui Ninomiya. A horrifying amalgamation of the technolibertarian CEO and trans femme hacker archetypes, Rui is by far the most interesting character in the show, because they’re a surprisingly prescient look at how the tech industry will function throughout the 2010s. But they’re also a ‘boy’ who never leaves their house without dressing in the most girly clothes imaginable. Predictably, this is catnip for me. But the funniest part of the whole situation is that nobody ever addresses it. Rui never provides an explanation for their outfits and the rest of the cast just uses she/her until they properly get acquainted and switch to he/him.

I could tell you that Rui’s obviously trans and wrap up the post right there, but that’s honestly not the most interesting angle of attack here. So I’m just going to use whatever pronouns I feel like in the moment for them and focus on what really matters: fashion! Rui has a surprisingly large wardrobe throughout the show, so I’ll be doing the heavy lifting of ranking each of her outfits. Oh, and also maybe a little analysis of what she represents. Spoilers for the whole show, of course.

7. The Yellow Dress

Let me lay out Rui’s ideology before I lay into their fashion disaster. You see, they’re a tech disruptor who believes that governments and bureaucracies are too slow to achieve the monumental (yet unspecified) change that society needs. So, they preside over a smartphone app called GALAX that successfully predicts Pokemon Go’s geosocial AR gimmick three years early. GALAX is a technolibertarian’s wet dream – crowdsourced emergency response, interest-based meetups, and matchmaking for people who need specific help and the people who can help them, all deeply gamified.

Their outfit here is about as messy as their politics, but at the same time, what a look. She’s got blue-and-white-striped programming thigh highs on under her combat boots, which are both such trans iconography, you know? While they may just be a reflection of early-2010s 4chan crossdressing culture, it’s also totally possible that Rui directly influenced or reinforced trans girl fashion, like the accelerationist she is. What a prescient show, in all sorts of weird ways.

6. Lace-up Dress with Bunny Ears

It wouldn’t be an anime girl cosplay without some bunny ears, now would it? Rui spends 5 minutes in an early episode just wandering around the city in this outfit, listening to people’s conversations and feelings on GALAX. There’s something very funny about how nobody even notices them, like they’re completely invisible despite their ridiculous outfit. This actually factors back into the tech stuff! Like pretty much every tech company, Rui’s app and vision are both sleek and shiny but rely on tremendous amounts of dirty labor kept as hidden as possible. From Amazon’s inhumane warehouse conditions to Facebook’s trauma-inducing moderator farms to Apple’s child labor-tainted supply chains, there’s always suffering humans behind the too-good-to-be-true magic of tech companies. Rui’s lie by omission is failing to mention that the app relies on invisible extradimensional beings called CROWDS that are manually controlled by underpaid workers to assist its users. One of the workers comes to Rui challenging their vision and arguing that they should be sharing this tech with the movers and shakers of the world, not trying to keep it invisible. He threatens a collective walkout and Rui fires him. At this point, we’re not even operating on metaphors.

5. Green Business Casual

Sure, most tech companies have cruel labor underbellies, but there’s also the separate risk of moral rot. It’s what causes Microsoft to take on ICE contracts and Google to develop censored versions of their search engine at the whims of authoritarians. Many tech companies start off with an altruistic message, but without a serious ethical core, they will start doing a whole lot of evil as they bend to financial and other pressures. Rui’s version of this is extremely literal: she made a deal with the devil to gain the ability to use the CROWDS and launch her app. Except this devil is also a butch gender-noncomforming alien (there is a Lot of other gender going on in this show that I don’t even have time for) and the two of them seem to have an extremely fucked-up relationship. Like any good Faustian bargain or any bad attempt at raising more venture capital without a viable business model, eventually the whole thing comes tumbling down and now you’re doing something terribly fucked up. Rui looks good in a dress shirt, at least!

4. Whatever your abusive partner puts on when she body-snatches you

Of course the center won’t hold, GALAX is subject to a hostile takeover, and to nobody’s surprise, an app with the flimsy promise to change the world for the better can actually be way better at ripping it all apart. I guess the prescient social media parallel here is Facebook being used to propagate Myanmar’s ethnic cleansing, or really anything related to Twitter for the last 5 years. FuckedUpAlienMimic!Rui sure does have cute fangs and a way more refined fashion sense though. I don’t feel like looking into that one.

3. Business....Futch?

I know I’m not done outlining Rui’s arc, but I’m going to skip ahead for a moment to say that Gatchaman Crowds also has a second season! I’m largely ignoring it here because Rui is pretty much stripped of all plot relevance and most of her outfits are less exciting, but I had to include this one. For two episodes, she puts on bright yellow stirrup leggings and an oversized polo shirt, with a cute ponytail to boot. It’s a ridiculous look, but still feels really evocative to me. Sometimes a girl just has to put together completely uncoordinated outfits and see what happens.

Unlike the disruption-focused first season, Gatchaman Crowds season two, which aired in 2015, is about how unfettered technolibertarianism can easily descend into fascism. Goddammit.

2. The Bunny Ears Outfit Again Oh God Who Hurt Her

The weight of the world comes crashing down in Rui’s hands, she’s bruised and beaten in a surprisingly sadistic manner by her alien ex-business partner/girlfriend, and she’s locked out of her own company which is very quickly causing society to fall apart. So what does she do? She puts the bunny dress back on, and wanders the streets again until she has to call upon the powers that be to fix her own mess. It’s silly that the powers that be in this world are superheroes, but I bet you forgot that this was technically a superhero show at this point. Anyways, my extended metaphor is quickly drifting off course, but I guess this is the part where Rui gets grilled by Congress and slapped with an antitrust case.

