#but not the shit i will be using in my future specialized field of academic science
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it's getting close to my finals.
i have my schedule.
i have everything i need.
EXCEPT FOR MY WILL TO LIVE!
I AM JUST SURVIVING WEEK TO WEEK TO WATCH BETWEEN US THE SERIES AND GAP THE SERIES!
I AM IGNORING EVERYONE BECAUSE WELL, IT'S OVERWHELMING TO REPLY TO 6 DMS ON INSTA, 12 FUCKING CHATS ON WHATSAPP THAT KEEP GOING FUCKING HAYWIRE AND DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON TELEGRAM!
DOES ANYONE HAVE THAT ONE ANIMATION ABOUT "BILIP! BILIP! BILIP!" BECAUSE THAT IS HOW I FEEL.
I NEED TO PUNCH SOMETHING BECAUSE IM NOT GOING TO CRY OVER PIECES OF PAPER WITH A BUNCH OF INK SQUIGGLES ON IT THAT HAS CONTRIBUTED NOTHING BUT MORE GUILT TO MY YEARS OLD INSOMNIA!
do you know what it feels like to get 7 hours straight of work done and then lay down on your bed and look at the lizard infested ceiling AND still feel guilty for not doing enough?
i think i should have gotten that cat plush toy while i had the chance so that i could yell into that instead.
(i think ill reblog this post after my finals with my "thank you"s and "fuck you"s for this semester)
PS: is red bull supposed to make you sleepy? it tastes like shit and made me fall asleep only to wake up again because of my natural broadcast of nightmares.
#FINALS#exam preparation#exams#test season#im screaming into the void#help me find that video#i need something to scream at me#maybe i just need ice cream#DANG IT THE SHOP IS CLOSED SO CANT GET ICE CREAM!#FUCK#why am i doing this#no#i know why im doing it all#but like my sanity is hanging by a thread#because i need this piece of paper to prove that i do know shit#but not the shit i will be using in my future specialized field of academic science#SO WHAT THE FUCK#college#living on instant noodles#insomnia#red bull doesnt give you wings#2 WEEKS FROM FINALS
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"I have many thoughts (most of them ranty) about the whole gig economy and freelancing and everything else we are expected to do just to stay afloat." I have popcorn and plenty of time to read a rant if you ever want to go in depth on the fuckery of the current system.
Like. With absolutely no exaggeration, this is the entire first page of one of the academic jobs boards that I regularly visit:
So... literally all they want is adjunct, online, part-time, non-tenure faculty who are expected to drop in, teach one or two courses for one (maybe two) semesters, then start the entire grueling job-search process all over again! Sure, that makes sense, and will definitely enable you to build a stable and predictable career that allows you to grow as a scholar and pursue meaningful work and research! How the hell are you supposed to be able to plan for the future, know what you're doing or where you're going to be, or anything else?
Not to mention the absolutely insane requirements that come with each application: just the other day, I finished one that, with all the necessary documents included, was 32 pages long. Nor is this at all uncommon. Many of the adjunct jobs listed above often want you to submit multiple documents, transcripts, letters of recommendation, teaching statements, research plans, etc etc, for -- I repeat -- a non-guaranteed, only-if-we-need-you, maybe-someday part-time job that will last six months at most and may or may not involve actual physical work (as opposed to trying to teach an online Zoom class, which is the devil). This is obviously specific to my particular field, but it's emblematic of so many things that are wrong with the economy, our approach to the humanities and historical knowledge, and the absurd hoops that people even in far less specialized areas have to deal with. Once upon a time, a college degree pretty much guaranteed employment; now it rarely does. Which is a direct and entirely foreseeable result of how systematically the rules of the economic game have been rigged by the people who benefited from them the most: the baby boomers and early-Generation X'ers. And instead of actually serious pushback against that (though there's more than there used to be) we just get "lololol millennials are lazy and entitled!!!"
I have three degrees, including a doctorate in a highly specialized field which represents 10+ years of higher education, and I'm still reduced to making lattes on the weekends in an attempt to somehow pay most of my bills. I don't know how I'll make it to the end of the year, since I've already had several other part-time jobs suddenly crap out on me and this one is only guaranteed through the end of August. And it's like... do you think I WANT to be doing this? Don't you think I would prefer to be doing the job that I trained to do and for which I would like to have an actual sustainable career model, rather than /waves hand/ All This Shit? I will give you a hint: yes. Yes, I actually would. And yet.
Anyway. Thank you for this opportunity to get that off my chest. It's just all so very, very stupid.
#anonymous#ask#school stuff#academia: not even once#ronald reagan burn in hell#boy being born at the end of the 'fuck around' period#so you live through the endless shitblizzard of 'find out'#sure is great!#by which i mean terrible obviously
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What field are you in and how do I get there? ( I dont understand shit from your posts but they're the coolest things I've ever read)
Hi their, thanks for coming along my ask box - unfortunately I am not really able to offer a plain answer - as I am currently doing it all in isolation (autodidactic) - working on all that stuff since ten years - and I am also working on writing about my principles of research/learning - most I do is interdisciplinary - I recommend Vijay Balasubramanian's work - polymath in mathematics, theoretical physics, theoretical cognitive science - he researches about statistical inference, quantum field Theory, quantum gravity, string theory and I can't summarize the broad spectrum of his research more clearly now. My work is merely similar/related - yet, it is a mess to explain - Although math, physics and cognitive science might be my main sevtors of focus - my knowledge is 'heterogeneous", say, I lack much of the rigourously studies topics one learns along the formal education path.
Currently I do some merely low-level stuff, basic calculus/analysis so to speak - but the approach of how I understand is... is merely odd. You see how I synthesize multiple perpectives/modes of perception. I find the notation of integral and differential calculus confusing - somehow, my journey into analysis started with fourier transform, superposed waves and multiple parallel thought ramblings - In retrospect, the mathemetics is the actual and concrete form of how I have perceived my own reasoning and perception.
And I understand why people think it might just be psychotic nonsense. Yet, the methods are highly advanced. I try to put them in a comprehensible language/mathematical model/algorithm currently.
