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redchestnut · 3 years ago

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We can be Heroes (just for one day)

Summary:

At the end of the 1960s, the resistance took to the streets of Paradis demanding justice and the fall of the wall Maria.

Loving is a revolutionary act.

AO3 link here

TW: Police Brutality/Gun Violence

(I'm an idiot and completely forgot that it was supposed to be fluff until I was almost finished writing it. The ending is happy though, I promise.)

Written for Levihan Drabble Week (@levihan-drabbles).

Prompt: "Don't you have a country to run?" "My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait" "I don't think it works like that." "I run the country, so it does."

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“I can remember

Standing by the wall

And the guns shot above our heads

And we kissed as though nothing could fall”

David Bowie - Heroes

"Don't you have a country to run?"

"My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait," replied the man, stubbing out his cigarette and standing from his elegant desk.

"I don't think it works like that," she replied. Her biting tone could barely hide the jealousy that she knew she couldn't feel.

"I run the country, so it does," he spat as he pulled on his jacket.

The woman stopped looking at him and went to the window that covered an entire wall of the large office. “The resistance is gathering strength, Goldwick. The international gaze is on you," she insisted.

"The resistance is nothing more than a bunch of idealists who do not know their place in society and would rather be starving, like the parasites on the other side. And the international union is a joke. They will not get involved unless it suits them." The man paused before opening the door. "And Catt," he called out to her, causing her to turn around, "don't forget that you are only my assistant, not my advisor. You do your job. The police will take care of the radicals. And I'm going to meet my newborn son." The man left slamming the door and leaving her alone. On the other side of the window, the landscape of the Shiganshina square was invaded by smoke. Despite not being able to hear anything, she could imagine the sound of screams of the protest and police sirens. In the background, the wall was imposing. Catt knew it was nothing more than a symbol: the barrier that would prevent ideas from the other side of the world from reaching here. The barrier that would protect the supposed freedom of Paradis from the enemy.

* * *

“We’re born free. All of us. Free. Some don’t believe it, some try to take it away. To hell with them!” The surrounding crowd cheered and shouted.

"Isn't he too young? All of them?" Hange asked Erwin next to her, as they watched Eren who was still speaking through the megaphone. “If they are friends with Levi's cousin, that means none of them have finished school yet.”

"You're right. They are young. But that doesn't mean they don't realize the truth."

"I agree, Erwin, but it's still dangerous. You know the police won't care if they catch them."

Before Erwin could respond, Levi appeared at their side. "The pigs are one block away. They have us surrounded." He said catching his breath.

"But we are hundreds of thousands, what are they planning to do?" Hange asked, annoyance beginning to appear in her voice.

"We will stay." Erwin said without looking at them, making Levi and Hange turn to see him. "We will stay here and wait for what they do. We're both hoping for the same thing. To settle it here once and for all." Levi and Hange looked at each other. Erwin had been the leader of the university movement from the beginning. They both trusted his judgment.

"I'll see if I can find Moblit on the next corner. Maybe we can put up a barricade. Slow down their advance." Hange said, before pushing her way through the crowd. She had barely advanced a few feet when she felt a grip on her arm. She turned around.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Levi asked her without letting go of her arm. Her heart melted. "I promise you, Levi. You too. Don't let them catch you. Okay?" He just nodded once and let her go.

Hange was studying medicine, yet she was mobilized by social justice. This is how she ended up in one of the meetings that Erwin, a senior history student, secretly organized each week.

In the months after, and with the constant arrival of new young people interested in the events and reality of Paradis, Erwin convinced Levi, a young man from the poorest neighborhoods of the capital, to join the movement. Their relationship had been strange from the moment Erwin introduced them. But just like the revolution, the emotions between Levi and Hange exploded suddenly and without warning. In the walks home after the meetings. The quick kisses while they stuck pamphlets on the walls in the dark. The nights of wine and forbidden records that made them forget their reality for a couple of hours. However, no bottle of wine or record lasts forever. They soon discovered that there was no room for relationships and love in the midst of the people's struggle and pain, so they decided to put down their little personal revolution.

The other corner of the big Shiganshina Square was much more crowded than the one next to the wall. Hange searched all directions for the image of her friend and classmate but he was nowhere to be found. She screamed his name, but her voice was lost among the people's chants of "bring down the wall" and the sound of clubs being struck against the shields of the police. It was a warning: chaos would start soon. She could feel it in the air.

"Hange!" Someone pushed her to the ground just before hearing a deafening noise. She turned around and found Moblit's panicked face staring behind her. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail just a few feet from her. The police had reacted quickly and were now running into their direction. "Shit. It's already started." Moblit took her hand and started running in the opposite direction.

* * *

Levi froze. The sound of the explosion came from where Hange was supposed to be.

"I should probably get over-there-" the blurry image of something flying past him cut him off immediately. He turned quickly to meet Zeke's gaze across the street. Despite his helmet, he could perfectly identify his hideous beard. In his hands, a riot gun.

"Isn't that your brother? When were you going to tell us he was a cop?" he heard one of his cousin's friends screaming.

"Half-brother," he heard Eren reply. The anger evident in his voice.

"Ah well, my mistake. That doesn't change that he's shooting at us!"

The discussion stopped immediately. A smoke bomb fell just a few meters from them. The crowd started running scared in different directions. Some groups advanced to the front, determined to fight the police, including Eren.

"Mikasa!" Levi screamed as he watched her run after the brat. Another bomb fell near them. This time it was tear gas. Levi started coughing. "Mikasa, come here! Shit" His throat itched so much that it was difficult for him to breathe. The smoke from the previous bomb had mixed with the smoke from the barricades and it was difficult to see around. Everywhere people ran.

"I'll go with them, Levi." Erwin suddenly appeared beside him, his mouth covered by a cloth.

"Fine, but if the police catch them, you go with them too. Forget being the hero of the rebellion."

"I leave that role to you" Erwin replied, uncovering his face only to reveal a small smile. “Go find Hange!”

"Tsk," Levi complained as he watched Erwin climb onto a bench and start haranguing people about devoting their hearts to the cause and resisting. It worked, anyway. More and more people covered their faces and ran to confront the police with rocks and whatever they found at hand.

Levi took the cravat around his neck and covered his mouth. The crowds and chaos in the center of Shiganshina square forced him to advance along the side of the wall. Where the hell is she? The anxiety in his chest made him speed up until he was almost running. His heart was pounding. The sound of gunfire came from the other corner of the square. Fuck . Now he was running.

And between the panic, the worry for his cousin and his friend, the uncertainty of the future, the danger of the situation, the pain in his muscles and the adrenaline, he thought of her eyes.

And he thought of her hair and her hands and her lips.

And he realized that he had never told her that he loved her.

And he realized that they might never get justice despite fighting their whole life. That perhaps the dictator could never be defeated. Perhaps the system was like that. That maybe the poor would always be poor. And that life was cruel.

And he realized that somehow he could accept all of that. But he could not accept, under any conditions, give up what he felt for her.

His legs stopped. In the distance, Hange was on her knees helping a woman covering her face with a handkerchief, and urging her to calm her breathing.

Levi yelled her name. She turned quickly and her eyes met his. Levi saw her speaking to Moblit, who took her place assisting the woman.

Hange got up and stared at him. In the distance the sound of two explosions filled the air. The smoke increased more and more. People kept running. The screams were mixed with the sound of the sirens and the shots did not stop on either front. Despite that, Levi thought the image was beautiful. Hange shrugged and gave him a resigned half smile. Levi's heart raced again before advancing on her. Hange did the same until they finally met halfway.

"I was so worried about you-" Hange was immediately interrupted by Levi, who grabbed her hair and pulled her close to his face. The kiss they shared seemed to slow down everything around them. The chaos was suddenly nothing more than a slow motion nebula.

"I love you!" Levi screamed once they parted, amid all the noise. "Did you hear me, Hange? I want you to know that I fucking love you!"

Before she could answer, a stream of water soaked them. A water cannon had reached the center of the square and was trying to disperse the crowd.

Hange laughed out loud as Levi brushed his wet hair from his face. "I love you too, Levi Ackerman!" she shouted out before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately.

* * *

In the distance, Catt could see a young couple kissing next to the wall amid the chaos. In her hand, a fax said that General Goldwick, president of Paradis, had just been forced to abdicate, calling for early elections. Parliament, for its part, had announced the demolition of the wall.

Despite sharing different ideals, she smiled.

"To be young and not a revolutionary is a biological contradiction"

Salvador Allende (1908-1973)

#Levihan #levihan fanfiction #Levihan Drabble Week

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jvdes · 3 years ago

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david? it’s gretchen. i’m just returning your call about your niece.

alternatively titled: we’re all here for a fucking reason, you know. you don’t get sent some place like this for no fucking reason.

tw: violence, abuse, alcohol, vomit

it’s october 23rd, 2020, and it’s not like she’s not trying. you can say what you want about jude - a liberty nobody’s been willing to pass up before - but she is trying. contrary to popular belief, jude doesn’t, like, get off on being in a lousy fucking mood. she doesn’t like being miserable, it’s definitely not her big fucking goal. it’s just, misery seems to love her. but she’s a fighter, and she’s not gonna lay down and take it - she’s not gonna let it swallow her whole. not without a struggle, at least.

so, it’s the anniversary of her mom’s death, but she’s making an effort, you know? and at 8:30 pm, she’s sober, she’s made it to the weekend without getting in trouble at school, and she’s pretty dead set on pretending that nothing is as fucked up as it is, or she’ll at least die trying.

she’s even - get this - displaying a little bit of school spirit.

2:07 pm

“are you going to the football game?” clara wilkerson had asked in sixth period chem lab, and jude tried not to laugh. it was important that she didn’t laugh, because clara, her chem lab partner, was pretty damn hot. she was smarter than jude, a pretty brunette with big green eyes, and she seemed to think jude wasn’t a total waste of space, so, you know. big win for jude, who was hoping that, sooner or later, she might be able to get in clara’s pants.

“i dunno if that’s my thing,” jude had shrugged. she had nothing against sports, and she had nothing against standing around outside at night, but it still wasn’t an activity she’d ever been dying to partake in.

“what?” clara feigned shock. “watching the eleven meanest guys in our school homoerotically tackle the eleven meanest guys from our rival school while sipping watered-down hot chocolate that burns off your taste buds? what’s not to like?”

“well, when you put it like that,” jude laughed.

“exactly. it’ll be fun, you’ll see. here, give me your hand,” she instructed, and jude handed it over with a skeptical look. clara proceeded to write her address on jude’s hand, which was maybe some kind of weird power play and/or mating ritual, since clara had jude’s number, and could have absolutely just texted it to her. “so, you’ll pick me up at 6:45?” clara asked. and jude, to her credit, agreed.

10:38 pm

it’s not like it was easy, pretending that it wasn’t the day that it was, that there wasn’t that heat beneath jude’s skin. pretending that she was distracted, like it was okay. nothing’s ever easy, right? and it wasn’t okay, not exactly - there was the clipped tone of some of her jokes, a little too high, a little too thin. something inside of her chest at the center, aching a little.

but it was almost okay, or she could almost pretend that it was almost okay, and it was really nice to not be at home. it was nice to have someone to laugh at her jokes, nice to be standing around in the cold autumn night under the too-bright stadium lights.

and now, as she braces herself against the wind, walking through the parking lot hand-in-hand with clara, she thinks that maybe she almost had fun. “you’re smiling!” clara announces gleefully, and jude looks over at her. “told you it’d be cool. like i said - what’s not to like? you, me, a bunch of screaming teenagers around us; it was fun.”

jude grins over at her. the parking lot is busy, now, hoards of kids moving en masse from the bleachers, body heat between them in the sharp, cold breeze. “oh, sure,” jude agreed. “i’m all about football now. you’ve converted me.”

so it’s kind of nice. except - well. they’re walking, and there’s this plane overhead. and it’s such a small thing, jude knows that, but her smile fades all the same, because it’s like this bitter fucking reminder. like the world is mocking her for being stupid enough to think that she’d ever be okay, that she’d ever be able to make it through a night without spiraling, least of all tonight. for being stupid enough to think she deserved that much in the first place.

without thinking much of anything at all, she turns to kiss clara then, under the distant whirr of the plane, as if maybe the noise of their breathing will be enough to drown it out. it’s their first kiss, jude’s hands on clara’s hips, like blood on blood alone will be enough to ground jude, enough to let her forget. like if she couldn’t just say it ( any of it, what plagues her ), then being touched can be enough to anchor her to the ground. always a valiant effort with her, right?

but then they’re standing in a flood of light, a truck full of boys stopped in front of them. the boys in the back whistle at them, and the one driving hangs his head out of the window, face an ugly sneer. jude recognizes him, of course - just some asshole, like all the boys are, but she knows him; he beat the shit out of her at a party for talking to his ex, and jude had ended up in the hospital with 47 stitches. “moved on from your regular sluts, bright?” he says, and jude pulls away from clara. clara rolls her eyes, but jude, she squares her shoulders and flips them off, squinting in the light.

“they’re just being jerks,” clara said quietly, “let’s go.” jude’s car isn’t that far away. they could just go. they could just walk away. but when was jude ever going to leave well enough alone? that heat, that raw anger pulsing beneath her skin, barely contained all day, waiting for any excuse to slither out of her like a sickness. just give me a fucking reason. isn’t that what she’s always thinking?

“the fuck did you just say?” jude challenges, and clara tenses beside her, gripping jude’s arm through her jacket.

“just surprised you found someone willing to be out in public with you,” he said, opening the door and approaching them. he moved toward them in that quick, confident way that boys seem to always have about them. he was close to them now, so close, and fucking with them. fucking with them just because he could, just because he saw them, because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and boys love seeing if they can scare girls. “not that i meant to interrupt,” he adds, skeezy, gross. “go on. go ahead, i’m happy to watch. we can all have a little fun here, right? after party, yunno,” he continues, and jude can smell the alcohol on his breath, that’s how close he is to her.

she doesn’t stand down, though, not even as clara’s nails bare into her skin even through her jacket. it’s that wicked, wild heat inside of her, that vicious anger. ( you’re like a feral fucking dog, clara will yell at her in a few minutes, once it’s all been said and done. ) “he’s not worth it,” clara whispers, “we can just walk away.”

jude does not just walk away. “get back in your shitty fucking truck, and get the fuck away from me, or i’ll kick your ass,” she says, trying to feel taller than she really is. he has at least five inches on her, maybe more, but she crosses her arms anyways.

( she must know by now, though, that there’s no way this is going to end well, right? maybe she had been trying, maybe she had been sober and not in any trouble so far, but she must know now that the choice to not walk away is the fatal one, right? which just goes to show, she knows: anything that happens next is deserved. anything that happens next is just her doing it to herself. )

“oh, yeah. ‘cause we all remember how well that worked out last time,” the boy says, and that’s enough.

“jude,” clara says, “walk the fuck away.”

the high school parking lot hasn’t been redone since 1976, and the concrete parking blocks are falling apart, crumbling where they stand, chunks of concrete strewn around the parking lot. maybe, if anybody’d cared enough to try and fix up the parking lot any time in the last 20 years, there wouldn’t have been a chunk of concrete at jude’s feet. and without a chunk of concrete at her feet, she certainly wouldn’t have sent it flying through the windshield of the truck. but there was, and she did, and so the cop that parked in the high school parking lot during school events came over, and jude wound up being driven home in a cop car.

but she’d tried, you know?

11:21 pm

not that it mattered. not that she’d say so to her uncle, who dragged her inside by the collar, a hand on her neck she could just not shrug off. “what in the everloving fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, as soon as the door was shut behind them, closing out the cool autumn air and leaving room for only guilt.

it was a question that she was uninterested in answering, so she raised a middle finger behind her as she climbed the stairs. she moved to slip into her bedroom, but he followed her like a shadow, gripping her by the arm before she could manage. she whipped around, and she wanted so desperately to be calm, but she wasn’t. “have you got any idea how fucking lucky you are, jude? that they’re not pressing charges, that you’re here right now, and not in a fucking cell? jesus christ! and you’re looking at me like you’re pissed off. who the fuck do you think you are?”

jude glared up at him, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild. what a miserable fucking question. “i think,” she began flatly, “that i’m a future player for the Mets.” there was that vein on his neck again, and she knew, of course, that she was only making things worse for herself. that’s what she does best, but it’s okay, everyone - she’s going to get what she deserves. “it was a good throw,” she added, “you should have seen it. you would have been proud.”

“did you think of that on the way home?” he asked quietly. he, too, was trying to pretend he was calm, and doing a shitty job at it. “how long did that one take you, jude? ten minutes? twenty?”