1. Every Trans Girl Stereotype Rolled Into One

I’ve been incredibly harsh on Rui throughout this writeup, because I’m harsh on the industry she represents, but I’ll make it up with this section. Look at what she’s wearing! A choker, the gothiest Hot Topic dress imaginable, arm warmers, no less than three asymmetric garters not even holding up anything, and the tallest black boots she could find. It’s incredible! If the first outfit on this list was hinting at her relationship to stereotypical trans fashion, then this outfit just screams it. It’s the perfect goth femme hacker look, a style commitment I have no choice but to respect.

Gatchaman is a weird show. After spending most of its runtime thoroughly dunking on tech disruptors for being too optimistic and uncritical, it takes a last-minute turn into Lockean state of nature arguments. It settles on “the masses are inherently good enough that empowering people through technology shouldn’t ever be a problem”, ignoring all the suffering that happened due to Rui’s unwillingness to curate their own technology. I’d give Gatchaman Crowds an average rating, but it’s one of those interesting average ratings where instead of being milquetoast, they tried something and failed and wrote themselves into a corner. But hey, at least there’s an interestingly gendered character!

[brotheralyosha]

Loneliness is the biggest problem facing modernity. It's endemic. It's worse for your health than smoking. Lack of civil society and upward mobility in your town best explained voting for Trump in the primaries. And no one talks about it because it's embarrassing.

That above was my response to this tweet:

My friend texted me that he was moved by my tweet. “I struggle with it constantly,” he said. Despite a loving wife and very close friends he often feels alone. “Connection - real connection - is hard to find. And like a thirsty man in a desert, I can never get enough.”

I’ve been lonely most of my life.

Ever since realizing I was lonely and had always been lonely I’ve been obsessed with loneliness. I’m obsessed with how common it is. I’m obsessed with how dangerous it is.

But what fascinates me and frightens me most is the self-reinforcing nature of loneliness. Studies show lonely people come across as more awkward, insecure, and desperate in social situations. It’s the same brain quirk that causes hungry people to eat more junk food and poor people to make worse financial decisions. Scarcity trips up our decision-making. Researchers think our brains severely discount the future when we experience scarcity because for most of human evolution scarcity was an immediate, existential threat. Our genes care about keeping us alive long enough to reproduce. They don’t care about credit card debt.

Acting desperate further alienates people. Unable to escape scarcity mode, many lonely people learn to avoid social situations entirely. Avoiding social situations only gets easier as we get older. Social isolation also hastens dementia, which is itself isolating. Loneliness, then, becomes a death spiral.

Anyway, I could go on at length about the research on loneliness. And I would really like to. Because that’s fun and comfortable for me. But I want to talk about my experience with loneliness.

---

I, like many people, have been spending a lot more time alone since the pandemic hit. Mostly, this has honestly been great for me. It’s helped me see how much of my social time was kind of wasted on surface-level relationships without staying power. I’ve been more selective and deliberate about who I spend time with than at any point in my life. I’ve begun to learn how to enjoy my own company, throw myself into projects, start new hobbies, and work on developing something akin to discipline.

But sometimes I worry I’m spending too much time alone. Before Thanksgiving I was happy with my choice to not go anywhere or see anyone. It was the right thing to do in the middle of a third wave of COVID, and it felt like a relief. I’d just seen that part of my family in October and traveling for Thanksgiving is always a clusterfuck. But occasionally the question would creep into my head: Could spending Thanksgiving alone mark the beginning of a loneliness death spiral?

My friend offering to come over and take pictures of me for my OnlyFans that day mostly allayed my fears of loneliness-induced early onset dementia and gave me something to look forward to. That she brought me home-cooked turkey, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green bean casserole all made from-scratch and absolutely delicious was an unexpected treat.

But for some reason I was still sad on that Zoom call. So sad that I started crying. I couldn’t help myself. I got off the call and just sobbed.

Normally I’d berate myself for being sad about nothing, for burdening my friend with my sadness, for being foolish enough to hope he’d be there for me in the way I needed him to. I know this because those thoughts did pop up. But this time, they didn’t find any purchase. This time I felt proud of myself for taking a risk by being vulnerable with my friend. I didn’t take it personally that he couldn’t hold me this time. I wasn’t angry with him or with myself.

I realized that, yeah I’m sad about being single. But what I’m really sad about is being lonely. I’m sad that I don’t have a best friend.

Specifically, I realized I didn’t have anyone I felt like I could call and cry on. Now, the truth is I have many people who would have been happy to be there for me in this state. But I didn’t feel comfortable or safe calling any of them. Not because of anything they have ever done or said. But because that’s just too vulnerable to me.

What I wanted in that moment was to have that kind of intimacy with someone. What I felt in that moment was the desire to cultivate that intimacy by practicing being vulnerable.

For so long I’ve thought of myself as radically vulnerable because I put my embarrassing secrets on the internet. But that’s easy for me.

What I realized for the first time is that asking one individual person to be there for me and hold me when I’m deeply sad is a bridge too far for me right now. I don’t know that I’ve ever been able to do that. But I want to. I want to work up the courage to call someone when I’m crying or about to cry and share that emotional space with them. And obviously I want some people in my life to feel safe and comfortable asking me for the same.

Real connection is incredibly difficult to cultivate. It requires asking people for help. It requires believing I’ll be able to reciprocate when the time comes.

I like to live in the studies and the research and the theories about how agglomeration effects, suburbanization, workism, car-dependency, secularization, and the nuclear family ideal conspire to alienate us from each other.

But I think the opportunity to create the kinds of relationships I might be capable of, for me, lies in being vulnerable and taking risks.

And in destroying the suburbs. Who’s with me?