To further investigate career options, I think about seeking entry into the academic world through the IT sector - most certainly quantum developer - I want to write assmbler code for non-lineary working quantum computers, so to speak. Good thing: I could apply much of my own research directly and advance/develop them better [especially the non-linear axiomatic system/quantum information flows topics] and say, start research without having a degree - but that might open some options to attend university programs, or get a degree in the future, and especially: I could do what I love, and could finally learn to master my stuff in a way that is functional and applyable in that world - and not just rotting in my filecases...
Yet, my health, being neurodivergent, having no support socially/in health issues/financially, and german buerocracy are really hindering factors in that constellation of situation - especially if they are combined.
Yet I have a rough plan. In the recent weeks I could finally leave a many-year long traumatic situation - one that involved my father keeping my mind tiny - supressing and abusing my neurodivergent self - whatever, I do not want to burden with details nor do I want to be pitied. It gets better and I can finally unravel my potential and start my academic life - tough, in a very odd and statistically unprobable way - but that's it: In some sense I use(d) game theory to free myself from that trap of situation: An almost zero percent probability to have a fullfilling life becomes gradually more probable - as for now, it's me showing initiative and dedicated autodidactism that has secured me a hope to a career in my special interests. (I am sorry for the much bla bla)
Alongside that way I also try to make mathematics more accessible and enjoyable for curios and/or neurodivergent people. As I believe, hope is something people need more than ever. And a new way to see can be exactly that for some people. Especially neurodivergent people have to suffer tremendously under that worldwide defective education system - alongside other systematic deficits including basic human dignity and respect. In some sense, I want to write books, create content and art on mathematics and other inspiring branches, to inspire, to give someone the hope and enthusiasm I wish I would have received as kid, to ignite a flame of wonder and awe - and in some sense, yes, I am becoming sentimental, but honest, somehow, ten years ago, I have received that hope of inspiration on that platform - by fellow (most certainly also neurodivergent) blog owners/content creators. And if I look back, I am extremely thankful for the kindhearted and honest community here, the hilarious puns and posts, the insightful debates, the silly memes, the common appreciation for infodumping on special interests, and the very humane and heart-wearming and welcoming social interaction.
I could link some users here, but I would feel bad if I forgot some - so, in some sense, for whoever is reading that - I am thankful for our encounter!
(Ahh completely lost track of my thoughts...) I really appreciate your appreciation! Yet, I can't really give you info in how you could get iny my field - as I do not know it myself unfortunately. But I let you know once I know more. (I can only recommend Vijay Balasubramanian's work. As he is already in that career path, maybe research about him might be helpful... interestingly he also entered via the CS sector...)
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The Weight (Pt. I)
Clyde x Sherri (Non-Linear Series) This entry is in response to @aloneandsleepless‘ prompt request! The message reads: Hey Desi darling! Can we have a little drama with Clyde and Sherri? Requesting "being physically/emotionally vulnerable" from the Non Sexual Forms of Intimacy list! You're so incredibly creative, I'm sure you'll come up with something amazing! ❤️ First of all, thank you *cries*. Second, I hope this meets your expectations! :) Content: Angsty? | Sadness/depression (denial of depression); impostor’s syndrome; ageism (imposed on self because it’s imposed by society, tbh lol); couple’s spat; spouse approaching the other but the appropriateness and effectiveness of the method might be debatable. A lil’ bit o’sap. Word Count: 2,402
“The llllittle...boy licks to...likes to b...ah...ck...” “Vroom, vroom...!” Sherri looked away from her pan and glanced in the dining room at the children. Chris’ face was inches away from their homework, and Sid had turned the dining table into a freeway for their toy car.
“What are your ‘a’ sounds?” Sherri asked. “Ah, ah...” Chris said. “And the other one?” “Ay...” “Did you try the other sound?” Chris looked back down at the worksheet. “B-ay-kuh...bake...” Sherri looked back at the pan. “Good job. Start it from the beginning.” “The little boy likes to bake...” “Vroooooooooom...” “...he licks...likes...” “Sid?” Sherri called. “Yes?” “Can you play quietly so Chris can concentrate?” “Yes, Mommy. Sorry.” “It’s alright. Thank you.” Sid turned the vocal engine off and drove the car in silence. Suddenly, there was a rumble at the front door. The lock turned and the kids hopped up from the table and ran through the living room.
“Daddy!” they shouted.
Clyde opened the door and scooped both of the little ones up in his arms. “Arrrgh!” he growled, holding them up. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked. He planted kisses on both of their foreheads and put them back down. “Ms. Daniels gave us homework today!” Chris exclaimed. “Oh yeah?” “Long sentences!” “Well, alright, my lil’ Einstein,” Clyde said. The trio made their way into the dining room, but the kids sat back at the table. Clyde walked straight for the kitchen and Sherri gave him her cheek to kiss. “Mmm...” he hummed. “Those lips taste as good?” Sherri smirked and faced Clyde so he could give her a peck on the lips. Then another. And another. “Eww!!!” the children said. “Eww?!” Clyde mocked them. “What y’all mean eww?” Sherri and the kids laughed. Then, Clyde rested his hands on Sherri’s protruding belly. He gave it a rub. “Now what you got to say about it, Littlest One?” “It said, please don’t keep mommy up tonight...” Sherri mumbled. “Well, I can’t make no promises on that...” Clyde whispered in her ear, before giving the lobe a nibble. “Leave my kitchen, Clyde,” Sherri said giggling. Clyde gave her butt a tap and walked into the dining room. “What’s this homework about?” he asked, sitting beside Chris. “Different stuff,” the oldest responded. Clyde adjusted his glasses by the hinge and looked over the homework--a sheet full of short sentences.