“i thought of it on the fly, actually,” she answered, and he laughed - an unpleasant, humorless, bitter little laugh in the quiet, airless space of the house. “it’s a talent. a calling, even.”

“your calling is being a destructive piece of shit. good for fucking nothing, i swear. have you ever taken responsibility for a single thing in your goddamn life? no. everything is always somebody else’s fault, right, jude? just like your fucking mother. you’re not a future player for the Mets. I’ll tell you where you’ll be in two years, jude. you’ll be dead, or you’ll be in jail. you wanna talk about being proud? your mother, she was no prize, but even she would be so fucking ashamed of you.” it’s the way his voice bleeds into a vocal fry when he’s angry, the way his eyes burn.

she closed the door to her room behind her, and david let her. she allowed herself a minute or two to get herself together, shaking on her bed, before she slipped out of her bedroom window, into the cold night.

12:12 am

she’d tried, right? but that had gotten her nowhere, so obviously, it was a total waste of time. that’s what she was thinking as she sipped shitty vodka from the little bottle she’d pocketed from the skeezy liquor store down the street: what a waste of fucking time.

tonight was always going to end this way, wasn’t it? there was no reality where she drove clara home and kissed her goodnight; jude didn’t deserve that. there was only now, here, leaning over the railing of the overpass, vision drunk and swimming, thinking about what a waste of fucking space she was. she polished off the bottle, then flung the bottle into the street, closing her eyes and listening for the cracking noise of glass meeting asphalt.

maybe i’ll go get high, she thought, then turned around and started walking against the wind.

2:08 am

david bright stood around the corner of the wall, a metal baseball bat in his hands. it was the anniversary of his sister’s death - or had been, until midnight - and somebody had broken into his fucking house. well, broken in was a strong word to use, since he’d forgotten to lock the deadbolt in lieu of who had greeted him at the door the last time he’d opened it, so a bobby pin or a credit card was enough to jimmy it open. still - he could hear the culprit moving around in the dark, and from where he stood, he could see the front door, still wide open, swinging lazily on it’s hinges, letting in a draft, an open square of darkness in the wall like a missing tooth.

he was going to handle it, though. he’d had a bit to drink, but you don’t play piano for years without learning some hand-eye coordination, and whoever it was that was stumbling around his house after leaving the door wide open behind them, he could handle them. he was a man who handled things, wasn’t he?

he could see their shadow, swaying in the night, in the moonlight, and he turned the corner, swinging the bat as he did, proud of himself for catching the intruder off guard.

jude swore as the bat hit her shoulder, and, far from sober, that one hit was enough to send her slipping to the ground, landing on her ass.

david saw her, then - that flash of red hair, the wide, frightened eyes, the jacket that had belonged to his sister. he’d deny it, of course, even to himself - he’d thought she was an intruder, right?

( of course, maybe he always knew it was her, even before he grabbed the bat, even before the first swing. why else would he not call the police? )

he’d heard her voice, though, after he’d hit her for the first time, but he swung again anyways, like it was a movie he was watching, like things were already in motion, like they were outside of his control. so he swung again, his position readjusted to hit her in her new space on the floor, and there was that loud, sick and vicious sound of metal hitting skull. a horrific thud.

instinctively, slowly, a wounded animal, jude curled into a ball, arms above her head in defense, and he swung a final time, leaving an angry red mark on the soft flesh of her skin. “stop!” she slurred in the darkness, tasting blood.

jude saw, even through her swimming vision, that single flash on his face, that crack in the facade; an expression so familiar it made her feel sick. that horror. what have i done? anger that’s gotten the best of you. a burning under your skin. some things run in the family, she thought dizzily, terribly, and then, it was like it had never happened, and despite what had all just transpired in no time at all, despite the smell of alcohol coming so strongly from the both of them, he was calm again.

“you forgot your key,” he said, maybe as a question or maybe as a statement, and he took a shuddering breath. they stayed there, jude gazing up at him.

to david, her glassy, dilated eyes seemed to look right through him, a fever-bright stare that seemed to burn into his skin like a brand. ( had she always looked that much like delilah? with those fucking eyes, so fucking green? jesus. )

it was quiet for a long time before he finally said, “something needs to change, jude.” jude laughed, so quiet and so weak it was almost a rasp. and how.

without saying any more, he turned around, disappearing into the hall with footsteps that echoed in jude’s mind, making her head ache furiously. she sat there as he left her behind, body aching like one complete wound.

shame and anger spun in dizzy circles around her head, and it was a long time before she thought she’d be able to make it upstairs to her bedroom. she dragged herself up, eyes closed, her only true sense the metallic taste of blood. he’s going to kill me, she thought, as she closed her bedroom door behind her. he’s going to kill me one day, and i’m going to let him. and that will be on me.

she wants to break something. she wants to break. she wants the room to stop spinning, she wants the pain to stop, for the pain to get worse. FUCK! this is something she owes to herself. letting men do what they want to her - since when is that her? and her uncle was right, she knows; her mom would be so fucking ashamed. jude is so fucking ashamed.

something needs to change. she barely stifles a sob. i am so fucking spineless. holy shit.

she barely made it to the bathroom, but she did, vomiting vodka and stomach acid as she clung to the porcelain. please let me black out, she thought. please let me black out. i don’t wanna remember this. please let me just forget this.

she did black out. when she finally managed to stand on two feet, to crawl out of bed and drag herself into the bathroom to vomit again, she saw her reflection in the mirror, the skin of the right side of her face an angry swell of black and red, and she thought to herself, i must have been in a fight at a party or something. just a fight, or something like that. some stupid fight.

#／ JUDE . ABOUT !#wilds.musings #this took me like 4 days and its STILL very bad.... embarrasing #n e ways....

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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Hints of Beth and the CRM War in 5x09

So, after I re-watched 6x08 and 6x09, which I posted last week, I also decided to re-watch 5x09. I did so for various reasons, including a comment I received on an old theory. But mostly, I’d been wanting to rewatch this episode for a while. I had a hunch that there might be hints toward the CRM war in it that we couldn’t possibly have known about or recognized back in S5. I was not disappointed.

Tyreese, Lizzie & Mica:

So, in this new comment I got, this commenter said she thought Ty was likening the twin boys to Lizzie and Mica. And I’m sure this has been discussed in some iteration, but I sat and thought about it in a way I hadn’t before. I know I’ve discussed that it seems, from the photos, that there seemed to be a “good” and “evil” twin, and obviously that has ties to Lizzie and Mica. But just think about it this way. Ty was obviously present for the Lizzie/Mica tragedy. Then, he’s killed by one of these twins as a walker.

A random line from 5x04, 4 Walls and a Roof, came to my mind. After Abe and co get on the short bus to go to D.C., Ty is digging graves (for the Termites they killed) and Rick goes to help him. Rick asks him something about what happened on his way to Terminus or something like that (can’t remember the exact question) and Ty answers that what happened “killed me.” Rick, looking a little annoyed, says, “No, it didn’t.” And that’s it.

But it occurred to me that Ty’s line is a foreshadow. He was speaking about Lizzie and Mica, saying that their deaths killed him (emotionally) but it was a foreshadow that another set of siblings would actually kill him a few episodes later. I don’t have a whole lot more to say about this particular thing, though I’m going to talk more about Ty in a minute.

The thing is, I really don’t think we understand the point of Lizzie and Mica, yet. We’ve had lots of theories, talked about how they impacted Carol, the ways in which they could be Beth proxies. But I don’t think we understand their significance in the grand scheme of things, and I’ve never quite known what to do with them symbolically. But given that they’re in Ty’s hallucination WITH BETH tells me we will probably figure it out when she returns.

Hints of the CRM in 5x09:

Several years back (like during S6) I tried so hard to figure out what the radio messages in 5x09 pointed to, and couldn’t really come to any solid conclusion about them. Of course, back then we knew absolutely nothing of the helicopter people, so how could I?

We’ve definitely seen some of the things they talk about come to pass, both before and after this episode. They mention prisons (prison fell before this) and setting people on fire (Carol did that both in S9 and also to Karen and David in S4) and of course they mention machetes (Red Machete). All important symbols.

But these messages also tell a story. Look at what they say:

“At least 68 citizens of the Republic have been killed in four deadly attacks along the main coastal district. The group has continued their campaign of random violence, moving across the countryside unfettered, with the Republic’s military forces in disarray.”

Okay, so I’m assuming the “republic” is the CRM. This suggests a different group performing guerilla warfare against them. Think about all the symbols these lines encompass. We have a group of rebels attacking the CRM, the COASTAL district, and of course the CRM itself. So it’s talking about some rebel group that will be fighting against the CRM.

I think that’s super significant, especially because of the TWB template. Remember that we saw a group of rebels, perhaps led by Will, though it’s a little unclear as yet, who is Beth’s proxy in that template. And they’re outside the CRM and, presumably, because they saw the slaughter at the college, going to fight against it. So I’m seeing this as a huge hint for Beth’s return.

The other thing to bring into the mix here is the Wolves. Because all of this in 5x09 definitely foreshadowed the wolves, and it’s where we first saw their “WOLVES NOT FAR” signs. And where did we see TONS of Beth symbolism: around the wolves.

Second message: “…then terrorizing the village by night, carrying out revenge attacks which include hacking innocents with machetes, and in some cases setting them on fire.”

Okay, so I get that this isn’t flattering for Beth or her group if she’s with the rebels, but it is really hard to know what they’re talking about here, since we don’t get the full sentence. The point is, these are acts of war, and even if this is talking about the rebel group doing this (and I think it probably is, given that wolves did all of these things a few episodes later in 6x02) it’s no worse than what we’ve already seen the CRM do.

But I can also see that if Beth is with or leading this group, this is a very Grady-like issue to be dealing with. Are we killing these people for the greater good, because the war needs to be won? You can see how Grady could easily have been a setup for what she’d be dealing with later on. And maybe she’s the “new sheriff” because she has to police her own people and not let them get too blood thirsty. Or maybe I’m reading into this WAY too much and the point is simply that there will be a violent war. ;D

There’s only one more message that comes out of the radio. So we had the first one, talking about the CRM war and a rebel group attacking the CRM. Then talk of wartime violence.

The third message is Beth singing her song. That’s super on-the-nose, if you ask me. No more clear way to say that Beth will be part of the conflict the radio voice was just talking about. See why that made me happy?

Tyreese…Again:

I’m gonna make a sweeping claim, here. I think the themes around Ty’s death are pretty much the point of the entire series. Yes, I know that’s a tall order. Let me explain. It does tie heavily into Beth’s return, but it encompasses other things as well, and I think it’s a huge part of the current Negan/Maggie/forgiveness story line.

So, when I first went to watch 5x09, I pulled up S5 on Amazon and it shows all the episodes, the first one, of course, being 5x01. And the little picture it had for that episode was Ty in the cabin with baby Judith. I sat and thought about that and that there’s the picture of a cabin in 5x09 that gets blood on it and it occurred to me that those two things are probably related.

So I watched 5x01 after watching 5x09. I’ll admit I didn’t see tons of smoking guns that haven’t already been discussed at length in 5x01. The biggest thing is simply that it was a setup for Ty’s death themes in 5x09, and I definitely need to revisit my cabin theories. ;D

So, if we look at the people Ty hallucinated, there’s the Gov, Lizzie, Mica, Beth, Bob, and Martin, right? These are all obviously people and events Ty feels guilty about. Bob’s death, because he lied about Martin and that sent the Termites after them. He feels guilty about being duped by the Gov and not realizing what a bad guy he was. Lizzie and Mica for obvious reasons. And Beth.

I honestly don’t think Tyreese did anything to feel guilty about with Beth. Not in the same way we think Sasha might have (Sasha/Tyreese Theory). But based on what the Martin hallucination says, I think he’s just really broken up about it and wondering if he could have done anything to change it. Just my opinion, though.

So, if you listen carefully to who is saying what in the hallucination, we have two different representations of good and evil. There’s 1) Bob vs. Martin and 2) Beth/Lizzie/Mica vs. the Gov. In each case, they’re like good and evil angels sitting on Ty’s shoulder and they’re arguing.

So, for example, Martin says the thing about Ty lying about his death and how, maybe somehow, if Bob hadn’t died, it would have changed things with Beth. Domino shit. And then Bob says [paraphrasing] “No, that’s bullshit. I got bit at the food bank. It went the way it had to. The way it was always going to.”

And we have the same thing going on with the Gov. He’ll basically tell Tyreese what an idiot he is, and then one of the three (Beth/Lizzie/Mica) will say, “No. It’s all right. It’s better now.”

So, you can see that Ty is really at war with himself internally.

It’s important to note that one big thing that’s mentioned is that he forgave Carol for Karen’s death. The Gov actually says that Ty is weak and ridiculous because he sat across the table from a woman that murdered someone he loved, and he actually forgave her. The Gov really razzed him about that.

And this is one of the things I mean about over-arching themes. Carol killed Karen and David in S4, which we all know was one great big foreshadow of arcs to come, and Ty forgave her.

I really think this was probably meant to be a foreshadow of Negan. Negan’s story, killing Glenn, was a way bigger deal and way more front and center, mostly because no one really knew Karen except for an episode or two and Glenn was such a beloved character.

Now, we have this redemption arc for Negan and Maggie is going to have to decide if she’ll forgive him, moving forward. We could apply this to plenty of other story lines where Rick took the violent route or forgiveness wasn’t had, and it leads to trouble and death. So, I think this is pretty huge for the overall show.

And I really think it points to Negan doing something to save TF in some way. Because they forgive him and he’s allowed to live, that will save lives. We’ve talked about this with Daryl showing Dwight mercy as well.

My Biggest Beth Takeaway:

As the episode progresses, before Rick and Michonne come to get him, Tyreese does finally stand up to the Governor. He says that the Gov was a bad guy, and that wasn’t his (Ty’s) fault. He says what he talked about with Noah: that he never turned off the radio. He always faced it, and did what he could to help. He said he forgave Carol specifically because “it’s not over.” Which I take to mean that he has hope for the world’s future, and forgiveness is the only way forward. Being angry and holding a grudge only brings death.

And then he said the thing that jumped out at me most:

“People like me CAN live.”

Okay, so what does he mean by ‘people like me?’ Because obviously Ty didn’t live, so this doesn’t apply to him directly. Or if it does, he means that he’ll die, but people like him CAN live under some circumstances.

To figure this out, we have to go back to his cabin in 5x01. During that entire scene in No Sanctuary, Martin was giving him crap about being a “good” guy. Ty answers, “you don’t know what I’ve done.” And Martin looks at baby Judith and says, “no, you’re a good guy. You save babies. That’s a little like saving an anchor when you’re without a boat in the middle of the ocean.” (Total boat/water reference.)

So, when Ty says “people like me,” he means those who choose to be good. Who choose to be hopeful and moral, rather than violent. There’s a long-running theme in the show that Chris Hardwick mentions a lot, that people who function as the moral compass of the group often die. And that’s true.

But here, Ty says, “people like me” (meaning the moral compasses) CAN live.

And Beth is in the room with him when he says that.

She’s looking at the clock radio that simultaneously reads 5:10 (music box) and also 8:22 (Resurrection).

The skeptic might argue that all these other people are in the room too, and how can we be sure he means her? Well, putting all the mountains of TD evidence aside, they do have a point. After all, all the “good” characters Ty hallucinates (Bob, Beth, Mica) are moral compasses and fit the criteria. There are plenty of others not represented here (Hershel, Dale, Glenn, Denise, even Abraham to an extent) but these are the ones Ty felt particularly guilty about.

But I would argue that we only heard one person’s voice come through the radio: Beth’s.

So once again, look at this from a bird’s eye view. Talk of the CRM and a coming war. Then Beth’s voice comes through that same radio, suggesting she’ll be part of it. And later on, “people like me CAN live.”

See what I mean? As I told my fellow theorists, this episode really had all we needed to predict Beth’s return. We just couldn’t have understood the meanings back then.

And honestly, this may be the explanation for the Lizzie/Mica thing I mentioned above. It’s a representation of the evil killing the good, which is super traumatizing and messes everyone up because as humans, we’re hard-wired to believe good will win out.

So, we had Lizzie/Mica, Noah’s brothers, and then the good vs evil hallucinations I already talked about. And we might even have a representation of this at Grady because of evil officer Bob.

We had good Bob who died in 5x04, and then Evil Officer Bob, who directly led to them only having two prisoners, which directly led to Beth getting shot. And I remember when it aired, the show brought a lot of attention to it by doing clickbait articles about why there were “two Bobs.”