[bookofmirth]

So my thoughts on Nesta and apologizing are she 1000% needs do it. Whether it’s through actions or words I’m not sure on, but the implication of apology for past abuses needs to happen. Not just for the people she has hurt, but for the hurt she has caused herself as well.

I don’t think Nesta will ever be able to apologize to anyone until she apologizes to herself. She’s so self loathing and I think that has been a huge issue of hers even before ACOFAS. I don’t know if it’s because she was consumed by hate for her father to the point she put her little sister’s life at risk everyday or if it comes from even before that time, back to the days of her mother. Either way I think a lot of the reason for Nesta’s cold and cruel behavior is because she has so much self loathing. She needs to learn to love and forgive herself.

Once that is achieved she needs to atone for her past with her sisters and father, Amren, Cassian… basically I think she needs to go through a 12 step program and realize how she hurt these people who love/care about her and apologize. I don’t care if she goes on an apology tour or if she talks things through or if she decides to be better through her actions - just something needs to happen. I want that moment where she decides that she truly hurt these people whether intentional or not and want to actually make amends and have a stronger foundation for a future with them.

In the sneak peek at the back of ACOFAS we saw how she tried not to be bothered Feyre put up portraits of her family in her home while she was notably absent. I think that’s pretty much how Nesta will always feel until she actively acknowledges the pain she’s caused and work to fix that hurt. Like she’s perpetually on the outside. I want all good things for Nesta and I think that can only be achieved if she forgives herself and then works to receive forgiveness from those she hurt.

Okay so I *just* listened to the scene where Papa Archeron is killed by the King of Hybern, plus after all the discussion recently... I think that a lot of times people forget that apologizing serves so many purposes. And so does forgiveness. 

Papa Archeron apologizes to Nesta, right before he dies he says:

“I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am... I am so sorry, Nesta - my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.”

That really gutted me, reading this time. And Nesta has *not* dealt with that apology. I think that her feelings towards her father are super complex and maybe resentment and hate was the biggest feature as we know her, but as a child? When her mother was still alive and they were still a family? I mentioned a similar parent/child dynamic towards the end of this post re: apologizing and how powerful it can be. I think that maybe, her father’s apology will give her a starting point with apologies. She’s got to deal with how that felt - with the sudden rush of relief, the likelihood that she instantly forgave but then struggling with the feeling that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but then didn’t have a chance to fully heal that break, and then a shift to thinking about herself in his position and how maybe, she is far more like him than she thought. And how, if his apology gave her a sense of closure and healing, maybe she could do that for other people.

Now, I don’t think that it would have to look the same, not at all. Like you said, if she talks things through with people and they come to an understanding without the actual words “I’m sorry”, or if she decides to behave differently in the future, I think that will be the Nesta equivalent. A lot of healing can still happen that way, and it would still show that Nesta has reflected and grown. Not everyone needs to hear the words, though they can be powerful. But idk, even though Feyre feels like the last person Nesta would say those words to, maybe that’s exactly why she should? I’m clearly changing my mind the more posts I write on this lol

I like your point about self-loathing, and being able to forgive herself. I think that Nesta knows she should make amends, but she’s not able to face... anything, really. She has so much reconciling to do - with herself, her past, the way others have treated her, the way she has treated others. It’s as if at some point in her life she found herself at conflict with the world. I know lots of people like to reference Nesta going to the wall as if it were some sort of atonement, but seriously... she has not changed since then. She still pushes people away, she’s still rude, prickly, she alienates the people who put themselves out there and try to connect with her or support her. So that was not an effective roundabout apology in the way we (you and I, nonnie) are talking about. The whole point of the apology, the thing we want, is for Nesta to heal.

I’m almost to acofas so I want to examine the thing with the portraits more! Maybe they had to sit for them and Nesta being Nesta, she just refused? And then they didn’t press and she was like oh.... okay...... idk I’ll have to pay more attention.

I wonder how much of the discussion around Nesta apologizing or not is related to pain somehow absolving people of guilt. Like, just because someone has suffered doesn’t make their actions okay. Just because someone was abused doesn’t mean that they can go about the world treating others like shit. I have very, very strong convictions about that. (It’s why I don’t like Kylo R*n, why people don’t forgive Tamlin, etc.) That’s the thing that really bothers me about this discussion. I do not give two fucks why someone treats other people like crap, which Nesta objectively has, especially if they are 100% conscious of the harm they are causing. When they are unaware or misled or being manipulated etc., that’s a different story. To me. 

So then when we have Nesta, whose father let her down, whose one sister showed strength she was unable to find, who lost her social standing and financial security and her mother and was assaulted by the one guy whose name escapes me, and then saw her father murdered and bloody battle and now is dealing with alcohol and sex in (probably) unhealthy ways.... and all of those are very, very good reasons to be broken. To be downtrodden and to struggle. But none of that means that she shouldn’t have to recognize the harm she has caused. If anything, it means the opposite, because she’ll never find herself in a better place until she does recognize that, and take some action.

[missmentelle]

Why do people stay in unhappy or abusive relationships? (sorry if this question has already been asked!)

The reasons that people stay in abusive and unhealthy relationships are individual and multifaceted - two people in similarly toxic relationships may have wildly different reasons for staying. It’s also important to remember that there is rarely just one or two reasons to stay - there are a lot of different factors at play, and the primary things keeping someone in the relationship may shift over time. In general though, some of the big things keeping people in abusive relationships include:

Fear. The most dangerous time to be in an abusive relationship is when you leave the relationship - many people stay in abusive relationships because they are afraid their partner will harm or even kill them if they attempt to leave. Their partner may have made explicit threats to do this, or they may have simply demonstrated that they fly off the handle every time something does not go their way. An abuser may make a point of purchasing or carrying a weapon to terrify their victim, or they may destroy furniture, possessions and walls to show their victim how destructive they can be when they are crossed. Even non-violent abusers can make their victims afraid to leave the relationship - they might threaten to leak nude photos, spread rumours, stalk their victim or even harm themselves if the victim dares to leave, among other things.