“You or Mommy are supposed to draw lines under the stuff I said wrong,” Chris added. “Is that so?” Clyde read the instructions and realized that either he or Sherri had to underline any words Chris had gotten wrong, or didn’t self-correct. So far, only the word “fluffy” had a line under it. Clyde smiled at the sight. “Underline bake, Baby.” Sherri said. Clyde searched the table and noticed the red ink pen resting against the table’s centerpiece. He underlined “bake”. “Hey, Babygirl...?” Clyde called over his shoulder. “Mm-hmm?” Sherri responded. “A man came into the restaurant this afternoon. He started a non-profit education center. Supposed to help kids with all kinds of needs. I uh...I got his card for you.” Sherri froze for a second, then kept cooking. “For what?” “He’s lookin’ for people to join his team. It’s very new. He wants people from different backgrounds helpin’ him out...” Sherri didn’t say anything. She turned off the stove and reached into the cupboard for plates. “Okay.” _____________________ Later “What’s this you were telling me about? About this man?” Sherri asked, walking into the bedroom.
Clyde was already in bed with a book. Sherri grabbed a bottle of cocoa butter lotion from her dresser and sat on the bed. “He started a non-profit company for kids with special needs. Behavioral, academic. Kids with problems at home, anything. He said he wanted to hire a few reading tutors...” Sherri began to rub the lotion on her belly. The circular motions soothing her emotionally, as well as physically. “He said you didn’t need a formal education. It wouldn’t pay much now, but it would be a great experience.” Sherri let out a wry laugh. “So, you told a stranger in a restaurant that your dropout wife was looking for a low-paying job?” Clyde stared at the back of Sherri’s head with furrowed brows. “No, I said I would tell my wife about it, and see if she’s interested.” Sherri closed the lotion’s cap and put it back on her dresser. “Well, thank you for thinking of me, Baby. But I’m good...” She yanked back her covers and climbed into the bed. “But are you, though, Baby?” Clyde asked. Sherri was just about to turn on her side before she glared back at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “It ain’t no secret that you regret not settin’ out to be in education, Babygirl. I thought this would be a good way to get you back on track. But I guess I was wrong,” Clyde said. Sherri turned on her side and laid down. “Yeah, you were. I don’t need you job huntin’ for me.” Clyde looked down at his book. He tried to keep reading, but Sherri’s response was eating away at him. He took in a deep breath. “So, you just wanna be a receptionist for the rest of your life, Sherri?” He didn’t have to see her face to know what it looked like. Slowly, Sherri turned on her back and sat completely up. “What is this about, Clyde? Are you ashamed of me all of a sudden?” she asked. Clyde huffed, then closed his book. “No...” he answered. “But I know when you’re feeling sad, Baby. And I know you’ve been real sad these last few months.” “First of all, don’t tell me when I’m sad. I’m not sad. I’m not depressed or any of that. And even if I was, that doesn’t have shit to do with my job...”
“Sherri...” Clyde said patiently. “You can deny it all you want to. But you know and I know that you ain’t happy where you are.” “I am happy!” Sherri snapped. “What are you talking about?!” “You like your job, Sherri. But you ain’t happy,” Clyde continued on. “You regret not finishin’ school, Baby. It’s all over your face. You think you’re hidin’ it from me, but you’re not. You never have. And denyin’ it hasn’t made it better.” Sherri scoffed. “Please, Clyde. You don’t know what I’m hidin’ and what I’m not. Whatever the case may be, I’m halfway through my life, now. I’m damn near 40 years old, I’ve got two kids--almost got three. I’ve got to run around after three kids--” “Stop usin’ our kids as a crutch, Sherri.” Sherri’s eyebrows lifted. She was speechless. Clyde wasn’t as mild and meek as people assumed he was, but he’d never drilled into anyone like this before. Especially Sherri. He had the patience of a saint, and Sherri could tell that the patience had suddenly started wearing thin. But so was hers. “You my therapist now, Clyde?” Clyde drew in a deep breath. “No, I’m not. But I am your husband. And I know you better than I know the back of my own hand.”
“And look here. I don’t appreciate you sittin’ up here talkin’ like you the only one takin’ care of our kids...” “That’s not what I said. And it’s not what I meant, either,” Sherri responded.
“Whatever you meant, there ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ you from goin’ back to school, but you. I tell you about a potential job in your field, and you up in here actin’ like I stole somethin’ from you,” Clyde fussed. “I just don’t understand where this is comin’ from. Our life is just fine right now. Since when did you start feelin’ like it wasn’t good enough? Suddenly it’s so bad that you need to go job scoutin’ for me?” “Ain’t nobody say all that, Sherri. Yes, our life is just fine. It’s real nice. But you ain’t no “just fine” kinda girl. You ain’t never been,” Clyde said.
“Everything about you is excellent, but when it comes to stuff like this--your dream, you start actin’ real cowardly.”
Sherri stared at Clyde and huffed. “Look. Whatever the case, Clyde. I don’t need you bein’ my reference. I don’t need you recommendin’ jobs for me. You worry about what you’ve got goin’ on, and I’ll take care of what I’ve got goin’ on.” Clyde nodded. “Alright.” He put his book on the nightstand and took off his bionic arm. He put the arm on his dresser, climbed back in bed, and turned off the lamp on his nightstand. Then, he slid down and pulled the covers over him.
“You ain’t got to worry about me sayin’ another thing,” he added. “Gon’ and pass that impostor’s syndrome down to our baby.” Sherri didn’t give his statement a chance to marinate in the air.
“I think you should sleep on the couch,” she said without hesitation, or a even a thought. And Clyde didn’t argue. He climbed out of the bed, grabbed his pillows, and walked out of the room with them. He dug through the linen closet for a blanket, and curled into a ball on the little chaise of their sectional. ____________________ The Next Day As she did every weekday morning, Sherri got up at 4:30AM. The scent of oatmeal soap still strong from last night’s shower, she gave herself a quick wipe down at the sink, then got Sid up. She helped Sid take care of their personal needs, and got them dressed. Per usual, mother and future middle child got a quick bite and made their way to the Busy Bees Daycare. Every week day, Sherri oversaw the front desk of the daycare and helped to keep an eye on all of the children, including her own. Every week day--even on Mondays when he didn’t work--Clyde woke up and got Chris and himself ready. They too, sat at the table for a quick bite--cereal, usually. Then, Clyde would walk Chris to school. Today was a work day, so he hung out at home for about for about 45 minutes before making the seamless fifteen (or twenty, depending on his mood) minute drive to Strafford’s Kitchen. Today was definitely a “twenty minute drive to work” kind of day. Sherri always got off at 2 o’clock. Her and Sid would head home and hang out until it was time to pick Chris up. They’d walk to the school, chat with Chris’ teacher, and make their way back home to start homework and dinner. When Clyde was off, he would start dinner while Sherri and Sid walked to get the eldest Logan child. Sherri had spent her day snatching every chance at mental solitude she could find. Clyde didn’t know what he was talking about. She was happy at Busy Bees. Had been for seven years. And more importantly, it was too late for her to consider going back to school. Especially with the cost of tuition nowadays.