So, it’s something they wanted us to notice. And then we see Bob in Ty’s hallucination here. I gotta think that Sasha and Ty’s sibling relationship plays into this in some way as well.

Okay, I’ll shut up, now. But re-watching this gave me tons of hope. We can’t say for sure that we’ll see her in the bonus episodes (though obviously I hope we will) but I’m more sure than ever that she’ll be part of the CRM war. And we’re kind of on the cusp of that. We just have to sit back and wait. ;D

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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doomonfilm · 4 years ago

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Review : The Devil All The Time (2020)

Netflix has made leaps and bounds from its early days as a DVD rental-by-mail service to its current standing as a streaming service giant and production house. The jump to this production house status, be it through the acquisition and continuation of existing properties, or its ability to fund ideas from inception to final product, has by far been the most intriguing growth trend to watch. Netflix has had a steady stream of solid output, and even had multiple films that made Oscar-buzz over the past few years with films such as The Irishman, Roma and Marriage Story. Their latest original dramatic output, The Devil All The Time, continues this trend of quality output, and with 2020 being a shell of what a standard cinematic year is, perhaps the film can continue the winning trend Netflix is quickly establishing.

The Devil All The Time is the story of Arvin Russell (Tom Holland), a young man from the small town of Knockemstiff, Ohio with a troubled upbringing, a rocky journey through life, and a wholly uncertain future. His father, Willard Russell (Bill Skarsgård), was a former World War II Marine going through a crisis of faith when he met his future wife Charlotte (Haley Bennett). As a child, Arvin must watch Willard wrestle with his faith until the day he is left an orphan. During his journey into adulthood, Arvin’s life intersects with Lenora Laferty (Eliza Scanlen), a fellow orphan dealing with the equally sudden loss of her parents as a child, as well as killers Carl (Jason Clarke) and Sandy (Riley Keough) Henderson, crooked Sheriff Lee Bodecker (Sebastian Stan), and the manipulative evil incarnate that is Reverend Preston Teagardin (Robert Pattinson). As Arvin’s world falls apart around him, his back is pushed against the wall numerous times as he comes to grips with the struggles of right and wrong, faith, power balances and the protection of those you love.

Not since PT Anderson’s Magnolia has a film handled chance encounters and ulterior motives with an ensemble cast with such grace and nuance. While Arvin is the true spiritual center of The Devil All The Time, the characters that populate his world, be they family or the strangers he crosses paths with, are equally complex and grounded in reality. The setting of the mid-1960′s is also fitting, as America was on the verge of several cultural awakenings, but was still embracing a very basic, almost puritanical front that hid human savagery we have become all too familiar with as time has passed. The sleepy towns that serve as the stage for The Devil All The Time’s savage intensity are the same sort of settings you would find in Norman Rockwell paintings, and the juxtaposition of this all-American presentation against the actions it houses are jarring, especially as the film reaches its climactic fever-pitch.

It is within the depths of this grander juxtaposition that The Devil All The Time really finds its shining moments. As a meditation on the power and nature of faith, the way that those with power over others use it to manipulate and manifest their will, and the refusal to make a clear distinction of what’s right and wrong when it comes to violence, the film runs on high octane in its displays. Believers are set up as prey for those who claim to speak on behalf of God, though these so-called religious leaders mostly use this call as a way to feed their egos and animalistic urges. Even with religion taken out of the context, the power dynamic that exists between men and women, as well as adults and children, is mostly cruel and manipulative as well, regardless of whether the manipulator does so consciously or out of ignorance. The biggest questions posed to the viewer seem to lie in how Arvin and Willard rectify the wrongs they see in the world, as their hearts are in the right place, but their actions ultimately seem to justify self-created means and ends out of already fragile situations.

Director Antonio Campos does an amazing job of displaying the darkness versus light dichotomy both visually and narratively. Be it the aforementioned small-town vibes and settings that hide the raw and true nature of the inhabitants, or the smiles that the characters display as a façade to mask their true nature, undertones become the name of the game. The pacing is deliberate and methodical, and rightly so, with so many characters needed to pull multiple story threads together into a climactic tangle. Normally, I would not be a fan of narration, and I did find the disembodied voice distracting at times, but learning that the narrator was original book author Donald Ray Pollock allowed me to forgive its presence in the film almost immediately... in a way, it’s almost as if the ‘God’ that created the world we are watching is giving us deeper insight while we piece the puzzle together in our own minds.

Bill Skarsgård is the perfect table-setter for the world of the film, with his philosophical religious quandaries and post-traumatic pain radiating off of his facial expressions and body language. The echoes of this found in Tom Holland’s performance, combined with the barely-checked rage he displays that is always bubbling just beneath the surface, echoes the Skarsgård performance perfectly, and will easily lift him from any potential typecasting forced upon him by his tenure in the MCU. The deeper ensemble cast does an amazing job of distributing story beats and carrying the narrative weight as well. Riley Keough plays triple threat as a woman unsure of her role in the world, bait for the malicious and salacious actions of the infinitely creepy Jason Clarke performance, and in her embracing of familial/sibling tension that exists between her and the pressure cooker performance of Sebastian Stan. Mia Wasikowska makes the most of her limited screen time as one of the few beacons of purity and innocence within the film, which makes the offbeat nature of Harry Melling’s performance that much more unsettling. Eliza Scanlen mirrors Wasikowska’s innocence in her role as the orphaned daughter to a tee, remaining wide-eyed and full of wonder right up until her own tragic end. Robert Pattinson proves once again that the depths of his range are still unknown to this point, with his manipulative and sinister nature setting a bar that other ill-natured characters cannot come close to. Memorable performances by Pokey LaFarge, Douglas Hodge, Kristin Griffith, David Atkinson and Haley Bennett round out the cast.

Don’t be surprised to see The Devil All The Time garner a handful of nominations this award season. It will almost certainly find itself in the Best Adapted Screenplay conversation, and Robert Pattinson is basically a shoo-in for a Best Supporting Actor nod, with Riley Keough also having a chance on the actress side. I wouldn’t even be all that surprised if Tom Holland found his name on a Best Actor list or two. Long story short, this film is compelling as all get out, and based on the impression it left on me, feels like it has rewatch value. Good films are good films, regardless of who produces or presents them, and The Devil All The Time is, at base nature, a good film.

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ticklikeabomb · 5 years ago

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Birth in Reverse - Part 6

Pairing : Avengers x FemPlus Size Reader ; (Y/N) Plus Size Reader x Bucky ; Nadia (Y/N twin sis) Plus Size Reader x Thor

Warnings : Language, violence, Hydra

Word Count : 2.6k

A/N : Let’s speed things up ;)

You spend the rest of the night with Wanda and Natasha but couldn’t focus on their chatting, to absorbed in your head and the kiss you shared with Bucky. Eventually their talking was disturbed by a knock at the door. You stood up and opened it, facing Pepper. "I'm sorry to disturb but was wondering if you had a small spot for me. The men are talking sports and it's kinda driving me nuts", she smiled. You gulped harshly before nodding and letting her in. Wanda gave you a reassuring smile, catching Natasha's skeptical gaze. "What are you ladies talking about?", she asked but you quickly counterattacked, "Do you have any siblings?" She frowned not expecting it before shaking her head. "No, I was an only child. It wasn't always easy. I wished I've had a sibling, a sister who I could talk to." The air in your throat compressed and you took a long gulp of vodka, the liquor being a good excuse for the emerging tears. "Hey take it easy there", commented Natasha. "Sorry, I just needed that", you lied. "I've heard about you and your sister. H-How are you holding on? How do you communicate?", Pepper asked intrigued. "Ehm… it's better now. I- we try to make it work. I hear her in my mind and interact with her like that. I can also feel her presence during particular moments and can move along her wish", you mumbled. 'I will slap him again if I have to', added Nadia to which you laughed loudly, not really sure if it was from her comment or the liquor kicking in. You turned to Pepper and asked her, "Have you ever wondered if you had a sibling somewhere? If…ehm never mind. I think I'm just feeling the alcohol." She just chuckled and nodded before taking a gulp of her own drink. Wanda looked elsewhere while Natasha had her gaze travelling between you and Pepper, figuring out some buried secrets.

After another few hours, everyone decided it was best to go back to their rooms. You laid on the bed, not able to sleep and decided to face Bucky. You knocked at his door even if it was late and at your surprise he opened it. "Sorry, you were probably sleeping", you mumbled. He shook his head and mentioned he couldn't sleep. "Can I come in?", you asked and he stepped aside, letting you inside his room. He took place at the edge of the bed and patted it, signaling for you to sit beside him. After a long silence you finally spoke up, "Why did you ignore me?" You saw him gulp harshly. "I couldn't stop thinking about what that asshole said. That you two you know… and it drove me crazy. I couldn't face you afterwards because I care about you and it's an overwhelming feeling, which I'm not used to."

You processed his words while he continued, "I thought that if I cut the contact with you, the feelings would go but it was worst." "Bucky, what happened with David was two years ago and a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. I.. it really hurt when you avoided me, leaving the room as soon as I would enter, ignoring my presence. You should have told me about your feelings from the beginning." He nodded and reached out to your hand, your heart skipping a beat. "I know and I'm so sorry. I realized what a jerk I was being. I hope you find it in you to forgive me. I will do anything for you to forgive me", his voice broke. "I forgive you Bucky. I like you too, a lot." His eyes shone brightly and a breathtaking smile took over his features. "You do?", he asked. You chuckled and frowned, "Yes. I thought it was obvious." "I thought you liked Thor since you spent so much time with him", he commented while nervously scratching behind his neck. You laughed and shook your head. "Let's just say that I'm not alone in my head." He frowned in confusion before his eyes went wide. "Oh, you mean that.." You smiled at his astonished expression. "How is this gonna work in the futur?", he asked cautiously. You squeezed his hand in yours and replied, "I don't know but let's focus on the present." He nodded before engulfing you in a tight hug. You spent the rest of the night-morning in each others arms until you eventually fell asleep.

The next day, F.R.I.D.A.Y summoned all of the Avengers and you along to the conference room. "Not so loud please", whined Natasha who's head was about to explode after the previous night's drinks. "Take an aspirin and make sure you're fit in two hours because we have a mission coming", announced Steve. He began to explain the plan : infiltrating another of Hydra's bases. "You're joining us Y/N", he finished. "What? No, no, no, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not an Avenger, I'm not even trained." 'But I am', told you Nadia. You kept mentally talking with Nadia, overthinking the mission. What if someone was in danger and her instincts didn't reach you in time to fight back? "Hey it's gonna be alright", Wanda reassured you. "Thor and Bucky will be by your side", mentioned Tony. "They shouldn't. They should be in the field, doing their job and not babysitting me", you commented.

"If something happens you will se it right?", asked Rhodey. "Normally yes, but what if I don't get any vision? What then?" "Then we'll improvise", replied Tony. Seeing that you couldn't get of the hook, you only nodded and let them finalize the plan. After the reunion, everyone stood up to get dressed but Tony called after you. "You, come with me. I have something for you." You frowned but followed him nonetheless towards his lab. "So what do you think?", he exclaimed with a bright smile and pointed in front of him. You followed his gaze and saw the purple with hints of gold in a handmade suit. "It's for me?", you asked with dumbfounded. "Yep", he said proudly. "Wow it's gorgeous. You made it?" "Of course I did. It's basically like Natasha's but I changed the color and added some more cool stuff." You smiled and hugged him in recognition. "Thank you, I love it." "You're welcome dear. Try it on", he proposed.

"Alright everyone in the quinjet in 5 min", commented Steve through the comms. You and Stark were the last ones entering the engine and were met with complete silence. You leaned at the billionaire and ask in a whisper, "What's happening?". He smirked and replied, "I think your suit just left them speechless or they really fancying mine but I doubt it." "Damn, looking good Y/N", Sam broke the silence. You felt Bucky and Thor's gaze travelling your curves. You chuckled at their expression and shook your head before taking a seat next to Wanda and Natasha, Bucky and Thor sitting in front of you. You winked at them and they smiled. "Focus everyone", Steve said and specifically looked at the two smitten man. "You heard the man", you added. 'God Damnit look at them almost drooling over the floor. It's really satisfying', said Nadia to which you chuckled. During the flight, Natasha joined Clint at the cockpit and Sam used the opportunity to seat beside you. "How are you feeling?", he asked. "Kinda scared and excited, I don't know it's a weird feeling. Don't know how to explain it." He chuckled and nodded, knowing exactly what kind of feeling you were talking about. "It's gonna be ok, we have each others back." You nodded but your eyes flashed the opposite emotion. "Here I have this for you", he said and shoved you a gun in hands. "Just like we practiced." You thanked him and put the gun at an opening of your suit.

You arrived at the base and Steve recapitulated the plan once more. Before getting at your tasks, Tony grabbed you aside and explained to you some features of the suit. "If you're in deep trouble just say 'Jarvis' and your suit will change like mine." "Jarvis", you repeated and felt the suit's mechanic shield you : like Stark's, a masque covering your face and the ability to fly out." He smiled but declared, "I said when you were in trouble." "How do I undo this?" "Just ask F.RI.D.A.Y to undo it." You did as such and were back at your normal suit. "This is awesome", you commented. He smirked his 'I know I'm a genius' smile and you shook your head. "Ready?", said Bucky who was with Thor standing next to you. "Yeah, let's go", you replied determined.

You entered the place carefully and it was silent. Too silent. "This is not normal", said Thor. "I remember this place", you mumbled under your breath, the creeps surging all over your body. "It's where they… Nadia", you continued. Nadia's memories resurfacing on your mind. You felt rage taking over your body next. After a crossing on your left, you found yourselves in the largest room. A man was standing alone in the shadows. "Identify yourself or we'll engage", shouted Thor, a firm grip on his hammer. He stepped into the light and you recognized the man in the video, his hands up. "Please, I'm just the bait", he shouted back scared. "I thought you were dead", you said. "They kept me alive because they knew you would come for me." "Why would she do that?", asked Bucky on his guard. "I don't know but they think I have some kind of influence on her, since I was close to Dr Jules", he told us. The room suddenly illuminated and more man came out of different corners. "Rogers, Natasha, Stark", whispered Bucky on his comms but no one responded. "No need to do that", exclaimed a man who seemed to be in charge. He snapped his fingers and a cercle powered by electromagnetic sources appeared in the center, the Avengers captured inside. "It was an ambush", breathed Bucky out. You clenched your jaw, feeling a mix of fear and anger.

Thor summoned his powers to counterattack the force field but it didn't work. He frowned and tried again. "As you can see your powers don't work here. At the contrary you're only powering the field even more", commented their boss with a proud smirk. "What do you want?", you asked and he laughed. "Silly girl, isn't it obvious. We want our creation back and after we get her back. You're bringing us our Asset", he said and pointed to Bucky, who was about to pull on the trigger but you stopped him. "What are you doing?", he asked you confused. "They will not stop until the get me. I'm not sacrificing your lives for me." You marched forward, Bucky and Thor trying to stop you but were trapped by man behind them.

You passed the Avengers, their features screaming pain and their heads shaking to you 'no'. You stood in front of the so called boss and he turned towards the bait, the one who knew Jules. "Enyo ; Eris ;", he began with a proud smile. You put your hands on your head, feeling like it might explode. "Peitho ; Artemis", he continued while your screamed in pain. "Até ; Medusa", he finished. You were on your knees, your head down. When you lifted your head up, being at the Avengers sight they knew. It wasn't you anymore. It was Nadia. You stood up, your eyes shining with mischief, your gestures the opposite of your own. "Welcome back Nadia", said the man who you thought was the bait but who was in fact the brain behind the whole operation. With a piercing gaze Nadia turned towards him and he smiled recognizing her. "You killed Jules and made yourself the victim didn't you", she asked. He smiled brightly. "The perfect plan don't you think." "Indeed".

"Now you have two choices Nadia : join us willingly and witness the so-called great Earth's heroes perish or we will force you. One more thing if you double cross us", he snapped his fingers and Pepper appeared, a man's arm around her neck. You/she heard Stark's screams. You turned towards them and told him, "Shut up Stark, don't waste your breath. I promise I'll deal with her quickly." She saw the betrayal splattered all over Tony's and the others faces except Wanda's. "Please, please, don't hurt me", cried Pepper out. You walked her way and caressed her cheek. "Don't worry Auntie, it will be over soon." Her eyes widened and Bucky tried to talk Nadia out of it, telling her/you that she didn't had to. You stepped next to the boss and smirked. "Are you ready to end them?" You chuckled darkly and replied "Oh that I'm ready." Grabbing your gun at the speed of light, turned towards the Hydra agent and shot him before attacking the others. Pepper transformed herself to let Loki take over. In seconds you burned the place down. Finding the control base, you destroyed the protocol of the force field and freed the Avengers.