Finances and logistics. It is very difficult to leave an abusive relationship if you do not have any money - you won’t have the resources to get your own apartment, buy a plane ticket out of town, or even purchase gas and food. Abusers are acutely aware of this, and may go out of their way to make sure their victim is financially dependent on them; they might forbid their partner from working, actively saboutage the victim’s job or education, take the victim’s money, put all shared assets in their own name, and tightly control all household spending. This puts victims in a situation where they may have to choose between an abuser and homelessness, which is not a choice anyone makes lightly. There are other logistics that can also hold you back from leaving - immigrants, for instance, may be dependent on their partner for visa status and be unable to stay in the country if they leave the relationship.

Children. Having kids in the mix complicates things. A victim may stay in a relationship because they are afraid of losing custody if they leave, or because they don’t want to give their children a “broken home”. Abusers who intentionally deprive their victim of financial independence may also use this to make threats about custody, telling the victim that they themselves would be awarded full custody because the victim does not have an income. Abusers may also intentionally turn children against the victim parent by playing the role of the “fun” parent and belittling their partner in front of the children, making victims believe that the children would hate them for taking them away from the other parent. Courts are not always kind to parents who flee domestic violence, and concerns about losing access to children are not unfounded.

Love and concern for the abuser. A lot of abuse victims genuinely love and care for their abusers; most abusers are not monsters 24/7, and have moments where they are kind, funny, loving or apologetic, especially in the early stages of the relationship. An abused victim may cling to positive memories from the relationship and fleeting moments of kindness, believing that this version of their partner is the “real” version, and that the abusiveness is just a temporary thing brought on by stress/drinking/mental illness/etc. They might believe that if they are just patient and loving and “stick out” the abuse, that their partner may change and deal with their issues, and become a loving partner once more. Even victims who are not hopeful that their partner will change may have a lot of concern about their partner’s well-being if they leave - many recognize that their abuser is mentally ill, isolated, without a support network, and at risk of harming themselves if the relationship ends.

Low self-esteem. Many abusers are able to successfully convince their victims that they deserve the abuse, or that the abuse is their fault. The victim may even end up in a position where they defend the way the abuser treats them, believing that they brought it on themselves for being too demanding/naggy/stupid/etc, and that the abuser would not treat them that way if they could be better. The “look what you made me do” defense can be very effective when used on someone who had low self-esteem to begin with. Abusers often convince their victims that no one else will ever want them, and that they should be grateful to the abuser for putting up with them at all. The issue is framed as “it’s either me or being alone forever”, instead of “it’s either me or you leave to find someone who doesn’t treat you like garbage”.

Lack of supports. Even if you have the financial means to escape, you might not have anywhere to go. Toxic relationships tend to be all-consuming, and by the time you are ready to leave, you may have alienated or drifted away from all of your friends and family long ago - the only social connections you have left might be your abuser and people close to them. Leaving might mean heading out into a very lonely existence, without people to lean on and assure you that you are making the right decision.

Shame. Leaving a toxic relationship means that you have to admit the relationship was toxic, and by extension, that you missed all the warning signs and allowed yourself to become stuck in a toxic relationship. You might have valiantly defended your partner from friends and family that pointed out their toxic behaviour for years, and you might be afraid of hearing a chorus of “I told you so”s when you tell people that you broke up. As backwards as it may seem, people sometimes stay in abusive relationships just to try to “prove” to themselves that they aren’t the kind of person who would end up in an abusive relationship.

Sunk costs. If you have been in a bad relationship for a long period of time, eventually, you can start to use the length of time you’ve been in the relationship as justification to keep the relationship going. “We’ve been together for X years, I can’t throw that away” is a common thing to hear when someone is asked why they haven’t left their toxic partner. You might also have endured a lot of terrible things with that partner, and by leaving, you might feel that everything you went through was “for nothing”.

No frame of reference. If you have been around abusive relationships all your life, if you have only ever been in abusive relationships, or if you have never been in a relationship before, you might not know what kind of behaviour is abusive and what is not. This is especially true of people whose abusers are never physically violent. There are a lot of people out there with the idea that “Well, my partner follows me, goes through my phone, tells me what to wear and forbids me from speaking to certain friends, but they’re just being protective because they love me! They’ve never hit me, that would be abuse”. A person may stay in an unhealthy relationship because they genuinely believe that being screamed at and mocked is just a normal part of a relationship, and that all relationships are like this behind closed doors.

People in abusive relationships may be in very different situations, but feel equally trapped. A 36-year-old who has two children with an abuser who does not allow them to have a job is in a very different situation than a 16-year-old who thinks it might be normal that their high school partner calls them fat and looks through their text messages, but both are stuck, and both are likely to need support and assistance to leave the relationship. Hope this answers your question!Miss Mentelle

[firsthopemedia]