“What’s on your mind, Sherri Pie?” Mrs. Barbara asked. She’d snatched Sherri out of a daze. “Hmm?” Sherri asked. “Everything alright?” Sherri forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, everything is fine.” Mrs. Barbara raised an eyebrow at her and Sherri laughed. “Me and the husband had a little spat, that’s all.” “Hmm,” Mrs. Barbara said with a nod. “And you know what Mrs. Barbara?” Sherri asked. “What?” she responded. She peeped into the commons space to get a look at the children, then back at Sherri. “I just might owe that man an apology.” Mrs. Barbara laughed. “Well, wives can be wrong sometimes, believe it or not. What was the argument about? If you don’t mind me asking...” Sherri shook her head and rolled her eyes--at herself, of course. “He started talking to me about going back to school, and things like that...and I got really defensive, I think.” “You think?” Sherri sighed again. “I did.” “Do you want to go back to school?” Mrs. Barbara asked. “It would be nice, but it would just be too much right now. With Sid and Chris, and this one...” “Well, I’m gonna stop you right there, Sherri,” Mrs. Barbara said. “It would be nice sounds like you want to go...” “...yeah, well...” “You’ve got us. You’ve got your neighbors. And from what I know of Clyde, that man would put the world on his shoulders for you if he could. You’ve got more support than a lot of people in this world...” Sherri chuckled to herself. “Clyde said something along those lines.” “Well...” Mrs. Barbara said, peeping into the commons space again. “If Clyde and I mirror each other’s thoughts, then he must be right.” Mrs. Barbara winked and walked back into the commons area. Sherri just smiled to herself. ____________________ Sherri and Sid returned home at about 2:30. “Can I watch TV, Mommy?” Sid asked. “Sure, baby,” Sherri said. She put her purse on the coffee table, turned on the television and flipped straight to PBS. Then, she made her way to the kitchen to hang her keys on the HOME hook. A familiar greeting card was sitting on the counter. On the front, it said “For You, Just Because. Blood rushed to Sherri’s cheeks, and she opened the card.
Her handwriting was on the right side, and read: Honeybunch, I love you and I appreciate you. Thank you for loving me and taking care of me. I know you’re feeling down now, but I want you to know that I’m always here, and I want to take care of you just as much as you do me. Love You, Sherri New handwriting was on the left side of it: 10/12/2027 Babygirl, I love you with ever fiber of my being. And I’ll never stop taking care you. No matter how much you take on, be it a little or a lot, I’m always going to carry it all with you. I just want you to be happy. And I want you to believe in yourself just as much as I do. If not more. Love You More, Honeybunch Butterflies fluttered in Sherri’s belly. She gave her little bump a rub and read Clyde’s message one more time before closing the card. Then, she walked into the living room, joined Sid on the sofa, and pulled the raven-haired middle child into her arms. “Goodness, I can’t believe Arthur is still comin’ on...” she said. ____________________ TAG LIST @aloneandsleepless @direnightshade @finn-ray-nal-beads @a-true-janian-reply @thegreenmatt @sister-winter73 @loewsy55 @mariesackler @clydes-hole @sydneyssmut @kirah36 @lovelyyandtired @morby @tsarinastorm @clydes-hole Tag List request post
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"Is it not hard, just--just making all your own rules to live by?"
"Near impossible I should think, if you're alone. I don't have the courage or the intellect of the philosophers who change the world, although I dare say each of them stood on the shoulders of giants themselves. Had I been alone, I should probably have made some miserable, resentful attempt to fit into the preordained rules and restrictions. One must when there is no alternative, and I suppose a life of stifled endurance is better than none. But I wasn't alone."
God, KJ Charles’ Band Sinister is giving me so many fucking feels.
As a teenager, I became a Christian. I was doing medieval re-enactment and I became Catholic and I wanted to fit, I wanted to be part of this centuries-old legacy. I wanted things to make sense, to live my life cleanly and purely, to be a perfect offering. I wanted to be chaste and it made a virtue out of the fact that I was so lonely.
I knew that I was bisexual but I couldn’t see a way forward with that, because everything I saw, outside of fanfic, seemed to lump homosexuality in with promiscuity and norm-breaking and it just seemed... sordid and tawdry and degenerate. There was nothing romantic about it. Nobody got their One True Love and lived with them for the rest of their life. And I wanted that purity, that cleanness; I could see myself leaving Catholicism if I found the One True Woman and decided she was worth giving up my faith for.
Band Sinister is like.... if I poured everything I felt and experienced from ages sixteen to twenty-six into a cauldron, and boiled it day and night for a week, and then scraped up the crystals at the bottom into a little glass vial. It’s a Regency romance, a genre steeped with tradition and propriety and class-conscious moralizing, but it’s... deeply subversive.
It’s delivering a pure special soulmates love story, but it also says: We wouldn’t have got here without the sordid bits. For centuries LGBTQ+ people who followed the rules have lived in asphyxiating invisibility, not really knowing who we were or what we wanted. If we’re able to fumble our way to pure, true, soul-deep love, we can manage it now because we stand on the shoulders of sexual deviants, people who said, “Your rules are shit. Make better ones.”
It reminds me of how holding the very best book is like touching a kiss; it’s the love and care and thought and concern the author meant to give to you, precisely to you; they wanted you to experience this, feel like this. Books are criticized for being dry and academic, but they are in paper a form of flame. Every book is a fierce act of preservation against death.