They were trying to recover from the pain while you/she watched them doing so. "Where is she?", you turned to Loki. He smirked, "She's safe you have my word." With a piercing gaze you nodded and replied "Good. In that case you'll have mine. Tomorrow 6 am, training room." He nodded and smiled again before taking your hand and dropping a chaste kiss on it. "I'm looking forward in meeting you Nadia." Snapping your hand from his grip, you made your way towards the team, your hips swaying with every step, emphasizing that you weren't Y/N in control anymore. "Hello, we meet at last", you smirked proudly. "What the fuck just happened?", asked Rhodey. "You want the long or short version?", you replied sarcastically. "Where's Pepper?", asked Tony furiously while grabbing the edge of your suit around your neck. Your gaze landed on his hand and got dark, "I would recommend you to take your hands of me, if you want to still keep them intact."

Fuming he took his hands of you and you simply told them, "Y/N had a vision while dressing up. She knew this was an ambush. Their goal was Pepper and then you. So she did the best thing she knew. Let me take over." 'I'm sorry I didn't tell them', you said in your common mind. "She's sorry by the way", repeated Nadia out loud. "She knew and didn't warn us", exclaimed Bucky angrily. "It was for the common good", you simply stated. "She should have warned us", counterattacked Natasha. Their outburst didn't phased her and let it slip like nothing ever happened. "Isn't anyone gonna acknowledge the fact she called Pepper/Loki auntie?", stated Clint. "Is it true?" You nodded and your eyes landed on Tony. "You don't seem surprise", you turned to him. "You really think you can ask for F.R.I.D.A.Y to research about your family without transmitting it over me?", he replied sarcastically. You chuckled and said, "Well isn't she two-faced, who would have thought that possible", exclaimed Nadia proud of her joke.

She left them behind and marched in direction of the quinjet, passing next to Thor. "Hello handsome. Can't wait to get to know you", she said with a flirty voice making him smile before he noticed everyone's gaze on him. He cleared his throat and tried to make a serious face while you just chuckled. You winked at him and walked out.

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january-warlock · 7 years ago

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Here’s a commission I wrote for crisis-response-specialist; they were pretty happy with it and I got their permission to post it, so here’s another example of my writing.

Ship: Jacob/Femshep

Fandom: Mass Effect

Summary: Still doing reconstruction after the Reaper war, Shepard has something she needs to tell Jacob. “You know those rounds of whiskey we share with the Thackerays at poker? Well, I have to stop that.” “Cris, having a few rounds of whiskey with friends doesn’t make you an alcoholic.” “That’s not why.”

Adjusting to life in the colony was a lot easier than Shepard had been expecting. She thought she’d get restless, or spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder because she’d never adjust to not having to worry about mercenaries or Reapers or stray bullets. But they had plenty for security; the mechs, turrets, a more-than-decent security force. And she and Jacob were both biotics; even without guns, they weren’t defenseless. It took her a few weeks to start sleeping through the night completely, and not wake up to look at a datapad or check with security, or just sit outside their home alert for threats, but she was finally starting to feel at ease.

She and Jacob had returned to Mindoir, Shepard’s first home and birthplace, for their retirement. With the Reapers gone, they were in the process of rebuilding, and going to Mindoir, the first place she’d lost to violence, seemed to be the best source of catharsis. Simple colony life was appealing; no city noise or lights, or politics, or council. And she still couldn’t really bare to see the Citadel.

Shepard was the first to wake up. Jacob was right next to her, their legs tangled together, still fast asleep. She took a deep breath, soaking in the warmth and sun coming in from their skylight and rolled under the covers. She could see a multitude of scars all over his chest, especially the one he had gotten when he got shot the first time she’d seen after six months of being inprisoned. She had her fair share on her arms, torso, legs, back. Just the minimum price to pay in war, but they’d won, and now, they could retire and live their lives in peace.

And peace they had. Jacob was starting to wake up. He buried his face in the pillow for a moment before opening his eyes and giving a lazy smile. “Morning, beautiful.”

She let out a deep breath and stretched. “Morning.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her jawline, mumbling, “What’s on the agenda today?”

She inched a little closer to him, draping her arm over his waist. “Just the usual.” Their days were simple; slow mornings looking over datapads with coffee and holding hands, making rounds around the colony, checking with security, monitoring supplies. Then making one final check in the evening before dinner. Things went so smooth, sometimes, they could just give a quick notice and take the day off and lounge around together.

“Nothing too exciting.” He smiled, burying his face in her neck.

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” Suffice to say, they had both had enough excitement to last for a lifetime.

“The best.” Jacob ran his fingers through her hair, trailing kisses along her neck. “I love you.”

She smiled and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I love you too.”

Things were hard after the war; she’d spent months in the hospital recovering from the Crucible. She’d spent three weeks of that time in a coma, and when she woke up, Jacob was at her bedside, sleeping in a chair. It was a few days before she could really talk, but she could register that Jacob was so happy, he cried, and he had to be careful when he hugged her tight enough to nearly break something.

Sometimes, she couldn’t believe that she met Jacob while they were both with Cerberus. He’d been shooting at mechs until she had used her biotics to slam one of them into a nearby wall. “Thought you were still a work in progress.” He had said. During their time on the Normandy, she couldn’t see how someone as good, loyal, and dedicated as Jacob could’ve been working for the Illusive Man. But, then, he had more than just them fooled.

He’d been there with her through physical therapy, helped her manage any tasks that needed Commander Shepard’s attention, and eventually, she was released from the hospital. And that evening, he brought her to the part of London that, while still rebuilding, things were progressing. No more Reapers. Many people dead, and many more unaccounted for, but it was really, actually, over. No more cycles. And that was the night he proposed.

Jacob had tied some string lights around the trees that were still saplings and a small table and he looked so handsome in his suit, clean shaven and everything. She’d actually just wore the dress she did during the casino heist. She thought it was just a celebratory dinner of her getting out of the hospital until Jacob began talking.

“Cristina Shepard.” He began. “I didn’t bring you out here for just dinner.” Shepard had seen plenty of romantic movies. She knew the speeches, and she said nothing but her heart started to beat faster. “Cris. I love you. You are the finest woman in the galaxy, and I don’t mean just because you wiped out the Reapers. You’re compassionate, devoted, intelligent, and you’d make time for anyone that needed it.” Jacob got of his seat and knelt down in front of her. “Anyone would be lucky just to have you in their life. But I’m the luckiest because you wanted to be with me. And now I’m asking you to share the rest of your life with me.” He pulled a white box out of his pocket. “Cristina Shepard, will you marry me?”

She knew where he was going with that, but it didn’t stop the excitement. She’d wanted a family life for the longest time, since her parents were killed on Mindoir. Except she never thought she’d actually get it after the Reaper threat manifested. She didn’t think she’d actually survive to marry let alone have children. But she did. And here they were.

She could feel tears sting her eyes when she nodded and screamed, “Yes!”

After a few more minutes of just lying in each other’s arms, they moved to the kitchen. Jacob starting to scramble some eggs while Shepard scrolled down a datapad. “Nope, nothing unusual. Another day in actual paradise.”

“Quiet colony life.” Jacob smiled before coming over and planting a kiss on the base of her neck. “Just like we’ve always wanted.”

“Now all we’re missing is the golden retriever and the two point five kids.” Shepard brushed her fingers along his shoulder.

“Someday.” Jacob threw some bacon in a pan, and Shepard sipped at her coffee.

Cristina looked up from the datapad and yelled, “Babe, you’re cooking bacon, put a shirt on.”

“I thought you were enjoying the view.” He smiled, looking over his shoulder, but wincing when grease ended up on his bare chest.

“See?” Shepard said. She herself wore nothing but a long tshirt and pair of shorts. He grimaced, but she could see he was trying to fight a smile.

She looked over at their wedding photos; everyone had come. Tali even chose that day to debut her face without a helmet. And she could feel the presence of those who had died. Thane, Mordin, Legion, David. And Ashley. And hundreds of people she didn’t even know sent gifts. Wrex had given her away. Jacob cried when he watched her walk down the aisle. Her dress was white, like she’d been dreaming about, and the long, frilly train, with her hair done up and intricate jewelry. “Thinking about our day?” Jacob asked, watching her admire the photos.

“I was thinking about how you cried and almost couldn’t get through your vows.” She smiled, her knee brushing up against his.

“Neither could you.”

She did cry when Jacob slipped the ring on her finger. It was a white band, with her new name inscribed on her. Even though most everyone called her Shepard, legally, she was Cristina Taylor, and she loved it. A change of name to signify a change in her future.

After breakfast, they changed into some casual ware that made them fit to be seen in. it was time for their rounds around the colony. Checking barricades, turrets, security checkpoints. A few stops at the armory, storage, and the welcome center to see upcoming arrivals. Once everything was done, the sun was beginning to set, and they returned back to their one-bedroom home for dinner.

After dinner was the best part of the day. They’d turn off all sources of noise, and leave just the table lamp on, giving the room a dim glow. He’d pull Cris into his lap, and she’d rest her head on his shoulder, and they normally wouldn’t even talk, just enjoy being wrapped up in each other’s arms.

But today was different.

“Jacob?”

He was running his fingers up and down her back, kissing her forehead. “Yeah?”

“You know those rounds of whiskey we have with the Thackerays during poker?” She smiled. “I have to stop that.”

He laughed. “Cris, having a bit of whiskey with your friends doesn’t make you an alcoholic.”

“That’s not why.” She readjusted her position to look him in the eye and wrap her arms around his neck. “You know how we only have the one bedroom, and no crib or high chair...” Jacob’s eyes widened. “Yeah, we’re going to have change all of that.”

He didn’t say anything, but a smile graced his face that made laugh lines appear around his eyes. “You’re...”

She nodded, unable to contain her laughter. “Yep. I’m two weeks.”

She squealed in delight as Jacob shot out of the chair, his hands under her arms and spun her around well over his head. “You’re pregnant! Cristina, you’re pregnant!”

“Yes, Jacob, I’m pregnant!”

“I’m gonna be a father!” He put her down, and she held out her hand to try and stop him from running off, but she failed. He ran out onto the porch and yelled, “I’m gonna be a father! I’m gonna be a father!” Some lights from nearby started to flicker back on.

Cristina, laughing to the point where she could feel her ribs hurting, went out to retrieve him. “Jacob, it’s late, get back inside.”

He pulled her back into his arms after they reentered the kitchen. “This is...this is the happiest day of my life. Cristina, we’re going to be parents.”

“‘Happiest day of my life,’ he says after our wedding and before our kids are born.” But she agreed. A few years ago, they both thought they’d never have this. Shepard assumed that she would die fighting the Reapers, and Jacob had known for a long time that there was no future in a terrorist group like Cerberus-but things had changed.

“What about names?” Jacob asked. He looked like he was an only child and it was Christmas morning.

It was still early for names, but, “I was thinking David for a boy, and Hannah for a girl.”

“After Anderson and your mother?”

She nodded. “I’m hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect.” He had one hand on her back and the other in her hair. “We’re gonna be parents. I can’t believe...”

“Well, believe it.” She ran her fingers over his knuckles. “Because nine months from now, we’re going to have a kid.”

And there came the waterworks. They were happy tears, but still tears. And after he started crying, Cristina couldn’t keep it to herself either. And they were laughing, hugging, and crying all at the same time, with Jacob occasionally managing to get out, “I’m gonna be a father!”

After they settled down and managed to dry their tears, they returned to the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulled up their omni-tools, deciding where to add on the nursery and what colors to use, finally deciding on a light shade of teal that could work for either a girl or a boy. They went on well into the night until their eyes started to burn from not looking away from the screens. Jacob was the first to fall asleep, head leaned back. Cristina leaned up and kissed his cheek, before murmuring, “I love you.” Their omni-tools clicked off, and she settled comfortably in the darkness, with just the sound of Jacob’s breathing to listen to.

#mass effect #jacob x shepard #my writing #commissions

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friend-clarity · 5 years ago

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BDS and Antifa Bigots Shout “Back to the Ovens” at Toronto's York U

Anti-Semitic violence and hate at a Canadian university.

Mon Nov 25, 2019

Daniel Greenfield, a Shillman Journalism Fellow at the Freedom Center, is an investigative journalist and writer focusing on the radical Left and Islamic terrorism.

“Go back to the ovens, go back to Europe!”

That was what Jewish students, pro-Israel activists, and Jewish community members heard in Vari Hall.

It was a Wednesday evening at York University. Students and community members had come out to a modernistic building on York U’s Keele Campus in Toronto to hear the stories of former Israeli soldiers. The volunteers with Reservists on Duty, two women and five men, six Jews and one Arab Christian, were there to conduct a dialogue and answer questions about their experiences in Israel’s battle against terrorism.

Shar Leyb had grown up in Canada before making the decision to move to Israel and serve in the Israel Defense Forces. The ugly scenes that met him at York University was a Canada he did not recognize.

“It’s extremely sad,” he told Front Page Magazine. “In Canada, my home country, people filled with hate and violence were calling for the death of all Jews.”

York U’s Vari Hall had been the scene of some ugly confrontations in the past, but no one had expected 500 BDS and Antifa bigots to show up screaming hatred and attacking Jewish students on campus.

“Before the event, we were setting up and a deaf person could hear the chants,” Shar said. “We went to see and there were a couple of hundred people. Reservists on Duty is all about dialogue, talking to the other side, understanding their concerns and finding common ground. But they didn’t want to speak.

What happened can be seen in dozens of viral videos that quickly spread across the internet.

Amit Deri, the CEO of Reservists on Duty, had expressed concerns about the potential danger at York University even before the event. Posters depicting murderous Israeli soldiers had gone up calling for angry protests. “All out! No Israeli soldiers on our campus!” they had demanded. Another poster had urged protesters to wear black. That’s the color associated with antifa and violent anarchists.

While angry mobs chanted "From Toronto to Gaza, Globalize the Intifada!” and “Intifada, Intifada, go back to the ovens" in the hall outside, inside the room anti-Israel thugs tried to shout down the speakers. Students were pushed and shoved by BDS bigots waving PLO flags and chanting terrorist slogans determined to shut down the event and prevent the Israeli veterans from being heard.

But the volunteers with Reservists on Duty, Shillman fellows, had their own experiences in the Israeli Defense Forces, and had been through a one-year training program to prepare them for college campuses.

The mob outside might have intimidated some Jewish students, but the seven volunteers with Reservists on Duty remained calm and composed. One of the female veterans had been in a search and rescue unit. She said that the scene outside was nothing compared to what she had faced.

“We have been in dangerous situations, we are not afraid,” Shar Leyb told students in the audience. “You have to exercise your freedom of speech.”

At the center of the ugliness was the infamous Students Against Israeli Apartheid. SAIA had already been suspended once for its tactics. And little had changed as SAIA’s account retweeted a Quds News Network story crediting the hate group for having “bravely protested and managed to disrupt an event”.

Nazih Khatatba who had praised the murder of four rabbis in a synagogue as “courageous” was also there.

But pro-Israel activists believe that a sizable presence by antifa had made the situation truly explosive. The two sets of radical activists appeared to function as one movement in organizing the attacks and then developing a single narrative blaming Jewish students and activists for the violence at the event.

“This was the first time we saw a very effective collaboration between antifa and BDS pro-islamist activists,” Amit Deri told Front Page Magazine. “This event was proof that there is a deep connection between BDS and those who hate western civilization.”

Shar Leyb warned that the intensification of cooperation between these two violent groups could lead to people being seriously hurt. Antifa events have often led to major violence and serious injuries.

The events at York University were serious enough that they attracted condemnation from Premier Ford and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.

“I am disappointed that York University allowed for a hate-filled protest to take place last night at Vari Hall. I stand with the Jewish students and the Jewish community,” Ontario Premier Doug Ford stated.

"On Wednesday night, violence & racist chants broke out against an event organized by the Jewish community at York University. What happened that night was shocking and absolutely unacceptable. Anti-Semitism has no place in Canada. We will always denounce it & all forms of hatred," Prime Minister Justin Trudeau tweeted.

Trudeau's condemnation was notable considering his government's general unfriendliness to Israel.

Despite these official condemnations, the only action taken in response were four trespassing tickets. That’s not going to deter violent mobs from targeting Jewish and pro-Israel events in the future.

And there has been no condemnation of Students Against Israeli Apartheid by name.

Meanwhile York University’s student center continues to display a mural glamorizing the practice of Muslims throwing rocks at Jews. Few Jewish students and community members were surprised that anti-Semitic violence occurred in a university where public art celebrates anti-Semitic violence.