Will The Next Cold War Be An Economic One? FIRST HOPE FINANCIAL Several big stories hit the financial news this past week but the real significance of these stories were not discussed anywhere. Number one, the U.S. Congress pushed to file unfair trade practices against China, stating that the Bush administration’s quiet behind-the-scenes negotiation strategy was unacceptable as a tactic to bring economic reform to China. In another story this week, these words appeared - Rather than serve as "an apologist" for China, "I hope the administration will join this team," Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., told reporters after testifying before the Senate Finance Committee in the second hearing on China's economic and currency policies in two days. This article reported that Congress aimed to pass bi-partisan veto-proof legislation that will force the Chinese Yuan to appreciate against the dollar. American manufacturers have claimed that the Chinese government’s unfair manipulation of their currency has hurt them and their Congressmen are listening. Then finally at the end of the week, this headline appeared in an article: “The U.S. Commerce Department announced sanctions against paper imports from China, the first time in 23 years that U.S. duty law has been applied to imports from that country.” Reporting the above is fine, but what are its implications? Here is my view. For once, I agree that the Bush administration is taking the proper stance and their disapproval of these brash, flag-waving Congressmen is merited. When sending U.S. Federal Reserve Chairman Bernanke and the U.S. Secretary of Treasury Paulson to China only resulted in China defiantly stating that they will not allow another nation to dictate to them how they should run their economy, U.S. Congress should have gotten the hint. Instead, they escalated an already potentially volatile situation with their threats and sanctions this week. Stephen Roach, the chief economist at Morgan Stanley warned Congress that currency valuation was far from being the sole component hurting American manufacturers. He stated that China’s cheap labor costs, burgeoning modern infrastructure and technology and growing investment in human capital and research also have greatly contributed to the burgeoning trade imbalance between China and the United States. Mr. Roach commented, "The foreign-exchange rate is not the answer, in my view. You in the Congress need to ask yourselves an important hypothetical question: How would you feel if you got your way on the Chinese currency adjustment but found that after three or four years the pressures bearing down on American workers had only intensified? As I see it, that's a very real risk that should not be taken lightly.” Although I have vehemently disagreed with Mr. Roach’s past views on other subject matters, I believe that he is on the mark 100% this time and I’ll tell you why. U.S. Federal Chairman Bernanke has already publicly stated that everybody knows that the weak dollar is good for the U.S. government because it makes their debt cheaper and also helps to close the trade gap. So if you don’t think that the U.S. is not guilty of manipulating their own currency as well to serve their purposes then you are living in some kind of economic fantasyland. There are a whole lot of American expats living abroad that would like to see their own government do something to protect the value of their own currency instead of lecturing other nations as to how they should be managing theirs. Furthermore, this event is indeed a watershed event in the ongoing re-structuring of the world’s economies. In the past, colonized nations had bitterly complained to Europe and the U.S. about the harm their economic policies inflicted upon their economies. But now we see a 180% reversal, with developed countries complaining to emerging nations about their policies. But this is almost beside the point when it comes to examining much more significant fallout of an open trade war with China. The reason the Bush administration is trying to negotiate quietly with the Chinese rather than take the more hard-line stance assumed by the U.S. Congress is that they know that the Chinese government holds far more important cards than the valuation of the Yuan, namely the more than one trillion dollars of U.S. dollar denominated assets that they currently hold in their reserves. As I stated in a blog I posted about a week ago to The Underground Investor, the U.S. Congress would be foolish to aggressively alienate the Chinese government with so much at stake. The problems with the U.S. economy are much more a product of past U.S. fiscal irresponsibility than the manipulative actions of the Chinese economy and if the U.S. chooses to try to scapegoat an economic giant like China for their current problems, I believe, as Mr. Roach stated, that re-valuation of the Yuan will not be the answer. Furthermore, it is exactly these protectionist measures that the U.S. is seeking to implement that have hindered emerging markets in the past. Instead of addressing the real reasons behind a lagging economy, protectionist measures many times seek to scapegoat another country’s economic policies for far more deep-rooted economic failures at home. Furthermore, protectionist measures often harbor and encourages domestic inefficiencies to persist instead of encouraging proactive solutions that attack the root of the problem. In fact, if the U.S. Congress pushes through their punitive measures, I can tell you right now that revaluation of the Yuan will NOT be the answer to the problems of the American economy. And despite the fact that offloading massive amounts of U.S. dollars will hurt the Chinese economy as well, there will also come a time when the Chinese government, if pushed far enough, will offload massive amounts of U.S. dollars because their strong economy will be able to absorb its negative effects much better than the weak U.S. economy. And if they do so, the U.S. Congress will have given them the perfect excuse to do something that I believe the Chinese government is planning to do anyway. However, they will be able to do it, save face at the same time, and do it earlier than anyone expects, as opposed to having the global community heap loads of criticism upon them for what would otherwise seem to be a sudden decision that came out of nowhere. Instead of such an action being viewed as the selfish actions of a nation, it will instead by viewed as a reaction to U.S. bullying, and U.S. Congress will have given the Chinese government the perfect out. In this case, quiet negotiations is the proper way because any other way is bound to bring harm to not only Americans in the future, but to the global economy as well. When I have blogged about governments being chronic liars in the past, certainly the Chinese government or any world government is not immune. While the Chinese government has publicly stated that they will not take any sudden actions that will greatly hurt the U.S. dollar, do you really believe that they want to hold a trillion dollars of a currency that continues to lose significant value every year? Trust me, they are planning to get rid of these dollars as soon as economically possible and behind the scenes, they have a plan in place to offload them. Again, I can tell you why punitive Congressional U.S. measures will not coax the Chinese to assume policies the U.S. wants but only anger them. To begin, Japan is on the verge of replacing America as China’s number one trading partner. If the Chinese choose to bow down to American pressure, they would undoubtedly anger the Japanese who have heavily invested in China and would be adversely affected by the Chinese government’s decision to appease the U.S. Congress. Angering your number one trading partner would be even worse than angering the U.S. And this just in, even as I write this blog, in a report originating out of New York: Today, China called the first of U.S. protectionist measures, tariffs on their paper imports, “unacceptable.” China strongly demands the United States to reconsider this decision and correct it as soon as possible," China Commerce Ministry spokesman Wang Xinpei said in a statement on a government Web site. Secondly, I believe that the Chinese government, despite what diplomatic statements they release to the financial press about being concerned not to enact any policies that will cause the U.S. dollar to fall quickly, desire to unload a significant portion of their $1 trillion dollar of U.S. dollar-denominated reserves. The Chinese government realizes that offloading significant portions of dollars, whether it is to purchase oil and natural gas for their state reserves, or the purchase of other assets, will automatically cause the Yuan to strengthen. They are not going to appease the U.S. Congress now and watch the Yuan strengthen and then see this effect multiply as they unload U.S. dollars from their reserves. I believe that this is how the Chinese will eventually allow the Yuan to strengthen – by merely cutting back on their dollar-denominated assets, something that they want to do anyhow. With this potential trade war, it is important to ignore the preening of the U.S. Congress but to consider the implications of their potential actions instead. U.S. Congressmen are no doubt influenced a great deal by their most important constituents, in this case, large manufacturers. However, in this case, it is not the concerns of the large manufacturers that are most important. Here they serve merely as a smokescreen. Sure, large manufacturers are being hurt right now by Chinese imports, but rather than considering this part of the equation which the financial media gives much attention to, it is more important to consider the other side of the equation that is never spoken of in the financial media. Rather than listen to the complaints of the hurt, seek out what t