It’s especially a relevant book this week, as I’ve weeded my flowerbeds and fielded the occasional text message from my friends about the arguments they’ve been having about the place of kink at Pride. Had I felt like I had a place at Pride, which I as a young adult didn’t, but a lot of the young LGBTQ+ Christians I know do, I think I as a teenager would have been upset and scandalized and hated seeing blatant reminders of sexuality too. Why do we always have to be hypersexualized, I would have wailed. Why do we always have to be associated with sexual immorality?
And, well, we only got our opening at all because people fought back and made us safe in the first place. The LGBTQ+ community was built out of insane courage and radical solidarity and the faith that if you let the sordid happen, eventually divinity will find its way in too. We risk losing so much, if we all burrow into our separate communities and pastel futures and turn our backs on the perverts who got us here.
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(WELP I spent all day writing this, Campaign 1 Soulmate AU, where your soulmate’s last words to you are written on your arm, I’m sorry in advance for any sadness or emotions, MAJOR C1 spoilers below, read on AO3, enjoy!)
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Their Last Words Are With Us
“They’re your soulmarks, dears,” their mother explained, kneeling by the side of the clear-running stream and running water over their tiny arms. “They’re special words that your soulmate will say to you, one day.”
“Soulmate?” Vax echoed as his sister inspected the faint scrawling on her arm. “What’s that?”
“Somebody very important to you,” Elaina said. “Someone who was meant to be by your side, always. As a friend, or as a wife or husband, who will always be there for you.”
“Like Vax?” Vex asked. “Is he mine?”
“Perhaps, dearest.”
“Who’s yours?” Vax asked. “Is it dad? Do you have his words?”
Elaina only hesitated slightly before smiling and saying, “It’s possible, dear. You never really know who the words belong to, until you do.”
Vax frowned slightly at that. “Huh?”
Vex held her arm out for her mother. “What do mine say, Mum?”
Elaina did not answer, instead grinned and poured water over both of the twins’ heads, distracting them and sending them into a fit of giggles and splashing.
Then she finished their baths, wrapped them up in the same old fabrics she always used, and led them back, one holding each hand, to their small home in Byroden.
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Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan learned many things as they grew older. They learned to mend holes in shirts and how to thread a seam that would not show. They learned to coax seeds into the earth and when to water the tomatoes and how to strip away the potato skins and the names of the farmers and hunters that kindly stopped by to bring meat and grains to their small family. They learned, through trial and error, to strike stones together until sparks flew and to sprinkle dry grass and small twigs over the logs in the stone-lined pit to keep the flames going. They learned the names of the birds that lingered in the trees and dotted the fields. They learned to catch fish, giggling madly and stomping through the river the whole time, from the patient, grey-haired man that lived a few homes down. They learned to watch the clouds for rain, to bundle close to each other when the snow came, to stay brave during thunder and to drink in the sunlight under a sky that always felt like home.
But they did not learn to read. In their small, dirt-dusted, seldom-travelled village, living with their mother in a simple, one-room shack, there was no need. And with no way to know what their soulmarks said, eventually the bright curiosity faded away into occasional cursory glances, with the firm knowledge that, wherever it may be, their soulmates were out there somewhere. They were loved, and meant to be loved. And for the twins, raven-haired children gleefully running barefoot through the grass, as their mother looked on, that was enough.
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“Elaina never gave you any schooling at all?”
Syldor—their father—stood behind the beautifully-carved desk in his office, all high-windows and plush carpeting, rich green curtains pulled aside to reveal a gorgeous view of the bustling streets of Syngorn below. Warm light flooded into the room, and the sun shone brightly, but the temperature was cold under his icy tone, laced with disgust and disappointment.
They wanted to go home.
“She taught us a lot of things,” started Vax, “like how to count and how to sing and when to plant the—”
Syldor held up a hand, and Vax went silent. “But no arithmetic, no history, no geography, no etiquette?”
“No, father,” said Vex.
“Do you know how to read?”
The twins exchanged glances.
“No, father,” Vex said again.
He rubbed his temples with his thumbs. “Then you’ll start with private tutors, until you’ve caught up to your peers. I can’t have you interacting with other children until you have. This is ridiculous.”
-------------------------------------------
“A Treatise on the Advancement of Elven Culture,” read Vex, clearly enunciating her syllables. “Written by Onvyr Zalim, Senior Scholar of the Lyceum, 549 P.D.”
“Good,” said her tutor, nodding his head. “Your father will be pleased to hear of your progress. Now, here is the copy in Elvish, I want you to have read through this one by tomorrow, and we shall compare the two for quality.”
-------------------------------------------
“You know what it says now, right?” Vax asked one night after sneaking down the hall to his sister’s room and climbing onto the bed with her. “You’ve looked at it now, right?”
She nodded her head. Her eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Want to trade?” Vax asked. “You can read mine if I can read yours.”
“You’re in mine, I think,” she grinned, rolling up her sleeve. “Look.”
Vax pulled his arm free as well and brought it closer to his sister.
Under the moonlight, the curls of text across pale skin almost seemed to glow.
Vex grinned. “Aw, Scrawny, that’s so sweet.”
Vax tapped his sister’s arm. “Yours is as well,” he said, “but is it weird that they mention me too?”
Vex shrugged. “I plan on you bring a big part of my life, brother. I don’t think that’s strange at all. Maybe in the future you’ll be friends with them.”
“I’d better be,” grinned Vax. “Otherwise you’ve got to change soulmates.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the bed, and he lay on the floor giggling for some time before picking himself up.
“Good night, sister,” he smiled. “Don’t let the elves bite.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
-------------------------------------------
They were dining together tonight, Syldor seated at the head of the table and the twins at his left and right, across from one another. He was pleased at their academic progress, he said, even surprised at how quickly they were learning. They tried not to take offense at that, even when he added, with stomach-curdling self-satisfaction, that it must have been his blood finally showing itself in the twins.
After that, the table grew relatively silent, until Vex steeled herself and took a deep breath.
“Father,” she asked tentatively, “do you have a soulmark?”
He was silent for a moment. Then he gave a slight nod. “I do.”
“Could we know what it says?” she asked. “Is it…is it words our mother said to you?”