Outrage over anti-Semitic violence at Canadian universities has come and gone before. The anti-Semitic riot at Concordia University in 2002, which included broken windows and an assault on a Holocaust survivor, was widely condemned. And yet the ugliness at Concordia University continues.

The real impact of these events will be felt among the students, not among the politicians.

While members of Reservists on Duty were disappointed by the lack of dialogue with anti-Israel protesters, they believe that the ugliness on display unmasked the hatred of the BDS movement.

“This was not a clash between equal groups, this was anti-Semitism,” Amit Deri told me. “This is a violent group that came not to protest, but to commit violence. It is very clear who the violent and dangerous people are.”

Reservists on Duty had not come to pick a fight. They had come to share their experiences on the front lines of fighting terror. They had not expected to come face to face with it at a Canadian university. But neither were they intimidated or deterred by the hate and the violence. Instead they hope that they showed Jewish students how to stand tall and proud in the face of the ugliest displays of anti-Semitism.

At York University, Shar Leyb found a campus where Jewish students are afraid to publicly identify with their heritage and their faith. They hide the identifying symbols, like the Stars of David, that might give away who they are. “Jews are afraid to walk around on campus,” he told Front Page Magazine.

The veteran of a special forces unit in the Israeli military, who now works in the private sector, believes that the confrontation with the BDS mob showed Jewish students that it is possible to stay strong in the face of anti-Semitism. His advice to Jewish students is to, “join clubs, contact the administration, make sure things like this don't happen on campus, make it a public fact, stand up, don't be afraid to be Jewish, so history doesn't repeat itself.”

A few years ago at Concordia University, a Jewish student was told to remove his kippah. An item of Jewish religious significance. In response, Jewish students were urged to be certain to wear them proudly. Just now, the University of Toronto’s Graduate Student Union, which supports BDS, had refused to support Kosher food on campus because that would be pro-Israel.

The veterans of Reservists on Duty came to York University to tell their stories and introduce students to the reality of Israel’s fight against terrorism, but they left having helped Jewish students find their voice.

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ucflibrary · 7 years ago

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Hispanic Heritage Month, established in 1988, runs from September 15 through October 15. It recognizes and celebrates the contributions of Hispanic and Latino Americans have made to the United States. Florida in particular has a strong Hispanic background including the oldest inhabited city in the U.S., St. Augustine, which was founded in 1565 by the Spanish.

Join the UCF Libraries as we celebrate our favorite Hispanic authors and subjects with these 20 suggestions. Click on the Keep Reading link below to see the full list of books along with their descriptions and catalog links.

PS. The free museum day hosted by the Smithsonian is on Saturday, September 23 this year, and includes admission to the Tampa Bay History Center which is currently featuring Gateways to the Caribbean: Mapping the Florida-Cuba Connection. Get a free ticket to visit here.

For a full list of participating Florida Museums, click here.

Agua Santa = Holy Water by Pat Mora Drawing on oral and lyrical traditions, this book honors the grace and spirit of mothers, daughters, lovers, and goddesses. From a tribute to Frida Kahlo to advice from an Aztec goddess, the poems explore the intimate and sacred spaces of borderlands through many voices: a revolutionary, a domestic worker, a widow. Suggested by Andrew Hackler, Circulation

Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges "The Aleph" is a short story by the Argentine writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges. First published in September 1945, it was reprinted in the short story collection, The Aleph and Other Stories, in 1949, and revised by the author in 1974. Suggested by Christina Wray, Digital Learning & Engagement Librarian

Aloud: voices from the Nuyorican Poets Café edited by Miguel Algarín and Bob Holman Compiled by poets who have been at the center of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in New York City, Aloud! showcases the work of the most innovative and accomplished word artists from around America. Suggested by Christina Wray, Digital Learning & Engagement Librarian

Chol (Mayan) folktales: a collection of stories from the modern Maya of Southern Mexico by Nicholas A. Hopkins and J. Kathryn Josserand Chol (Mayan) Folktales deftly combines high-quality and thoughtfully edited transcriptions of oral storytelling with translation and narrative analysis, documenting and analyzing a trove of Chol folklore. The work provides a look into the folktale culture of the contemporary Maya presented with a rare and innovative theoretical framework. The rich Chol oral narrative tradition is represented by eleven stories, each printed in the original language of the storytellers with parallel English translations and accompanied by a brief introduction that provides the relevant cultural and mythological background. Included with eight of the stories is a link to an audio clip of the tale told aloud in the Chol language. In addition, Chol (Mayan) Folktales introduces a model for the analysis of narratives that can be used to demonstrate the existence of a tradition of storytelling applicable to other Maya lore, including Classic period hieroglyphic texts. Suggested by Adriana Neese, Circulation

Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende Daughter of Fortune is a sweeping portrait of an era, a story rich in character, history, violence, and compassion. In Eliza, Allende has created one of her most appealing heroines, an adventurous, independent-minded, and highly unconventional young woman who has the courage to reinvent herself and to create her hard-won destiny in a new country. Suggested by Andrew Hackler, Circulation

Esperanza Rising by Pam Muoz Ryan Esperanza thought she'd always live with her family on their ranch in Mexico--she'd always have fancy dresses, a beautiful home, and servants. But a sudden tragedy forces Esperanza and Mama to flee to California during the Great Depression, and to settle in a camp for Mexican farm workers. Esperanza isn't ready for the hard labor, financial struggles, or lack of acceptance she now faces. When their new life is threatened, Esperanza must find a way to rise above her difficult circumstances--Mama's life, and her own, depend on it. Suggested by Peggy Nuhn, Regional Campuses

Gabi, a Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year in high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy's pregnancy, Sebastian's coming out, the cute boys, her father's meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Subject Librarian

How to Leave Hialeah by Jennine Capó Crucet Coming to us from the predominantly Hispanic working-class neighborhoods of Hialeah, the voices of this steamy section of Miami shout out to us from rowdy all-night funerals and kitchens full of plátanos and croquetas and lechón ribs, from domino tables and cigar factories, glitter-purple Buicks and handed-down Mom Rides, private homes of santeras and fights on front lawns. Calling to us from crowded expressways and canals underneath abandoned overpasses shading a city’s secrets, these voices are the heart of Miami, and in this award-winning collection Jennine Capó Crucet makes them sing. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Subject Librarian

La Perdida by Jessica Abel Jessica Abel’s evocative black–and–white drawings and creative mix of English and Spanish bring Mexico City’s past and present to life, unfurling Carla’s dark history against the legacies of Burroughs and Kahlo. A story about the youthful desire to live an authentic life and the consequences of trusting easy answers, La Perdida–at once grounded in the particulars of life in Mexico and resonantly universal–is a story about finding oneself by getting lost. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Mexican Phoenix: Our Lady of Guadalupe: image and tradition across five centuries by D.A. Brading In 1999 Pope John Paul II proclaimed Our Lady of Guadalupe a patron saint of the Americas. According to oral tradition and historical documents, in 1531 Mary appeared as a beautiful Aztec princess to Juan Diego, a poor Indian. Speaking to him in his own language, she asked him to tell the bishop her name was La Virgen de Guadalupe and that she wanted a church built on the mountain. During a second visit, the image of the Virgin miraculously appeared on his cape. Through the centuries, the enigmatic power of this image has aroused such fervent devotion in Mexico that it has served as the banner of the rebellion against Spanish rule and, despite skepticism and anticlericalism, still remains a potent symbol of the modern nation. In Mexican Phoenix, David Brading traces the intellectual origins, the sudden efflorescence, and the theology that has sustained the tradition of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Suggested by Adriana Neese, Circulation

Night Prayers by Santiago Gamboa A thrilling literary novel about crime and corruption in Latin America told in alternating voices and perspectives, Night Prayers is the story of Manuel, a Colombian philosophy student arrested in Bangkok and accused of drug trafficking. Unless he enters a guilty plea he will almost certainly be sentenced to death. But it is not his own death that weighs most heavily on him but a tender longing for his sister, Juana, whom he hasn't seen for years. Before he dies he wants nothing more than to be reunited with her. Fans of both Roberto Bolaño and Gabriel García Márquez will find much to admire in this story about the mean streets of Bogotá, the sordid bordellos of Thailand, and a love between siblings that knows no end. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Popol Vuh: The Definitive Edition of the Mayan Book of the Dawn of Life and the Glories of Gods and Kings translated by Dennis Tedlock Popol Vuh, the Quiché Mayan book of creation, is not only the most important text in the native languages of the Americas, it is also an extraordinary document of the human imagination. It begins with the deeds of Mayan gods in the darkness of a primeval sea and ends with the radiant splendor of the Mayan lords who founded the Quiché kingdom in the Guatemalan highlands. Originally written in Mayan hieroglyphs, it was transcribed into the Roman alphabet in the sixteenth century. This new edition of Dennis Tedlock's unabridged, widely praised translation includes new notes and commentary, newly translated passages, newly deciphered hieroglyphs, and over forty new illustrations. Suggested by Tim Walker, LibTech

Shadowshaper by Daniel José Older Sierra Santiago planned an easy summer of making art and hanging out with her friends. But then a corpse crashes their first party. Her stroke-ridden grandfather starts apologizing over and over. And when the murals in her neighborhood begin to weep tears... Well, something more sinister than the usual Brooklyn ruckus is going on. With the help of a fellow artist named Robbie, Sierra discovers shadowshaping, a magic that infuses ancestral spirits into paintings, music, and stories. But someone is killing the shadowshapers one by one. Now Sierra must unravel her family's past, take down the killer in the present, and save the future of shadowshaping for generations to come. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Stories from Spain = Hisorias de Espana by Genevieve Barlow and William N. Stivers In Stories from Spain/Historias de Espana, we've placed the Spanish and English stories side by side--lado a lado--so you can practice and improve your reading skills in your new language while enjoying the support of your native tongue. This way, you'll avoid the inconvenience of constantly having to look up unfamiliar words and expressions in a dictionary. Read as much as you can understand, and then look to the facing page for help if necessary. As you read, you can check your comprehension by comparing the two versions of the story. You'll also find a bilingual vocabulary list at the end of the book, so you'll have a handy reference for new words. Suggested by Adriana Neese, Circulation

The contemporary Spanish-American novel: Bolaño and after edited by Will H. Corral, Juan E. De Castro, Nicholas Birns The Contemporary Spanish-American Novel provides an accessible introduction to an important World literature. While many of the authors covered―Aira, Bolaño, Castellanos Moya, Vásquez―are gaining an increasing readership in English and are frequently taught, there is sparse criticism in English beyond book reviews. This book provides the guidance necessary for a more sophisticated and contextualized understanding of these authors and their works. Underestimated or unfamiliar Spanish American novels and novelists are introduced through conceptually rigorous essays. Suggested by Adriana Neese, Circulation

The Hispanic Condition: The Power of a People by Ilan Stavans In The Hispanic Condition, Ilan Stavans offers a subtle and insightful meditation on Hispanic society in the United States. A native of Mexico, Stavans has emerged as one of the most distinguished Latin American writers of our time, an award-winning novelist and critic praised by scholars and beloved by readers. In this pioneering psycho-historical profile, he delves into the cultural differences and similarities among the five major Hispanic groups: Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Central and South Americans, and Spaniards. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Acclaimed by critics, beloved by readers of all ages, taught everywhere from inner-city grade schools to universities across the country, and translated all over the world, The House on Mango Street is the remarkable story of Esperanza Cordero. Told in a series of vignettes – sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes deeply joyous – it is the story of a young Latina girl growing up in Chicago, inventing for herself who and what she will become. Few other books in our time have touched so many readers. Suggested by Peggy Nuhn, Regional Campuses

The Infinite Plan by Isabel Allende A saga of one man’s search for love and his struggle to come to terms with a childhood of poverty and neglect, The Infinite Plan is Isabel Allende’s first novel to be set in the United States and to portray American characters. Suggested by Andrew Hackler, Circulation

The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel Inspired by the process of creating a library for his fifteenth-century home near the Loire, in France, Alberto Manguel, the acclaimed writer on books and reading, has taken up the subject of libraries. “Libraries,” he says, “have always seemed to me pleasantly mad places, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been seduced by their labyrinthine logic.” In this personal, deliberately unsystematic, and wide-ranging book, he offers a captivating meditation on the meaning of libraries. Suggested by Christina Wray, Digital Learning & Engagement Librarian

The Story of my Teeth by Valeria Luiselli Highway is a late-in-life world traveler, yarn spinner, collector, and legendary auctioneer. His most precious possessions are the teeth of the "notorious infamous" like Plato, Petrarch, and Virginia Woolf. Written in collaboration with the workers at a Jumex juice factory, Teeth is an elegant, witty, exhilarating romp through the industrial suburbs of Mexico City and Luiselli's own literary influences. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

#hispanic heritage month #featured bookshelf #ucf libraries bookshelf #ucf library #booklr

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museemagazine · 8 years ago

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#WHM Gerda Taro + Lee Miller

We’ll be tapping our incredible archives in support of Women’s History Month and International Women’s Day and posting interviews from our Women issue throughout the month of March.

Gerda Taro + Lee Miller the mighty

By Ann Van Lenten

Of the stars that mark the pantheon of pioneering war photographers, Gerda Taro (1910-1937) and Lee Miller (1900-1977) share a special place in how they adapted to conflict. They didn’t know one another, but in their careers both were powered by an ambition that blurred the line between adapting to, and creating, circumstance. In order to access the worlds they wanted to work in, they reinvented themselves on the fly. Early on, they changed their names as a business decision and partnered with lovers who helped them learn the camera. Afterward, they struck out on their own, but both produced pictures whose authorship was misattributed to those teachers. Time and again they flouted sexual convention while abiding by social: their friends and lovers functioned in their work lives, yet by all accounts the two were so intelligent, engaging—and good at taking pictures—they alienated few people.

Taro and Miller began covering war with photographic training in the fading “new vision” style—one that looked for fresh perspectives of reality via acute camera angles, close-ups, disorienting horizons, and a love of abstract forms. But by the time each entered her war—Taro the Spanish Civil, and Miller World War II—society and combat had mechanized by a quantum leap, and fascism’s intimidating violence demanded something else artistically. In the brutal and depersonalized conditions of war, both women responded anew by capturing soul, humanity, the lived reality of the everyday. Taro decided to use her camera to fight fascism as a participant, and war pushed her to capture moral, dynamic situations. Miller, with her compartmentalized emotional life and her artistic training, put aside Surrealism’s emphasis on the erotic and subconscious to confront the grim, incongruous truths of WWII’s most gruesome, intense events.

Miller, dead now thirty-eight years, continues to give us photo fever. As of this writing, her archive lists eleven current and upcoming exhibits of her work, shows that celebrate her standout roles as supermodel/It Girl of her day; business partner and model to Man Ray; experimental, fashion, and portrait photographer; and formidable war photographer. In war, arguably the most meaningful manifestation of her ingenuity, I see her well-seasoned visual sensibilities hooking into horror, humor, defeat, tenderness, absurdity, and valor as she covered WWII in Europe.

In contrast to Miller, Taro, dead now seventy-eight years, has a cultural reputation that is undeservedly pale despite her vivid pictures of the Spanish Civil War. It wasn’t always so. Her 1937 funeral in Paris drew tens of thousands of mourners who, in solidarity, claimed Taro as an anti-fascist martyr. Giacometti designed her gravesite in Pere Lachaise. For a second she was a heroine, but then history buried her: WWII and its plethora of pictures buried her, in part because her own career lasted 18 months so didn’t yield a large body of work; the death of her family in the Holocaust buried her because there was no one to continue her legacy; and Robert Capa, her partner and boyfriend buried her. He didn’t name her as co-author for Death in The Making, his book of their Spanish Civil War photographs published the year after Taro died. And, by virtue of his outsize fame, she fell into obscurity—Irme Schaber, Taro’s German biographer, says that their working partnership was boiled down to a love story.

Recently, there was a brief blip when the International Center of Photography mounted a 2007 exhibition of Taro’s work—well worth checking out online��but to this day, Schaber’s biography has never been translated into English. Yet Taro helped establish the practice of war photography as we have come to consume it, creating pictures that brim with life, drama, and insight.

By the standards of their day, Taro’s beginnings were more outsider-ish than Miller’s. She was born in Stuttgart, Germany to middle class, Jewish parents. She experienced WWI, air raids, food rations, dislocation. In 1933, Hitler was appointed German Chancellor and under the growing domination of the Nazis, Taro became politicized via her boyfriend. In Leipzig, where her family had moved, she got involved with the underground. She was jailed for three weeks for distributing anti-Nazi flyers and posters. By 1934, it was clear enough how inhospitable to Jews the climate was in Germany, and she left, like many others, for Paris.