[munchies-for-thought]

Munchies for Thought - Beating the Weed Smokescreen

Jun 15, 2020

You don’t have to know the story behind the author of this post. Yet, knowing its motivation and objective will shape each aspect of how you interpret his content

Social context:

27 year old male. Financially independent and Single. Living alone. 3rd world country where smoking weed is illegal and taboo-ish. Drinks since he was 20, and smokes weed actively since a year ago. He could lose his job and livelihood if his company knew he smokes weed. COVID-19 related complete lock-down has been in place for 3 months already. Complete isolation from everyone has been kept almost flawlessly except for 4 visits. Work-from-home measures allow him to safely keep living with ease without ever leaving his house more than twice a month. Has never written a blog before.

The Weed Smokescreen Where it began

Even though I’ve been a gamer all my life, being locked away from seeing or interacting with someone face to face still got to me. The creeping loneliness was a tenacious beast hard to fend off. I’ve been very independent all my life, but this level of isolation was tough.

I was also in quite the emotional roller-coaster as I felt smoking weed had alienated me from everyone I knew. Even my closest friends got further away from me due to something I’ll refer to as the “Weed Smokescreen”. It had changed my relationship and trust with each person I talked to. It works like this:

The Weed Smokescreen Smoke Curtain

Look at the image of my setup at the beginning of this post. If it was yours, would you proudly share it through Facebook? Instagram? WhatsApp story? All of the above?

I wish I could choose all of them. Unfortunately I can’t. Because right by the keyboard you’ll notice there’s a couple of lighters, a bit of weed, and a grinder shaped like Pikachu (cute AF if you ask me). That means that even sharing this picture with a friend is already dangerous, let alone any public social media.

It’s like the smoke from the weed is surrounding me so I can’t be seen completely. I’m trapped inside this smoke curtain.

Yet not everything has been lost. You can always send these pictures directly to people you trust won’t get you into trouble for them. Those who have known you for years, or the new ones who have earned your trust.

Although sending it directly to someone is drastically different than posting it on a social media. By doing it directly to someone on a 1on1 chat, it becomes a bit intense. You even worry they won’t answer because they are the only ones that CAN answer. They are the only ones inside the smoke curtain.

The Weed Smokescreen  Psychedelic Miasma

The plot thickens. It’s not any smokescreen, it’s a weed smokescreen. All of those inside that do get to see what you share with them, do so while under the charming effects of the Psychedelic Miasma that fills the smokescreen completely.

What does it do? Pretty much nothing, but it is bizarre if you don’t smoke weed yourself. It represents the difference between the reaction that my weed-smoking friends and those who didn’t showed when I sent them my important revelations I had while smoking.

My weed-smoking friends would react positively. They would address the point of the voice note like you do with any normal voice note. They would be supportive.

Those who didn’t smoke weed, were distracted by this Psychedelic Miasma and would instead only address the weed, and not the message. Common responses when I sent them a message would include a combination of:

lol, guess this guy is high again

How often have you been smoking? How much did you spend on that? What about last month?

Have you considered that you’re building a correlation between your creativity and weed? So you're conditioning that idea in your head, Ergo psychological dependency?

etc...

Interestingly enough, you can’t really blame them either. They don’t choose to be affected by it. They have fallen prey to their ignorance on the matter, and society’s influence with no ill-will. Its just the Psychedelic Miasma charming them so that even if they’re inside the Smoke Curtain, they still won’t really see you. They will see right through your message and only see weed instead.

A Way of Overcoming The Weed Smokescreen: Munchies-For-Thought

Understanding and discovering the effects of the Weed Smokescreen was mesmerizing and amusing. Although failing to find any solution or way to do anything about it was crushingly depressive. It felt like I was destined to have a part of my life I could never share, and it was a big part of it.

All of my ideas would only go to people who couldn’t understand them or even care for them. I felt trapped in this stupid country. If only I lived somewhere where it was legal, no one would care. I’m still an excellent HR Manager. I pay for my family’s expenses. I’ve never cheated. Then why do I feel like a criminal or a drug addict when I want to share my passion?

That’s when it hit me. I didn’t have to limit myself to this country and its people. I could seek to relate and share my thoughts with others who might understand out there. Someone who might want to listen to the message, and who is not distracted by the Psychedelic Miasma. That was the key! Although...

If I caught the attention of people out there, someone might see this post and destroy my life. I had solved only half the puzzle. I needed to find a way where I could share and reach out to find minds who would vibe with mine WITHOUT putting everything i’ve worked for at risk.