He sighed deeply. “I doubt it, Vex’ahlia. She never spoke elvish to me before. And, regardless, I would not know if they belonged to her until I died.”
Vax inhaled sharply, almost choking on his dinner. “What?” he asked. “What does that mean, father?”
Syldor put his fork down and gave both twins an incredulous look. “Did Elaina teach you nothing?”
They bristled at that comment, a common one in this household. Vax’s grip on his knife tightened.
Under the table, Vex kicked her brother and shook her head.
“No, father,” she said. “What is it?”
He met her curious gaze. “Soulmarks are words your fated will speak to you, you both know that, correct?”
They nodded.
“Do you know when those words will be spoken?”
-------------------------------------------
Vax collapsed onto the mattress next to his sister.
“It doesn’t have to mean that,” he said sternly. “Maybe they didn’t know it would be…it would be the end, and something happened on their way to see me.”
Vex sniffled, and wiped at the edges of her eyes. “I don’t think so, Vax. I’m…I think it does mean—”
He shook his head adamantly. “No way,” he said. “Not possible.”
Then he pressed his forehead to hers and said, “I promise, that’s not it. We’re going to get old and grey together, and we’ll always be the same age except I’m still gonna be two minutes older. That’s that, alright?”
Vex sniffed again, and tried for a smile. “Alright, brother. Alright.”
-------------------------------------------
After he left, she traced the scrawl on her arm with her finger.
I love you too, Vex’ahlia. I’ll tell your brother you said hello.
-------------------------------------------
One of the girls scoffed, her nose flaring and prim lips forming a smirk, and Vex instantly pulled her sleeve down.
“It’s not even in elvish,” the girl laughed, turning to the others. “I bet your soulmate isn’t even an elf.”
“They are,” Vex said defensively, cheeks coloring, “They are.”
“I bet he’s probably some stupid round-ear, from that dinky little town you grew up in,” giggled another. “I bet he’s poor and ugly.”
“Of course he’d be ugly,” said another, “if he’s a human.”
Vex fought for something to say. And when nothing came, she got up from the stone bench and ran to find her brother.
-------------------------------------------
“Humans’re better anyway,” said Vax loyally, hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Who’d want a stuffy, boring, dumb elf for a soulmate?”
They sat on one of the rooftops of the market district, watching people far below mill about under the colorful tent-tops and hanging flags and draped silks that adorned the streets. From this far up, they all looked like ants.
Vex nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “I hate this stupid city. I wish I could get out and run away and we could find our soulmates together.”
“Maybe they’ll be half-elves like us,” Vax suggested. “Maybe they’ll hate their dads just as much.”
Vex smiled. “I don’t think anyone could hate their dad as much as we do.”
He laughed. “You’re right, Stubby. That’s a good point.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a carefully-wrapped square, that instantly filled the air with a warm, sweet smell.
“Look what I stole today,” he said. “Here, try some, I got it for us to share.”
-------------------------------------------
Vex came back from the forest with leaves in her hair, mud on her boots.
“I’ve found the perfect path,” she said excitedly. “Did you get the weapons?”
Vax stepped away from the bed, revealing a polished wooden bow and a set of daggers. “Teachers didn’t see a thing,” he grinned, then held up a small leather pouch, jingling softly. “And Syldor didn’t see me slip into that dumb office of his either.”
She stifled a laugh. “Great. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking place.”
He picked up a dagger. “You’re in charge now, Stubby,” he said. “I don’t remember shit about living in the woods.”
-------------------------------------------
Years passed. Vox Machina, formerly known as the S.H.I.T.S., sat around a campfire somewhere on the outskirts of Whitestone, just because they could. Tomorrow they would head back to Emon, after receiving news that Sovereign Uriel would be giving an important speech in the Cloudtop District for all to attend. But, for tonight, they were camping out in the northeastern woods, just because they could.
“Even though we have a perfectly good castle, just a few miles away,” Scanlan added as he plucked idly at his lute. “Even though Percy is the Lord of Whitestone, and we just finished freeing the town from subjugation and we’re huge heroes.”
“I needed time away from there for a bit,” Percy sighed, leaning against a log. “It was too much, all at once.”
“I was only there at the end,” agreed Pike, glowing slightly in her astral form, “but it seemed pretty intense.”
“I like sleeping outside,” Grog said. “Beds never fit me right.”
“If I could make a mansion,” Scanlan grinned, waving his hands around, “I’d make you the biggest room imaginable, with the biggest bed there was. Well, maybe second-biggest room, and second-biggest bed.”
“Thanks, Scanlan.”
Keyleth idly let flames curl around her fingers, and every once in a while, would flick a spark towards the campfire. “It’s nice not having to go anywhere and do anything,” she said cheerfully. “And it’s always good to be in nature.”
Vax nodded. He was giving her small, sideways glances that Vex, perceptive as ever, absolutely noticed. A bit of inspiration hit her.
“Hey,” she said, “we’ve all known each other for a while, right?”
They all exchanged looks.
“Yes?” Scanlan agreed. “That’s true.”
She grinned enthusiastically. “So, you know what would be fun? Why don’t we all tell each other what our soulmarks say? Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
“Er…why?” Vax asked. “Why would we do that?”
Vex rolled her eyes. “We’re like a family now! And it would a good way to learn more about each other! Of course, we don’t have to if we don’t want to.”
Keyleth shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Vex. Those…those are the last words your soulmate will say to you. Isn’t…isn’t that kind of personal?”
Pike nodded, and now Scanlan’s eyes turned to her.
Vex’s shoulders sagged. “Alright,” she sighed. “It was just a suggestion. Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” said Percy quickly. “Perhaps some other time? We’re all a bit worn out from the whole…rebellion, and all.” And then, with a small spark of hope at the edge of his tone, he added, “But really. Some…some other time might be nice.”
“I don’t know what mine says,” shrugged Grog from his spot on the log next to Pike. “Can’t read.”
There was a brief silence, as they digested that. Both Vex and Vax felt an odd ping of kinship.
“Do you want someone to read it for you?” Keyleth asked. “Is it in Common?”
He shook his head. “Nope, ‘s in Giant.”