But Taro had certain advantages as well. She attended Swiss boarding school, then business college. She spoke fluent English and French, a little Spanish, was a great dresser, and charismatically beautiful. In Paris she found work with photographer Fred Stein in the darkroom, then as a photo agent at Alliance Photo. She was poor but resourceful. When she fell in love with Endre Friedmann, a Hungarian Jewish photojournalist, she didn’t just make Endre dress smarter, she organized his office. She didn’t just run the business end of his career, she persuaded him to change his name to Robert Capa and changed hers to Gerda Taro (from Gerta Pohorylle): she grasped that with indeterminate surnames the French press would more likely accredit them. She didn’t just push Capa’s work out, she learned to use a camera herself and with him, went to Spain in 1936 and began to take pictures of its civil war. The activism that got her jailed by the Nazis and prompted her to emigrate to Paris deepened—she was steadfast in her devotion to workers, peasants, trade unionists, and political parties behind the Spanish Republic. In keeping with her malleability, she was given nicknames: the “little red fox” and La pequeña rubia (the little blonde)—un-feminist phrases today, but it tells you something of her appeal

At first in Spain, Taro and Capa took pictures side by side. She sent these to newspapers and magazines under his name—the name she’d given to their mutual enterprise. But soon she used Capa & Taro to label their photos. Then she turned down Capa’s marriage proposal, though not necessarily him, and returned to Spain to continue covering the war. She began sending her pictures out under the label Photo Taro. Regards, Life, Illustrated London News, and Volks-Illustrierte took her pictures. Ce Soir hired her, and by July 1937 she was the only photographer whose images refuted the Loyalist claims to victory in the Battle of Brunete.

Miller’s origins, in contrast to Taro’s, had every genetic and social blessing a body and soul could use. She was American, the daughter of a solid middle-class family in Poughkeepsie, NY. Her father was an engineer, progressive in his beliefs on nutrition and technological progress, and a town notable. As a young working model she was photographed and painted by the most famous artists of the 20th century including Hoyningen-Huene, Steichen, May Ray, Picasso, Cocteau. But modeling for other geniuses didn’t sustain her interest. Like Taro, she went to Paris and wore down Man Ray until he hired her as his assistant, developed her camera skills, and co-created the darkroom technique of solarization. Then she established her own portrait and fashion photo studios in Paris and New York. Vanity Fair named her one of the “most distinguished living photographers” in 1934. In essence, she leveraged her intelligence and appeal as ticket into many a closed club, and once in the door, often surpassed her mentors.

The playwright David Hare makes an interesting point about her free behavior. In the late ‘20s and ‘30s, the Surrealists, with whom she was working and socializing, espoused sexual liberation. Miller practiced the very long-leash values they held, much to their anguish, especially Ray’s. She did it again with her open marriage to surrealist painter Ronald Penrose. And again when she took in Time/Life photographer David E. Scherman as lover, mentor, friend. Restless after publishing Grim Glory, her photographs of the London blitz, on Scherman’s advice, she wrote to the U.S. Army and received accreditation as a war correspondent—rare for a woman at that time. She proceeded in the war by her own lights, fueled, not like Taro, by political involvement as much as emotional outrage.

But with Miller, keep looking and certain facts make you realize the complexities behind her golden girl aura. Although this incident was hush-hushed by her parents—and never mentioned by her, her brother identified it—at seven she was raped by a family acquaintance. On holiday with family friends, she was rushed home abruptly and treated for gonhorrea, suffering outbreaks of it the rest of her life. It’s reasonable to suppose that the trauma of the rape stayed with her—especially as she herself never told a soul about it. Her parents sent her to a psychologist however, who instructed her that sex and love were separate.

Another oddity in Miller’s life began a year after the rape, when her father began photographing her nude. Nothing suggests abuse; he also took nude pictures of Miller’s mother, and he photographed his clothed family all the time, as well as keeping written records of their days. He was a gadget enthusiast—he loved Thomas Edison, progress, cameras. Along with his love of the future and adherence to a whole foods diet, he believed in nudism as a way to absorb the sun. But Miller posed nude for him throughout her childhood and young adulthood, and one could speculate that so soon after her rape, this practice contributed to what her biographer Carolyn Burke speculates as Miller’s mind/body dissociation. Such a disconnect would have allowed her to control the male gaze she so often put herself in front of. And it would have served her in times of duress, such as when she was shooting the London blitz, or concentration camps. On the other hand, maybe it shortchanged her after the war when post-traumatic stress disorder made it impossible to reboot her civilian life without drugs and alcohol.

Like her, Lee Miller’s war photography is complicated and various. War shaped her pictures in a slightly different way than it did Taro’s. What persists throughout her body of war photographs is the breath of irony they allow, how it feels as if there is a backstory outside the frame. Her eye could be formal, as her fulsome photo of the nonconformist chapel in London, its mammoth doorway overflowing with rubble, as if it's a child’s plaything or the city vomiting its surfeit of bombing. Her eye could pick up what was monstrous and banal, as the dead German prison guard floating in profile in the canal. All the photos she shot in Dachau and Buchenwald reflect a mind unafraid to look straight on, as when she climbed inside a rail car over a dead deportee to photograph two soldiers standing outside it, looking at the body.

And her eye sought the absurd, as in her picture of the burn victim, entirely wrapped but for eye and mouth holes in white bandage, a living mummy. Her eye was fluid and powerful, as her dreamlike shot of Hitler’s house burning. It was comical, as with her photo of the sheep patiently standing in the cart, and it was theatrical, as with her pictures of Auxiliary Territorial Service women standing diagonally at the air raid searchlight, or the fashion photo of the two London models wearing fire protection masks.

Above all, Miller was unflinching, as in her picture of the Deputy Mayor of Leipzig suicided with his wife and daughter. Capa shot the same scene but from further back, to allow the entire scene. But Miller went right up to the daughter and mother, lying in a chair and sofa. You get to feast on the bizarre grace of their elongated bodies and the freakishness of their monstrous selves.

Taro’s pictures amount to a dramatic and intimate document of a war that was also a cultural and social revolution, remarkable in the extent of its propaganda, its explicit targeting of civilians, and its reliance on women to fight alongside men. Hers was a brief arc—she went to Spain with Capa in 1936, and died a year later. She believed that with her photographs she could promote the Republican cause and help push back fascism, so her early pictures are fairly propagandistic, favoring stylized posing—a haycart in a field, a militiawoman in profile posing with a gun, a refugee mother holding her infant as she waits for something, someone.

A turning point was early in the morning of May 28, 1937. While Valencia slept, its citizens were blasted by an intense aerial bombardment. Taro went the next day to the city morgue. It was closed, but she persuaded the guards to let her pass. Once through, she turned around and photographed people pressed against the gates outside, waiting to get in to identify their mothers, fathers, children. Once inside the morgue, she took close-ups of women and men dead in pools of blood. Then she went to the hospital and took pictures of bandaged bombing victims in beds.

Now Taro’s mind’s eye began to adapt, becoming quick, immediate—perceptive to the war’s tumult. And because the press was frequently censored, her charms and nerve were key to getting access to the action. Later that summer, her photo of Republican soldiers holding up the captured Fascist flag on their bayonets served as one of the few proofs that the Nationalist propaganda about who was winning at Brunete was a lie. By this point, she was shooting next to fighters, as in her photos of the truck on fire, the close-up of the gentle-faced wounded soldier on a stretcher, her picture of the soldier running to launch dynamite into a building, and one of her best, her picture of a soldier and a man pushing through the door of a burning building, taken from only a few feet behind them.

In short, she had become bold and intrepid. Cynthia Young, ICP’s curator and archivist, says, “I do believe he [Capa] learned a lot from her [Taro]… I think Capa saw and recognized her skills. She had a very aggressive sensibility, a fearlessness.”

Here’s a story about Taro just before she was killed. It speaks to her willpower and wits. She’d spent hours taking pictures from a foxhole in the midst of the ground assault and aerial strafing of Republican forces in the Battle of Brunete. This was July 25, 1937, a setback for the Republican fighters attempting to relieve Franco’s siege of Madrid 17 miles away. Finally, film spent, she was satisfied, invigorated even. She told Ted Allen, the journalist friend with her that she’d got fantastic pictures and could head back to Madrid. In fact, they would drink champagne and celebrate: shortly thereafter she was leaving for Japan with Capa to cover that country’s invasion of China for Life.

In the disorder of the retreating forces there was no room for her or her two cameras. She and managed to get onto the running board of a car, only to be sideswiped by a tank and badly injured. Her abdomen was slashed, her intestines spilled out. At the field hospital, it took her until the next morning to die. But at one point she came to and asked, “Are my cameras OK? They’re new. Are they OK?”

Here’s a story about Miller after she toured Dachau at the end of April 1945. It says a lot about her dissociated state and her intense humanity. She and her partner/lover Life photographer David E. Scherman stayed, along with other allied soldiers, in Hitler’s Munich apartment for a few days. They took many photos. One of the first things they did was bathe—apparently it had been weeks for both—they’d arrived directly from Dachau, where Miller had stood back from nothing in her picture taking.

In Miller’s pictures of Scherman washing off, he sits in the tub naked, his hands on his head, scrubbing his hair. He’s mock-grimacing at the camera. At the base of the tub stand his boots, the soil of Dachau on their soles. On the back rim of the tub, they set up a photo Hitler kept of himself, by his personal photographer. Catty-corner to this portrait, they placed a statue of a classical female nude by Rudolf Kaesbach, perhaps, says her son Antony Penrose, “a snub by LM to Hitler” for his assault of ‘degenerate art.’”

It’s impossible not to appreciate that Jewish Scherman is both cleaning off and enacting what by this point in history is linked with a horrific prelude to death—all in the innermost, private chamber of the figure Miller named the “evil-machine-monster.” In fact, as Penrose notes, “she tilted her camera up to include the shower head. In Dachau the gas chambers were disguised as shower baths.” Implicit in this scene is the illusion that art elevates humanity—classical art could not prevent the Holocaust.

Miller’s take on this episode was that “[Hitler] … became less fabulous and therefore more terrible, along with a little evidence of his having some almost human habits; like an ape who embarrasses and humbles you with his gestures, mirroring yourself in caricature.”

There is no evidence Miller and Taro ever met, nor that Miller was specifically influenced by Taro, although she did form a friendship with Capa in 1944 at the liberation of Paris. Still, Penrose recalls his mother mentioning Taro. An oft-told tale recounts how 27-year-old Miller was nearly hit by a car on Fifth Avenue in New York City, only to be pulled back by a man standing beside her who turned out to be publisher Conde Nast. Penrose says, “I think Lee had a sense of the irony of Taro’s death [by a tank]. … A road accident would have finished Lee in 1927 if she had not been pulled to safety by Conde Nast. I think Taro’s death represented the other polarity of luck.”

Miller may have dodged death that day, but after World War II ended and PTSD destabilized her stormy energies, she was beset by profound depression and alcoholism. Taro was brutally killed in battle, the first woman photographer to die on the job. But she may have dodged the gas chamber herself, and she didn’t suffer the trauma of knowing her entire family was killed in the Holocaust. Ralph Waldo Emerson said “every hero becomes a bore at last,” but Taro—and Miller—merit recognition, not worship. In a way, the two lived alternating sides of the same good luck/bad luck coin. I see their knowing smiles as they wink and toss that coin up, the sun catching heads or tails.

Note to readers: Lee Miller’s archive wasn’t able to release any more photos than these four. Please go to www.leemiller.co.uk, filter for Germany/France/England pictures and dive in to a body of war photography work that truly reflects her wonderful eye.

A brief, by no means comprehensive, list of reading and watching:

GERDA TARO

- Life Magazine coverage of Taro’s death and funeral: http://bit.ly/1G959J0

- Link to ICP’s Gerda Taro archive: http://www.icp.org/exhibitions/gerda-taro

- Gerda Taro, Fotoreporterin, by Irme Schaber. If you read Italian or German—this is Taro’s biography by Irme Schaber: http://www.amazon.com/Gerda-Taro-Fotoreporterin-Irme-Schaber/dp/3894454660

- Gerda Taro: Inventing Robert Capa, by Jane Rogoyska:

http://www.amazon.com/Gerda-Taro-Inventing-Robert-Capa/dp/022409713X

- Talk by Gerda’s biographer Irme Schaber at the Frontline Club, London, 2008: http://www.frontlineclub.com/new_in_the_picture_with_irme_schaber_the_life_and_work_of_gerda_taro

LEE MILLER

- Link to Lee Miller’s archive: http://www.leemiller.co.uk/

- The Lives of Lee Miller by Antony Penrose, Thames and Hudson, London. Antony Penrose’s bio of his mother, Lee Miller, formed the basis for Carolyn Burke’s.

- Lee Miller: A Life, by Carolyn Burke: http://www.amazon.com/Lee-Miller-Life-Carolyn-Burke/dp/0226080676

- Through the Mirror, documentary about Lee Miller: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1jrxzu_lee-miller-through-the-mirror-1995_webcam

#WHM #Womens History Month #gerda taro + lee miller

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gibsongirlselections · 4 years ago

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The Case that Put Vigilante Violence Front and Center in NYC

How many times can something be divided before it permanently breaks? In a matter of months, the edifice of a United States has become more and more cracked, after repeated blows from a pandemic virus, state-imposed lockdowns, mass unemployment, police shootings, and subsequent riots. The national mood is one of exhaustion and frustration, if not outright anger.

On August 25, Americans were given another thing to divide themselves over. In response to yet another contested police shooting, riots erupted in the city of Kenosha, Wisconsin. During the ensuing chaos, video was taken of an individual in possession of an AR-15 rifle being chased by a group of people, falling to the ground, and then shooting three of his pursuers (one of whom was armed with a handgun). The shooter, 17-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse, was permitted by police to leave the scene, while two of the other men lay on the ground, dead.

Twitter threads, Facebook feeds, and newsrooms are at vitriol capacity as they argue the merits of the shooting. In conditions marked by social upheaval, and as burning buildings lick the background of city streets, the contentious issues of vigilantism and self-defense are being relitigated. The discussions happening right now are downright déjà vu.

Kyle Rittenhouse and the Kenosha shooting could prove to be a contemporary version of the 1984 New York City subway shooting, but with much more deleterious social consequences.

City dwellers still recount horror stories about the New York City of the 1970s and 1980s, when “Fear City” became synonymous with the dangers of urban living. At the start of the period rapes and burglaries tripled, while by the end of the 70s the percentage of fires started through arson had septupled. The homicide rate fluctuated between 21 and 25 murders per 100,000 residents, and by 1980 the New York City subway had become the most dangerous transportation system in the world.

It was in these circumstances that millions of New Yorkers struggled to go through their daily lives, including a mild-mannered electrician named Bernhard “Bernie” Goetz. After an attempted mugging left him injured and his assailants unpunished, Goetz resolved that he would not again be the victim of such routine criminality. When the city rejected his request for a concealed carry permit, due to “insufficient need,” Goetz purchased a 5-shot .38 caliber revolver out-of-state and smuggled it back home.

On December 22, 1984, three days before Christmas, Bernie Goetz sat in a New York City subway car when four black teenagers—three 19-years old and one 18—approached. Surrounding him, one of them demanded, “Give me five dollars.” Goetz pulled out his revolver and proceeded to shoot all four teens, two of them in the back. He fled the train, and then the state.

Three of the teenagers had previously been convicted of crimes (the other only arrested), and all four were already scheduled to appear at either a trial or criminal hearing. Sharpened screwdrivers were found on their persons, although Goetz was unaware of this. Months after the incident one of the boys confirmed to a reporter that they had intended to rob Goetz. Mistaking him for “easy bait,” the confrontation left all four wounded and one paraplegic.

Stories about “the Subway vigilante” swept both the New York City media and the public’s imagination. Comparisons were instantly made to the 1974 film Death Wish, where after the rape and murder of his family, Charles Bronson’s Paul Kersey goes on a one-man killing spree to clean up his city—including shooting attempted muggers on the subway.

Instead of tips to help catch the at-large shooter, police hotlines were inundated with hundreds of calls of support for the still unidentified Goetz. New York Governor Mario Cuomo condemned this “vigilante spirit” among the public. “In the long run, that’s what produces the slaughter of innocent people,” he said. On December 31, Bernie Goetz surrendered himself to authorities. He was charged with several offenses, including attempted murder.