The solution was in anonymity. I needed to be heard, but without being identified. Just connecting is enough for me. I came up with the “Munchies-For-Thought” Tumblr Blog as a way to share these parts of me that I would otherwise never be able to.

And trust me, I wouldn’t go through all this trouble if I didn’t think it was damn interesting and possibly quite helpful for those few who will vibe at a blog like this. This blog is my solution, or at least I’m hoping it will be... it HAS to be.

[cafeinthemoon]

Blue Velvet - Chapter III

Title: Blue Velvet

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: General Hux x oc

Rating: teen | up

Word count: 2619

Chapter (s): 3/10

Warnings: implied sexual content, making out, non explicit sex, some sort of emotional manipulation ???

Additional tags: original planet, original food, original alien characters

Symbols:  ✔ | ➕ | ▶ ▶

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter III - Purple Passion

Street art has a magic scent of its own, and I was so curious to see how Armitage would react to such thing that I let my mind wander a bit in this chapter. But I'm not regretting a single word of it.

" I thought love was on the stage"

(Florence and the Machine, Hunger)

There was a place in the city that became my favorite since my first the day here.

It was what one could call a great market: an extensive, roofless territory that turned into a commercial district, where we could find everything we wanted, in all colors, sizes and levels of quality. Crowds of people would fill it, but its streets were large enough to house all the tourists, natives and merchants who depended on it. It used to open every day and for entire cycles, so you didn't need to adapt your agenda to be able to visit it.

I used to go there in the middle of the week, at the evening, when I knew I would be free from any commitments. Sometimes I would go with some friends, but most of the times I would just walk alone in the streets; I would visit shops, observe the colorful tents and buy the items I believed to be worthy (and which would not drain my financial resources). I also used to talk to some of the oldest merchants, especially the non-humans; I would listen to their stories of old, when the market was infinitely smaller and didn't attract much people, and in return I would sing some of their favorite songs. I even learned some songs in alien languages, but I can't remember their complete lyrics now.

I believe that my greatest reason to love the market was the fact that I could walk through its streets without feeling exposed or watched. On the stage I was always observed, of course, but I had the control over what was seen; in my life outside of it, this kind of control didn't exist.

It was one of those evenings, maybe two days after my performance at that club, followed by the strange conversation with the man that introduced himself as General Hux. It was understandable that, after that encounter, I started to pay more attention to the holonews, and because of that I found out the First Order would stay in Odbeei for one more week. Which meant that he must still be around.

Maybe he was closer than I could imagine.

I was standing before a tent of a florist and found a bouquet of purple passions. It was a beautiful one, with four or five buds that were about to blossom, wrapped together by a brown, rustic stripe. I've always found them a magnificent species, but long time ago I convinced myself that, by their usual price, they would remain out of my reach forever.

I forgot to mention that, despite some products were sold at an impressive cost, some of the sellers were not as bitter as the prices. So, the woman of that tent, noticing my interest in that bouquet, insisted with me to take it. First, I shyly refused, but soon I was explaining to her that I would have to sing for a century to pay for those flowers and I would probably lose my voice before reaching my goal.

The florist laughed and was about to say something, but she fell silent when a second client approached.

- Would you mind telling me how much these flowers cost, ma'am? I'm interested on them.

I turned my neck to his side as soon as I recognized his voice.

He was pointing at the purple passions that were close to my hands; I cringed instinctively. The woman repeated the price, and he paid for the flowers without hesitating or trying to negotiate the cost. He thanked the seller but didn't wait for her to separate the bouquet and give it to him: he took the flowers by himself, observing them, oblivious to both of us and everything around.

- It would be a shame if we come to see the day when your voice will not be heard anymore – he said as he touched the petals; he looked at me and, with a curious smile, offered me the bouquet – Now you own the flowers, and your voice will remain untouched.

I took the bouquet so carefully as if the flowers were burning, but finally they were wrapped around my hands, as I was trying to accept the fact that now they belonged to me. When I looked up, I noticed he was staring at me, waiting for an answer. I must have taken so long to process what just happened that I didn't realize I should say "Thank you" before anything else.

Instead, I asked him to accompany me in my wandering through the market.

- Naturally, if you have some time for such thing, Sir.

Soon he said he did.

We left the flower tent and followed among the next ones, I myself concentrated on the bouquet, the General occupied in processing everything he was seeing. But his eyes wouldn't settle on anything for a long time; he didn't seem the kind of person who takes time with what can't bring him no benefits, no matter how much pleasing or attractive it looks. Thinking of this brought back that suffocating sensation in my throat. Why was he seeking for opportunities to be with me?

- During these few days since we arrived at Odbeei, our deals didn't start but after several hours after noon – he started – I must say that it seemed unusual to me.

- Unusual?

- Correct me if I am wrong, but you don't seem to care much about using the first hours of the day to solve priorities.

These words confirmed what I thought about him as someone attached to order and pro activity. It was still too soon to say if I'd appreciate it or not, but a spark of patriotic pride – or personal pride in disguise – made me reply to his statement with less docility that I intended.

- General, I'm not familiar with your routine as a military man, and I also don't know much about the management of cycles in other planets, but here in Odbeei we do things the way that seems to work for us. And we've been doing this for too long to consider drastic changes right now. It's understandable that some cultural traits of a planet look strange for a foreigner, but I'm personally satisfied with this philosophy. I believe it is wiser to focus on taking care of things with the attention they deserve than on being too rigid with the time of the day when we do it.

Different from what I expected, he didn't look irritated or offended by what he heard. Could he be someone who would rather concentrate on the things themselves instead of the manners of who said them?

I had no the time to find out, for I needed to focus on what he would say in answer.

- Fair enough. I apologize if the way I put the question was offensive for you. But I'd like you to understand that things like free time and flexibility are not a common trait of my days.