Pike smiled and gave him a pat on the arm. “I’ve asked before too,” she said. “He’d rather not know.”
“Goliaths don’t really care about that sort of thing,” he said. “As long as you’ve got your herd or…or your family, or whatever, it doesn’t matter. You need more than one person in your life, right? There’s always gonna be a lotta people important to you, right? So who cares if one of them is there ‘cause of fate, and destiny and stuff. Sure, they’re special, or whatever, but they’re not the only ones.”
Another moment of silence.
“Well,” said Scanlan, leaning over and giving Grog a pat on the knee, “again, somehow, you’ve proved you’re the wisest of us all, and I’m not even sure you realize why.”
The hulking barbarian grinned back at him. “It’s m’ charm,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m just amazing.”
-------------------------------------------
A few hours later, the girls sat together on the ground in Vex’s tent.
“I just really didn’t want to do it with the guys around,” Keyleth said sheepishly. “But I want to show you two. If…if you both want to also.”
“I do,” said Pike. “Definitely.”
“Same here,” grinned Vex. “Ready?”
They both nodded, and as one, all three pulled their sleeves up and brought their arms together.
There was a pause, as they all read one another’s marks.
Pike spoke first. “That’s…very sweet, Vex.” She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you shown it to your brother before?”
She nodded. “But don’t worry,” she added quickly, “it’s not anything to worry about. We made a promise to one another, you know? We’ll be together always.”
Keyleth gave her painfully optimistic pat on the shoulder. “Of course,” she agreed. “And besides, we’ve got the best cleric in the world. She’ll always heal us.”
Pike’s smile grew cheeky, and she stuck her thumb out. “Definitely,” she said.
Vex grinned, and looked back at the writing on Pike’s arm. “Well, at least we know one thing, now.”
“Oh?” Keyleth asked.
“Yes! We know that Pike’s soulmate definitely isn’t Scanlan. If it was, darling, you’d have a novella on your arm. Not just a sentence.”
Pike laughed. “That’s a good point,” she said. “It’d probably cover my whole body, if it were him.”
-------------------------------------------
“Our lives are fucking awful,” Vax sighed as his fingers worked through his sister’s hair. On the ground next to them rested three bright blue feathers.
“At least we are alive,” Vex pointed out. “Unlike…unlike a lot of people back h—in Emon.”
“I was starting to think of it as home too,” he said softly. “It’s…it’s been a long time since we’ve had somewhere to call home. And now it’s gone.”
Vex bit her lip. She could feel her brother beginning to sink, and she quickly reached a hand back, and wiggled her fingers. He paused in his braiding, and took it.
“I love you, brother,” she said, staring forwards. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
A small smile crept across his face. “I love you too, sis. I’m glad you’re here too.”
“This time it’s different. We have each other, and Vox Machina.”
“That’s true,” he said.
“And you’ve got Keyleth, now, don’t you?”
His grip loosened slightly. “I…I’m not sure if I do. She says…she says she loves me, but she’s worried about getting attached. She’s going through a lot right now, and there’s still her Aramente, and now the world is falling apart around us.”
“But she still loves you, right?”
“Well, yes—”
“Are you going to wait for her?”
“Well…yes.”
Vex squeezed his hand. “I’ll be here while you do then,” she said. “And once she sorts herself out and realizes she needs you, I’ll still be here.”
He squeezed back. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”
She let go, and then grinned and said, “Come now, get back to work. My hair isn’t going to look amazing by itself.”
He laughed, and pulled gently on the braid. “You’re lucky you’re related to me,” he quipped. “Otherwise I’d never help someone as bossy as you.”
-------------------------------------------
“It’s called the Deathwalker’s Ward,” said Vex, pointing to the spot in her journal where she’d written it down. “It’s in some kind of swampy, lake area, near Vasselheim.”
“Great,” sighed Scanlan. “More camping.”
-------------------------------------------
“What happened? I was only down there for thirty seconds—”
“There, there was a trap, the armor was trapped—”
“The healing potion isn’t working, it’s not working—”
“Kashaw, can you do anything—”
“Fuck, fuck, I…”
“Percival, what happened—”
“Kashaw—”
“I-I can bring her back. I can raise the dead.”
-------------------------------------------
Later that night, Percy gazed at the words curling down his arm and thought back to the last thing Vex had said before…before.
She had smiled, radiant despite the gloom and darkness of the underwater tomb. She had been chuckling, not unkindly, at the sight of a surly, halfling woman clambering out from one of the pits.
All good, Kima!
He traced a finger over his skin. Did this mean she wasn’t his soulmate? Or did the words know she wouldn’t have been dead for long? He sighed, and shook his head. He needed to do more research on this.
-------------------------------------------
"I really am sorry, Shaun."
Gilmore gave him a sad smile. "I know you are, Vax'ildan. I am too."
"You are a beautiful, wonderful, hilarious, glorious arcane bastard. You'll find your soulmate, and he will be the most fortunate man in the world."
"Thank you, Vax. I must say, your soulmate is a rather lucky individual as well."
He pulled Gilmore into a hug. "Not as lucky as yours," he assured. "Nowhere near as lucky."
-------------------------------------------
“Percy, have you got any more of those exploding arrows for me?”
“Of course, Lady Vex’ahlia. I always have a supply on hand for my favorite Baroness.”
She grinned. “You flatter me. Am I your favorite only because we killed the rest of Whitestone’s nobility?”
“Well, technically, I suppose. But even if we hadn’t, you’d still be my favorite.”
-------------------------------------------
Vax put his hands in his head and sighed. Next to him, sitting on the bed, Keyleth watched the turmoil storming behind his eyes.
“I know,” he began, “I know with all that’s happened, between my new patron and my sister pretending to gag literally every time we attempt to share a word together, and mostly my own being fucked up in the head for weeks now, that I’ve pushed all of you away. You most of all.”
Then he turned, and met her gaze. There were tears at the corners of his eyes.
“You didn’t deserve any of that. Keyleth, I need you to know, through all of that, everything, nothing has changed about how I…” He trailed off, but then forced himself to continue. “We’ve had so many near-misses. Death is unavoidable. And it’s all the more reason for life to be lived. And it doesn’t matter to me what this is. What we call it. If you are willing to spend some time, any time, with me, then I will simply count myself lucky to have it.”