Sympathy for Goetz’s actions was widespread among the contemporary public. Working class New Yorkers, both black and white, knew what it was like to walk in fear on the streets of their own city. In the perception of citygoers, Goetz became a figure of cathartic retribution, and the four teenagers became cutouts for the petty harassment and crime that had enveloped New York.

Others could not overlook the racial aspect of the incident. ”I’m not surprised that you can round up a lynch mob,” said Benjamin Ward, the first black Police Commissioner of New York City, regarding Goetz’s supporters. ”We were always able to do that in this country. I think that the same kind of person that comes out and applauds the lynching is the first that comes out and applauds someone that shoots four kids.”

“In this country, we no longer employ firing squads,” said future Mayor David Dinkins, who believed that Goetz’ actions went far beyond anything appropriate in the criminal justice system.

Bleeding hearts had difficulty comprehending the public enthusiasm. “Don’t they know the danger that’s unleashed when someone starts shooting in a crowded place, when someone takes the law into his own hands?” asked a rhetorical New York Times editorial, diagnosing a fed-up public. “Of course they do, but they also know something else, bitterly. Government has failed them in its most basic responsibility: public safety. To take the law into your own hands implies taking it out of official hands. But the law, on that subway car on Dec. 22, was in no one’s hands.”

It is difficult not to come to a similar conclusion today. Police forces nationwide seem incapable of performing at an expected standard. On one hand, police are satisfied to lord over citizens who easily submit, as they regularly bully, harass, and brutalize legions of law-abiding and respectful Americans. But on the other hand, when their authority is challenged, police are quick to drop their “protect and serve” mantra and abandon whole neighborhoods to the mob’s torch. When the state fails, we should not be surprised when individuals act to fill the void.

“This was an occasion when one citizen, acting in self-defense, did what the courts have failed to accomplish time and again,” wrote New York Senator Al D’Amato. “The issue is not Bernhard Hugo Goetz. The issue is the four men who tried to harass him. They, not Mr. Goetz, should be on trial.”

In February 1985, a grand jury declined to prosecute Bernie Goetz for attempted murder. Outside the courthouse, some people protested the leniency, chanting “Bernhard Goetz, you can’t hide; we charge you with genocide.” In fact, the only charge brought against him, which he was later convicted of, was carrying an unlicensed firearm. He was sentenced to one year in prison, of which he served eight months.

Thirty years after the subway shooting, I was attending a major libertarian social event in the Big Apple. During a break between scheduled speakers, the MC took to the stage to spontaneously announce that Bernie Goetz, “the Batman of New York City,” was in attendance. I was unaware of who Goetz was at the time and could only identify him as the man on the other side of the room who was suddenly being rushed by people wanting to shake his hand.

We don’t know how Kyle Rittenhouse will be received thirty years hence. After crossing the state line (like Goetz) to his native Illinois, Rittenhouse was arrested on Wednesday and charged with first-degree (premeditated) murder. More details about what preceded the video tape and ignited the confrontation can be expected to come to light in the coming days.

The helplessness that New Yorkers felt decades ago has, due to the untampered riots, exploded in every part of the country. Except now, the political left and right fear each other more than they do an anonymous specter of crime. The broad public sympathy that Goetz received will not be given to Rittenhouse, who is already being labeled either a rightwing terrorist or a man rightfully defending himself.

And now, on Saturday night, a Trump supporter in Portland was shot and killed for unknown reasons. Was the vigilantism in Kenosha just the beginning?

Hunter DeRensis is Assistant Editor at the Libertarian Institute and a regular contributor to The American Conservative. You can follow him on Twitter @HunterDeRensis.

The post The Case that Put Vigilante Violence Front and Center in NYC appeared first on The American Conservative.

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consort-pr-blog · 7 years ago

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New Post has been published on Consort PR

New Post has been published on http://consortpr.com/news/star-studded-british-show-letters-live-launches-usa/

STAR-STUDDED BRITISH SHOW, “LETTERS LIVE”, LAUNCHES INTO USA

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Today, February 26th 2018, is an auspicious date in the journey of the British theatrical show LETTERS LIVE. This show, in which remarkable letters from the past, written by the famous and not so famous, will be performed by talented readers for the very first time in the USA at the historic Theatre at Ace Hotel in Los Angeles, from 8pm.

First launched in December 2013 at the Tabernacle in London, LETTERS LIVE quickly established itself as a powerful and dynamic event format that attracted outstanding talents to perform in front of a live audience.

Inspired by Shaun Usher’s international best-selling, Letters of Note series and Simon Garfield’s To the Letter, LETTERS LIVE is a live celebration of the enduring and emotive power of literary correspondence; such power that it makes one almost regret the demise of such hand-written correspondence, as the mere nature of their slower-paced delivery afforded the letter writer time to muse, reflect and compose his words more thoughtfully than the cold, short, often thoughtless emails and texts that we use today. We wonder what future generations will make of our communications, compared to those that came before us.

LETTERS LIVE breathes life into the writers’ innermost thoughts and views, and the period and circumstances in which they wrote, and so makes their message much more poignant and relevant to us today. It is also an enduring historical record that brings to life the lives, situations and emotions of characters from bygone periods, casting new light on our knowledge of the period and challenging our own prejudices.

One such letter, “Husband until Death”, was penned by a slave, Abream Scriven to his wife. Read by Ashley Walters, it describes Abream’s pending upheaval, after being sold to another slave-master far away. He expresses his distress at being parted from his family in eloquent terms. His words are an indictment of the dreadful cruelty that was slavery, and the experience of not having control over his life, future or circumstances, written by somebody who experienced them at first hand. They ring down through the ages to us all.

Transcript

Savannah Sept the 19. 1858 Dinah Jones, my Dear Wife, I take the pleasure of writing you these few lines with much regret to inform you that I am Sold to a man by the name of Peterson a trader and Stays in New Orleans. I am here yet but I expect to go before long but when I get there I will write and let you know where I am. My Dear I want to Send you Some things but I do not know who to Send them by but I will try to get them to you and my children. Give my love to my father & mother and tell them good bye for me. and if we Shall not meet in this world I hope to meet in heaven. My Dear wife for you and my Children my pen cannot Express the grief I feel to be parted from you all. I remain yours truly husband until death Abream Scriven

On a lighter note, “Dont Touch his Hair” features a letter from three adoring Elvis fans to U.S. president Eisenhower, that was read by Ellie Bamber

Transcript Box 755 Noxon, Mont Dear President Eisenhower, My girlfriend’s and I are writting all the way from Montana, We think its bad enough to send Elvis Presley in the Army, but if you cut his side burns off we will just die! You don’t no how we fell about him, I really don’t see why you have to send him in the Army at all, but we beg you please please don’t give him a G.I. hair cut, oh please please don’t! If you do we will just about die! Elvis Presley Lovers Linda Kelly Sherry Bane Mickie Mattson Presley Presley IS OUR CRY P-R-E-S-L-E-Y

On their site, www.letterslive.com you can access the letters either by clicking on view all letters or by choosing a theme that appeals from a range of subject matters such as:

advice angry art Christmas civil rights death family fictional funny kids life literary love music politics positivity refugee sad slavery terrorism thanks war

Alongside the correspondence from such unknown writers, are letters written by the likes of David Bowie, Mohandas Gandhi, Maya Angelou, Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, Kurt Vonnegut, Charlotte Bronte, Tom Hanks, Katherine Hepburn, Richard Burton, Patti Smith, Abraham Lincoln, James Baldwin, and Che Guevara, performed by an array of talent including Benedict Cumberbatch, Gillian Anderson, Ian McKellen, Kylie Minogue, Russell Brand, Thandie Newton, Riz Ahmed, Juliet Stevenson, LeVar Burton Tom Hiddleston, Sally Hawkins, JJ Abrams, Noma Dumezweni, Oscar Isaac, Jude Law, Nick Cave and Sir Ben Kingsley.

As each show always features a completely different array of great performers, readers at UK events have included; Tom Sturridge, Matt Berry, Tom Hiddleston, Kylie Minogue, Thandie Newton, Nick Moran, Caitlin Moran, Benedict Cumberbatch, Jarviz Cocker and Ian McKellen.

For its US premiere, today, the first wave of letter performers have been announced as:

Jake Gyllenhaal, Jarvis Cocker, James Corden, Minnie Driver, Stephen Fry, Mark Hamill, Anjelica Huston, Catherine Keener, Shirley Manson, Ian McShane, and Annabelle Wallis, with more guests to be announced. One of the joys of Letters Live is that one never knows who is going to take to the stage, or what letter they are going to bring alive!

“Hear the best letters in the world read by the best voices” – The Observer

To view a teaser video for the 26 February event, click here:

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Originally created and developed by the independent publishing house Canongate, they have subsequently partnered with the film and television production company SunnyMarch to build Letters Live into an even more far-reaching and ambitious project.

Their shared vision is to harness the power of letters to develop a multi-media platform that delivers the most memorable letters to people all around the world.

As well as celebrating the pain, joy, wisdom and humour expressed in letters, LETTERS LIVE has from the outset been committed to promoting literacy and to fund-raising for literacy charities. This remains an important part of its activities both in the UK and abroad.

As LETTERS LIVE producer and performer Benedict Cumberbatch writes:

“Letters Live makes us pause and imagine the lives behind the letters read and the circumstances of their origin. The relationship between the audience, reader and writer on a Letters Live night helps deepen our understanding of these inspiring artefacts of the human condition. They are windows into the love, beauty, pain, and humor of their creators and recipients. It’s a privilege to read this most ancient form of communication to a live audience.”

Tickets for the 26 February LETTERS LIVE performance are available for purchase here at the following link: http://axs.com/events/347820/letters-live-tickets?skin=acehotel

Ticket prices range from $50 to $200 with all the profits from ticket sales being donated to the two partner charities for the night, 826LA, and Women for Women International. About 826LA

826LA is a non-profit organization with centers in Echo Park and Mar Vista, a Writers’ Room at Manual Arts High School in South LA, and relationships with Los Angeles public schools. 826LA’s mission is to support students ages six to eighteen with their creative and expository writing skills, and to help teachers inspire their students to write. Since 2005, 826LA has served 65,000+ students. 826LA’s free programs target economically disadvantaged students. http://826la.org

About Women for Women International

With over twenty brutal armed conflicts across the globe and unprecedented levels of violence against women, there’s never been a greater need to support women survivors of war. Through Women for Women International’s 12-month programme, women learn about their rights, as well as key life, vocational and business skills to access livelihoods and break free from poverty. Since 1993, Women for Women International has supported over 462,000 women in Afghanistan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Kosovo, the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, Nigeria, Rwanda and South Sudan. They also engage men in their work, to break down prejudices and practices which prevent women from reaching their full potential. To find out more visit www.womenforwomen.org.uk

Registered charity number 1115109.

Written by: Vivienne Sharman-Lewis,

Organiser:

https://www.facebook.com/VeniceCarnival2018TheGlassSlippersMasquaradeBall/

Email: [email protected] / [email protected] Website: www.visionspr.com

Social Websites:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Visions-PR-Marketing-Events-Modelling/10680533605914 https://www.facebook.com/viviennesharman.lewis https://www.facebook.com/ViviennneSharmanLewis/?pnref=lhc https://www.facebook.com/lookinggoodfeelingfabulous/?pnref=lhc https://uk.linkedin.com/in/vivienne-sharman-lewis-40a08912 https://twitter.com/visionsprevents

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dysutopian · 7 years ago

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Detroit’s Exterminating Angel

Before RoboCop was released in theaters thirty years ago this month, it was given an X rating by the Motion Picture Association of America. Director Paul Verhoeven, knowing that this was guaranteed box office death, went back and scrubbed his film no fewer than eleven times trying to achieve its eventual R rating. He toned down at least three execution scenes and cut out countless blood spatter shots. He also, in what would prove to be one of the film’s most ingenious features, added in the humorous advertisements for such products as the 6000 SUX sedan (8.2 miles per gallon!) and the Nukem board game.

The MPAA relented and RoboCop was a box office success. The irony of Verhoeven’s addition of the satirical commercials, however, is that their flagrant profiteering off of degradation and suffering made the violence in the rest of the film register as more callous, less remorseful, and the world that formed it less worthy of redemption. Verhoeven knew this. The MPAA didn’t.

There is a similar irony to watching RoboCop today, as world events have apparently transformed it from a cautionary tale into a rather twisted blueprint for salvation. Consider how riot cops dressed in 1990, three years after the film’s release:

And compare that to today:

(This is to say nothing of last month’s underreported story from Dubai, in which one of the world’s richest cities is now pilot-testing a robot to patrol and identify criminals. Though unarmed, the real-life RoboCop will be the first of many. If the pilot is successful then the aim is for the robots to eventually make up 25 percent of the city’s police force.)

Adopting the dominant logic regarding crime and policing today, RoboCop watches as a fun-mirror equivalent of how it was intended. The militarization of police is no longer read as an exacerbating factor in the rise of cruelty and crime. Instead, these points of reference can very be easily seen as reversed, the militarization justified by street thug depravity. There was certainly, in the midst of Reaganite “law and order” rhetoric, always the possibility of this misreading. But it is important to acknowledge that the a priori setting of RoboCop – a bankrupt Detroit hollowed and devastated – seemed far less real than it does today.

Verhoeven’s choice to set the film in Detroit was deliberate. There was, by 1987, plenty of worry regarding the future of America’s car hub, spurred on by jingoistic fears of Japan’s seemingly unstoppable entry into the world auto market. (The embarrassing third entry into the RoboCop franchise shamelessly tapped into this jingoism; thankfully Verhoeven was long gone by then.) No doubt, anyone who was honest about it could see that Detroit was in decline. But even as it was released twenty years – almost to the day – after the urban rebellions that rocked the city, RoboCop appeared to emphasize the “if” in “what if” by an extent far more measurable than today. That, along with an uninspired script, are likely why the 2014 remake failed to gain any substantial praise.

There is of course a narrative relentlessly pushed by establishment politics as to what caused the collapse of America’s fourth largest city and center of industry. The dominant take is a mixture of social irresponsibility and indulgence of greedy union workers swirled together into a world where the untamed hordes have to be kept in check. Any institutional excesses toward that end are merely a necessary evil.

It’s here that a few speculative thoughts are merited for the upcoming film Detroit. An attempt to portray the social explosion of the rebellion through the murders that took place at the Algiers Motel, critical reaction has been mostly positive. Plenty have noted how impossible it is to view the film without thinking of Michael Brown, Sandra Bland, Philando Castile.

It’s more than a passing temptation to assume the worst of this film considering its director and writer. Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal are the team also behind The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty. Whatever handwringing they as generally liberal artists might have exhibited over the notions of militarization were long finished by the time they began making these films. It would be truly monstrous of them to use one of the turning points in the transformation of civil rights into the Black Power movement as an excuse to promote that same notion. It seems clear that Bigelow and Boal acknowledge American racism as a reality, but the usage of the revolt as context (and therefore its being painted as somehow “senseless” instead of as a reaction to that reality) seems to create problems in the filmic portrayal of a structural problem.

K. Austin Collins at The Ringer:

In Boal’s script, it’s easier to imagine that there were good cops – even amid what the movie characterizes as systemic police violence – than it is to imagine just what effect this event had on the black community. History, it seems, stands in for all of that: We apparently already know how the community feels. This is how I felt about David Simon’s HBO limited series Show Me a Hero, too; it’s how I generally feel about the work of liberal artists who seem much more invested in wrestling with how to represent black victimhood than they are in wrestling with what comes after. These are two parts of the same story. And the gaps here more or less mean this movie isn’t really about black people as people, nor history as a lived experience, but is instead invested in a dutiful, “just the facts, ma’am” reenactment that pretends those other things are already a given. Boal, and Bigelow beside him, refuse to speculate about – or imagine – the rest.

If Collins’ review accurately captures the film’s shortcomings, then he is describing a blind spot that most of Hollywood suffers from: namely that it has no clue how to tackle themes related to the institutional or systemic because it accepts the fundamental narrative of those systems and institutions. Even when liberal filmmakers attempt to take on “issues,” they end up sliding into trite and sloppy ruminations on human nature.

This isn’t to pass premature judgment on Detroit, but merely to illustrate how well-meaning liberalism constructs an aesthetic rationale (a myth if you will) around its fundamental belief in how the world works. Bigelow and Boal exemplify this rationale. Zero Dark Thirty is not intended as a pro-torture movie, but purposefully or not it becomes one through the course of its story of a good person trying to do right in a world spun by vicious anti-Americanism. Likewise if the bigotry of Detroit is one of personal belief then we are left with demands that the system merely “do better” both in regulating its own racism and in quelling social unrest.