Of course. I've been living for so long a life separated from the other people's, so distant from anything that remind me of routines that I didn't came to see that what we were doing now – walking around a crowded place and speaking amenities – was anything but uncommon for someone in his position. I immediately felt the need to apologize.

I stopped and turned to him.

- I'm so sorry. I don't want your few hours of freedom to turn into a burden.

He smiled.

- There is no reason to worry about. Especially when these few hours of freedom can be spent in such a delightful company – and before I could think of something to say, he opened his arm in a gesture that indicated all the available ways ahead – I would be glad if you'd choose where we should go now.

I looked around, and even when I knew the places to where each of them would lead us, I hesitated for a moment, then turned to him and smiled.

- Do you trust my judgment, General?

He nodded but didn't turn his eyes from my face.

- This is why I am still here.

  ***

  We were passing through a large street, as crowded as the previous ones, but with no tents on its sidewalks. In their place there were artists of all kinds: painters, actors, dancers, musicians playing native instruments, foreigners and aliens singing or reciting poems in their mother tongues; there were also philosophers preaching about the ways of the Force to disciples sitting around them, as well as those ones we used to call nature-masters, teaching secret recipes of an infinity of herbs and roots used with medical purposes for free.

I was more than ued to that miscellany of colors and sounds, and I've come to love it as a smaller version of the Galaxy inside the original one; so, I walked among the people and the attractions as if I was in my living room. I couldn't say the same about the General: though he stood up with his manners and tried to remain calm, he didn't succeed in hiding that all those sources of sensory stimulation were not his first idea of having fun. He was looking around as someone who wanted to understand what he sees, but without the need to think of it as something of good taste or pleasing; he was, however, too polite to make rude observations, especially after what we talked about the cycles in Odbeei.

By those reasons, it was a great relief for both of us when just ahead in our path, we found something that mutually interested us.

It was one of those small, open stages for amateur singers and musicians that could be found in many corners of the market. Those lowered wood platforms, too close to the sidewalk's ground, were among the most appreciated things by both natives and tourists in the city: they weren't just a good instrument to relaxation, but also the very beginning of the career of many of our stage professionals; I myself started in one of them.

There was a man singing a modern version of a song that was popular two decades ago in our planet, playing a hand harp with many strings. I knew most of the lyrics, but I didn't want to take the risk of surpassing the singer with my voice, so I sang along with whispers. I didn't look on his direction, but I knew the General was paying attention; I couldn't tell if the show matched his taste, so I preferred to count on the possibility of him finally finding something that caught his genuine interest.

- It was on one of these stages that I first performed when I came to this city – I told him after the musician finished the song and was about to leave the platform – I miss them.

He turned to me.

- Here is your chance to revisit them.

I was caught by surprise with his quick reaction to what I said. I considered to say that we should move ahead, but the way he smiled when he offered to hold the bouquet convinced me to stay, and I let him softly take the flowers from my hands.

I walked to the edge of the platform and talked to the responsible for it, a Bothan dressed in a red tunic who consented with just a few words and pointed at a pile of instruments at a corner. I thanked him but explained that I'd rather sing with free hands. He nodded and gestured to the stairs beside the stage, through which I was supposed to make my entrance.

There was a microphone on a stand at the center; I took it and left the stand aside. I said good evening to the people around, introduced myself and announced the song.

I used to love the street stages for many reasons, one of them being the chance of staying so close to the people that I was able to see the bright in their eyes and their mouths curling in genuine smiles, as well as hearing some of them mumbling along and clapping their hands. It wasn't different that time, even when some of the youngest were not familiar to the chosen song: most of them was paying attention to what they were seeing and hearing, and I felt like the first times I stood on similar stages in other parts of the city, and I raised my voice without caring about anything but what I was doing.

However, it wasn't the attentions of the tourists that interested me most at that time.

He was a little apart from the others, in a spot where he had a clear view of the stage. As he did in the club, he observed each of my movements, and sipped the sang notes as if they were his favorite drink. In his eyes I noticed a glimmer that I wasn't able to see at the club because of the distance between the stage and the rows. It was not just the bright of pure artistic contemplation: with that there was something else, something that even now I find difficult to explain; it was like he was taken by some addiction, craving for more. I was sure that if I stayed and sing for an entire cycle, he would still be there to listen.

The strangest thing in all of this was finding myself willing to see it.

With the progress of the music, I would dedicate more and more efforts to keep his eyes glued on me, his concentration on my notes. I risked a smile when with his gaze, he made it clear that he was aware of what I was trying to do. Somewhere in my mind, a little voice was pointing out how unusual it seemed that I was having so much fun for catching the attentions of that man, for I haven't talk to him more than two times and didn't knew much about him apart of his name and his function.

Being at that open space surely was helping me; being there was not like being in the club. In that place, the lights and the looks of people who watching me would pierce my skin; their whispering and their judgment would dissect me, examining me as a wild species. In the street, it was I that would lead them; the pieces were all mine, and no one would make any move without my consent. There, I could fix my eyes on anything and anyone I choose and reach them with just the strength of my voice.

In the club, it was like having those eyes on me could kill me. In the street, I seemed to need them to survive.

Finally, the song ended.

I put the microphone back on the stand, left the stage through the same stairs, exchanged a few polite words with the Bothan and walked away, seeking the General's company. He gave my flowers back; as I settled them in my hands, I felt suddenly shy. Now that I was no longer away from him, protected by a wooden level that would keep me right above the ground, it was impossible not to hear the same little voice screaming inside my head: what the hell I was thinking?

All I knew is that the closer I came to him, the less I cared about thinking. I also knew that if I spent more time by his side, things would not follow a different direction.