This logic constitutes a very slippery slope in a world where policing is increasingly used as a substitute for a social safety net. Basic rights like food and healthcare are increasingly framed as “benefits” and those who demand them as adding to social discord. Stability is found in social regulation, by force if need be. Rather than fix the broken infrastructure of New York City’s subway system that is leading to massive delays and overcrowding, MTA head Jake Lhota proposes removing seats and adding more cops. The decay of one institution allows for the further ascendance and bolstering of another that simply speeds up the process, creating new problems that exacerbate the old in all-too-familiar ways.

RoboCop, at its strongest, both illustrates and anticipates a step in this spiral. Its sympathetic portrayal of Alex Murphy, Anne Lewis and other Detroit police officers doesn’t reflect a sympathy for police so much as it poses a very unsettling question: What happens when the only industry with any stable investment left is that of policing? In real life, police unions behave more like organized crime than any kind of organization dedicated to the defense of labor, but in RoboCop they are pushing back against another, far worse institution directly fomenting and profiting off the chaos. RoboCop/Murphy is a conduit for this tension, an avatar both for a human nature that is far more complex than many of Verhoeven’s contemporaries can muster and what happens when this nature becomes entangled with a very inhuman (or at least anti-humanist) drive.

For sure, there is a lot of money to be made off chaos. And a lot of political clout to be built off playing it up. Donald Trump’s speech earlier this week made that very clear. Verhoeven, when he originally made RoboCop, intended its satire and grotesque violence as a method of achieving critical distance from the cycle that pathologizes violence both materially and ideologically.

The very real militarization of law enforcement in the thirty years since its release reveals how little it was listened to – or, perhaps less sensationally, how limited the impact of art really is on policy. The artistic pranksters who have for the past six years been planning and assembling a giant RoboCop statue in Detroit may have been couching it in at least a healthy dose of irony, but they also (perhaps inadvertently) exposed something rather troubling about the embrace of the idea by their city’s government and police department. In 2014, Detroit decided to put on a “RoboCop Day,” coinciding with the DVD release of the mediocre remake. A costumed RoboCop threw out the first pitch at Comerica Park on that day. Though ultimately canceled, a ceremony was planned to unveil the molds for the bronze statue… in front of Detroit’s police headquarters, and attended by hundreds of police officers. All less than a year after the city declared bankruptcy.

The point here is not to say that there is some conscious decision on the part of politicians and the ruling class to make the world look like a 1987 movie. Nor is it to say that Paul Verhoeven – a director of definite left sympathy – has the ear of that ruling class. Capitalists have their own angels of history, their own archetypes adopted and memed through their universe in order to mediate the wreckage and rubble thrown at their feet. With the late capitalist imagination becoming more and more enfeebled, is it too great of a stretch that, to some, the logic skewered in the figure of RoboCop becomes that angel?

#robocop #police #racism #angel of history #painting #film #paul verhoeven #satire #neoliberalism #postmodernism #marxism

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filosofablogger · 7 years ago

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Here we are once again, yet another fine Monday morning! I always look forward to these Monday mornings … I do so enjoy finding things to bring smiles to your faces. Last week, Colette and Jack really enjoyed the apple, but a few others were disappointed and I had to promise my friend Steve extra donuts this week! So grab a treat or two … hey Steve – leave a few for the rest of the gang!!! Here … have some coffee … sit back and get ready for a chuckle or two!

Green beer, Green Eggs & Ham, and now ….

Imagine, if you will, the surprise Louise Sutherland experienced last week when, assisting her 3-year old golden retriever, Rio, give birth, one of the puppies came out … GREEN!

I will let Louise tell you the story in her own words …

“The first pup was stuck, so myself and my daughter Claire managed to free him and pull him out safely. It was all hands on deck but then as the puppies started to arrive, we noticed that one of the puppies had green fur. We couldn’t believe it. When we checked it out later we found out it is very unusual and to do with the placenta. The colour has faded quite a bit already and will be gone soon, I’m told. We’ve named him Forest.”

Turns out that, while very rare, this has happened before. In 2014, two puppies from a litter born in the Spanish province of Valladolid were born green. The breeder, Aida Vallelado Molina, said, “I thought the puppies were dirty and tried to clean them, but the colour wouldn’t come off.” And in 2012, a green Labrador puppy was born in England.

The green colour is caused by a bile pigment called biliverdin that is found in the placenta of dogs which can stain the puppy’s coat. In the past cases, the colour has faded within about 10 days. Too bad … I think a green dog would be quite the novelty!

A fool and his money …

Two stories about shoes lead me to think, not for the first time, that some people have much more money than they have good sense. Take a look at this pair of shoes and tell me what you think the price tag might read:

So what’s your guess? $15.99 would have been mine … and that is about $16 more than I would pay for them anyway. But no, you are wrong … no, not $100 … nope, not that either. The price for this pair of uncomfortable-looking shoes is $799!

“The Birkenstock classic Arizona model has been recreated in the finest imbued and oiled natural leather in navy blue for this designer collection. The sterling silver buckles; which originate from the metalwork studio of jewelry designer Patrik Muff; are the highlight of the luxury sandals,” the product description reads.

But wait … if you thought that was bad …

This is the “Future Destroyed High-Top Sneaker” sold by upscale retailer Neiman-Marcus.

“Maison Margiela deconstructs their “Future” high-top sneaker with heavy distressing. Leather and textile upper. Round toe. Lace-up front with side lace guards. Logo patch at tongue. Padded collar. Cushioned heel counter. Rubber outsole. Made in Italy.” Retail price? $1,425.

Sigh. And for those who would purchase these shoes, why not pair them with these jeans from Nordstrom that come with pre-caked mud … for a mere $425!!! Insta-grunge!

I recently saw this headline: Neiman Marcus considers sale in wake of financial woes. Gee, I wonder why? And by the way … the ‘pre-destroyed’ shoes … have sold out …

When life hands you lemons …

Make lemonade, right? A lemonade stand run by kids on a hot summer day is almost as iconic as … as … oh heck, I don’t know – it’s just iconic, okay?

Andre Spicer helped his 5-year-old daughter set up her lemonade stand last Saturday in the east London borough of Tower Hamlets. The little girl was having great fun and was quite successful in her venture, as there was a concert nearby, and many on their way to the concert were charmed by the little girl’s smile and purchased her lemonade.

But then … then came the cops …

“The lemonade quickly disappeared and her little money tin filled up. A happy scene. And then, after about 30 minutes, four local council enforcement officers stormed up to her little table,” said the senior Spicer.

The charge? Operating the lemonade stand without a trading permit.

After being informed that he would be fined £150 ($194 USD), Mr. Spicer sent a message to the council stating he “realized there were broader issues at stake, including how society treats children.” Ultimately all charges were dropped and an apology tendered:

“We are very sorry that this has happened. We expect our enforcement officers to show common sense, and to use their powers sensibly. This clearly did not happen, The fine will be canceled immediately and we have contacted Professor Spicer and his daughter to apologize.”

Which one of these parts does not belong? …

Lidiane Braga Carlos of Campo Largo, Brazil had been out running errands one day last week and was on her way home when her car suddenly started spluttering and ground to a halt.

“My car just died in the middle of the street and suddenly didn’t want to work anymore so I pulled over to pop the hood and take a look. When I opened the bonnet and saw the dog I almost had a heart attack. ‘The poor little thing was very scared and I called the fire department straight away but before they arrived we managed to get him out. I’m so glad he didn’t get hurt. I took him to the vet but thankfully he was all okay.”

Lidiane is currently caring for the dog at her home and hopes it’s owner will come forward to claim him.

Dumb … Dumber … Dumbest

David Blackmon, age 32, of Fort Walton Beach in Okaloosa County Florida called police to report a theft on 16 July. Nothing too unusual there, right? The stolen items, however, included $50 cash and a bag of cocaine that he claims were stolen from the center console of his vehicle. Now … how dumb is it to call the cops to report a stolen bag of a highly illegal substance? Pretty dumb, but it gets even dumber, for it turns out that David is a drug-dealer. And to add insult to injury, the police found an assortment of drugs and drug paraphernalia in various locations throughout the car. And dumbest of all … they police found the cocaine David claimed had been stolen, right where he said it was stolen from … in the center console!

David was charged with resisting an officer without violence, possessing drug paraphernalia and possessing cocaine, a felony charge. He is currently out of jail on $4,000 bail, but I think this guy seriously needs to spend some time … somewhere … perhaps school? But apparently David is not the only one …

And so concludes another Jolly Monday together. I am sad to see you go, but you must go do useful things so you can get a paycheck, and I must go fold yet more laundry and cut up some veggies for tonight’s Pasta Primavera, one of my favourite dishes to make! If you do just one good thing today, let it be to share that gorgeous smile you have with somebody who needs one. So go forth and be productive … keep safe and try to stay cool. Have a happy week!!!

That extra 1/4 mile will get you a ticket!!!

This one’s for you, Steve!

Heeeeere’s MONDAY!!! Here we are once again, yet another fine Monday morning! I always look forward to these Monday mornings … I do so enjoy finding things to bring smiles to your faces.

#Birkenstock shoes #cute koala #donuts #dumb crooks #green puppies #illegal lemonade stand #mud-caked jeans #over-priced shoes

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robertmcangusgroup · 8 years ago

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The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Thursday 9th March 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. Another amazing spring early morning on the Costa del Sol 15c and a heaven filled with twinkling stars, the waxing moon had slipped over the horizon before Bella and I left the house at 4.00 am this morning, so many stars in the sky, We even has a Spielberg moment as a shooting star streaked across the heavens giving me a moment of wonderment.. Bella on the other hand was not impressed and continued her sniffing and reading The Daily Dog papers as we made our way through the town until we finally found ourselves back at our starting point, the coffee had brewed, Bella has been feed and is not sleeping on my foot as I peruse the global papers .. so let have a look at what I’ve found….

POLLEN ADDS TO INTRIGUE OVER BRONZE AGE WOMAN 'AVA'… Analysis of pollen found on pottery buried with a young woman more than 4,100 years ago has identified plants used for medicinal purposes. The woman's bones, including a skull and teeth, were discovered at Achavanich in Caithness 30 years ago. Known as "Ava", an abbreviation of Achavanich, she is the subject of a long-term research project managed by archaeologist Maya Hoole. Ms Hoole said the presence of the pollen "raises interesting questions". Last year, forensic artist Hew Morrison created a facial reconstruction of Ava. Now the results of other research have been published. Analysis of pollen recovered from a decorated beaker buried with Ava identified various plants and trees. Archaeologist Ms Hoole said: "Of the pollen recovered the majority were from trees and shrubs including birch, pine - most likely Scots pine - hazel and alder. "Heather was also identified, as well as grasses, meadowsweet and St John's wort. "The inclusion of meadowsweet proves interesting as it has also appeared at other Bronze Age burials elsewhere in Scotland. "The presence of both meadowsweet and St John's wort may represent a deliberate inclusion of flowers within the burial. Interestingly, both of these plants are also considered to have medicinal properties."The archaeologist added: "The presence of several different species of plant which are considered to have medicinal properties raises interesting questions: was this intentional, and was it in any way related to whatever caused the death of this individual?"

MAN JAILED FOR POISONING WIFE WITH LAXATIVES.. David Smith poisoned his wife with laxatives over a number of years. A "Walter Mitty character" who poisoned his wife with laxatives has been jailed for three and a half years. David Smith, 62, a fantasist who claimed he was an ex-SAS hero, made Elizabeth Smith so ill she thought she was dying. The sheriff in Ayr said Smith, from Telford, was guilty of a "prolonged and evil course of criminal conduct". Smith had told his wife a string of lies, including that he carried out the SAS raid on the Iranian Embassy. He was previously convicted of culpably and recklessly administering laxative substances over a three-year period from 2012-2015. Sheriff John Montgomery said Smith's conduct had caused "physical and mental anguish" to his victim. He made her so ill she said doctors believed she may have motor neurone disease. Smith also falsely told his 62-year-old wife he owned a factory that made secret-component parts for the MoD and that his first wife was a professional ballerina who had died while carrying their unborn child. His stories unravelled after he staged a break-in at their home. When she first met him, Mrs Smith thought he was an "absolute gentleman". "He was just a normal, lovely guy," she told BBC Scotland. "He was a family man - a wonderful man who came across as so genuine and real."She added: "He's a 100% 'Walter Mitty character'. He has got caught up completely in his web of lies.

GALLOWAY VIKING HOARD AGREEMENT 'NO CLOSER'…. A council has said it is no closer to reaching an agreement with National Museums Scotland over their bids to house a Viking treasure hoard. The items were discovered by a metal detectorist in Galloway in 2014. Dumfries and Galloway Council wants to house the artefacts in a new art gallery being built in Kirkcudbright but NMS is also bidding for the hoard. Councillor Tom McAughtrie said the authority remained of the view it should remain in the region. "Despite correspondence going to and forth with NMS, I cannot confidently say that we're anywhere closer to reaching an agreement with them," he said. "Therefore, we'll press ahead with plans to submit a sole application for the Galloway Viking hoard. "At the same time, we'll keep our commitment to work with NMS to reach something closer to a fairer arrangement than the one that is currently on the table. "I wish to thank the campaign group for all their work and efforts to date, and hope we can come up with a plan of action to get the hoard home." The Scottish Archaeological Finds Allocation Panel (SAFAP) is due to meet to discuss the hoard's future on 23 March. NMS has said that if it acquires the treasure it would save it for the nation in the long-term and ensure it was seen by "people from Scotland, the rest of the UK and internationally".

SEGREGATED PRISONER STABBED AND SLASHED GUARDS…. A Perth prison inmate who attacked two guards with a metal blade made from a mop has been sentenced to an additional six years in jail. A court was told Anthony Elliot, 25, who is kept segregated from other prisoners, asked for materials to clean his cell. Later that day he stabbed one guard with the makeshift blade and cut another warden on the back. High Court judge Lady Rae described Elliot as "a very dangerous young man." The High Court in Glasgow was told that Elliot, whose earliest release date is 2027, is the subject of an order for lifelong restriction and may never be released from jail. Four prison officers entered the cell to collect the cleaning materials and noticed that Elliot was acting suspiciously, with his right fist clenched. Elliot jumped from his bed and stabbed officer Steven Keenan close to his heart and lungs using the sharp piece of metal wrapped in a T-shirt, causing superficial wounds. Guard John Jewell grabbed Elliot's arm and a third guard held on to his legs. As this was happening Elliot cut Mr Jewell four times on the back with the weapon. A court was told Anthony Elliot was kept segregated from other prisoners Prosecutor John Scott QC said: "The accused was not detained, arrested or interviewed as he was considered too violent. "He was immediately transferred to another prison." Elliot, who is now a prisoner in Barlinnie, admitted assaulting Mr Keenan to the danger of his life and Mr Jewell to his injury at Perth Prison on 12 February last year. He was flanked in court by four security guards wearing riot gear, and three police officers. The court heard that Elliot has been in custody since he was 16 and had numerous previous convictions for violence.

'SHOP-FRONT' MUSEUM TO HELP PAISLEY REGENERATION… A new "shop-front" museum is to open to encourage people back to Paisley High Street. The £2.7m facility will occupy the basement of a previously-empty unit and will house tens of thousands of items not on display in the main museum. Renfrewshire Council is taking forward the work in connection with Paisley's bid to be UK City of Culture in 2021. Councillor Jim Harte said it was necessary to find new ways to increase footfall that would benefit traders. He said: "Other places in Scotland have publicly-accessible museum stores, but this is the first time such a facility has been built on a high street, and will bring a previously-empty unit back into use. "High streets everywhere - including Paisley's - have suffered in recent years from changes in the way people shop. "But we can't turn the clock back - we need to be creative in finding new ways to repopulate units, and bring in new footfall which existing traders can benefit from." It is hoped the new museum at 7 High Street will bring 125,000 visitors a year to the town centre.

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of Lilly Hurd’s photograph of the Balquhidder kirkyard rests at the base of Tom nan Aingeal or the "hill of fire." The ancient Celts believed this a "thin place" where earthly and spiritual realms were close together, and some believe druids lit sacred fires here. Ruins of an 1800BC Neolithic temple have been found in the glen. St Angus was buried here in the 600s. And it was here, in the 1500s that the infamous and brutal history of the MacLarens and MacGregors unfolded. By 1603 it was a civil offense to even be called a MacGregor. While this kirkyard has been the resting place of the MacLarens since the 1200s, Rob Roy MacGregor also rests here. His is a low grave, towards the center of the photo.

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Thursday 9th March 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in ….. Be safe out there…

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