Keyleth reached over, and took his hand, never breaking eye contact. “It’s…it’s not like I’ve made myself very accessible either,” she admitted. “It’s on both of us. For…for the longest time, I was terrified that I was going to lose you. First to death, and then to the Raven Queen—which is still kind of like death—and then ultimately to yourself.”
Then she took his other hand, and squeezed them both gently. There was a smile creeping across her face. “And then…and then recently, I had an interesting talk with Pike,” Keyleth said, “and she told me something that really stood out to me. It was that some people…just have more of themselves to give. And I realized this whole time that I was afraid of losing you to a future that ultimately has not yet been written, which is stupid.”
“Maybe so,” Vax began softly, but Keyleth shook her head.
“Ultimately, you’re right.” she said firmly. “We have nothing to lose. I love you, Vax. And I’m sorry for being me, that it took me this long to say it.”
Vax sniffled. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Keyleth laughed. There were tears in her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I love you, though. That’s pretty fucking great.”
She lifted a hand up, still laughing. “That is pretty great, yeah! High five! Yeah!”
And Vax gave her a high five, and then tackled her onto the mattress, now both of them laughing like idiots and grinning madly and giggling every time they accidentally bumped into one another, or clumsily hit elbows together.
And later, that morning, as the light filtered in through their window, they traced the markings on each other’s forearms and smiled.
“I love you, Keyleth of the Air Ashari,” read Vax, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She smiled softly, and tapped his arm. “I love you, Vax’ildan. I’ll…” and her voice broke slightly, but she shook her head and continued, “…I’ll see you again.”
-------------------------------------------
“Oh, I love being this high up in the air!”
Vex leaned over the railing of the airship they had chartered, now soaring above the vast expanse of gleaming, deep-blue water far below, the rippling and sparkling surface of the Ozmit Sea.
Percy, standing next to her, smiled. “Is it better than a broom?” he asked.
She turned to face him, and her braid flew behind her in the wind. She glowed in the warm sunlight.
“It is, darling,” she laughed. “I love my broom, but it’s much better.”
Percy nodded, and turned back to look over the railing at the clouds beyond. “I’m going to install an airship port in Whitestone,” he said.
-------------------------------------------
Glintshore came and went, and in the smoking aftermath of the battle—shrapnel scattered across the scorched crater and corpses dotting the landscape and Kynan shaking on the ground and Ripley’s eviscerated flesh painting the dirt crimson—Vox Machina gathered around the limp form of Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III, bullet wounds no longer bleeding, breath gone from his chest.
Vax and Pike were the closest, the Champion of Death and the Cleric of Sarenrae carefully examining his body for any possible signs of life, and mulling over the next course of action. Vex and Keyleth watched on, and Scanlan and Grog romped through the background, making sure the hired mercenaries were finished, and giving the rest room to work and to grieve.
Then Vax turned around, and gently asked his sister, “Vex’ahlia, what were your last words to him?”
She blinked, tears still streaming down her face. “I don’t, I don’t know, I don’t remember.”
He tried again. “Did you tell him that you’ll miss him?”
She frowned, confusion beginning to creep in. “No? I, no, I never said that.”
He nodded, and now his expression was firm. “Percy’s not dead for good,” he said adamantly. “Not for good. We’ll be able to bring him back.”
“What makes you—” Scanlan began.
And then realization hit. They all stood in silence for a moment.
“You read it,” breathed Keyleth, and Vax nodded.
“You don’t know for sure,” Vex whispered. “You don’t know for sure.”
“I don’t,” Vax agreed, “but I’m pretty damn certain.”
“Let’s get him into the mansion,” Pike said softly. “We can rest, and get our spells back, and we’ll do the ritual tomorrow.”
-------------------------------------------
“I should have told you. It’s yours.”
-------------------------------------------
“Percival, would you like to see my soulmark?”
Percy blinked a few times, and turned around to face her. Vex’s skin was pale in the moonlight, her eyes anxious but hopeful. He reached for the beside table and pulled his glasses over, and they both shifted into an upright position.
“Do…do you truly wish to show me?” he asked.
She nodded. “I…I think it might belong to you. I want you to.”
He smiled faintly. “You know, I’ve always hoped mine belonged to you as well. Would you…?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I would.”
They pressed their arms together, words towards the sky.
“I love you, darling,” read Vex softly. “I’ll miss you.���
Percy traced the text on her arm with a gentle finger. “I love you too, Vex’ahlia,” he read. “I’ll…oh. I’ll tell your brother you said hello.”
He met her gaze. “Vex,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “No, no, darling. Believe me, we’ve talked about it plenty before, but no. If anything, you should watch yourself any time you go off to visit him alone, understood?”
He laughed quietly. “Alright, alright. Of course.”
She smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. Their eyes were closed, so neither of them could see the worry written across Percy’s face, or the desperate denial on Vex’s.
-------------------------------------------
“He really is gone,” Pike sighed, looking down at the ground.
Vex put an arm across her shoulder. “He…I know Scanlan will be back,” she said. “I think he just needs time alone.”
“I…I was just starting to think…”
The little gnome shook her head. “Nevermind,” she said. “Never…nevermind.”
-------------------------------------------
“Oh, no,” said Taryon, waving his mug jovially and shaking his head. “No, I’m not doing that again.”
“Alright,” said Grog with a careless shrug. “Alright, fine. That means more ladies for me. You want me to find you a guy, or something?”
Taryon considered this proposal. Then he looked up at the large mountain of a man, eyebrow raised and tattoos dark against his grey skin.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Tary asked.
Grog’s other eyebrow went up. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”
Tary sighed, and shook his head again. “Nevermind,” he said. “Just…just go have fun for the both of us, how about that?”
Grog grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ I could do.”
-------------------------------------------
“Zephra is beautiful in the autumn,” smiled Vax as he watched Keyleth’s hair blow in the breeze. She was standing in a clearing, leaves tumbling around her. “I can’t wait to spend the next hundred autumns here with you.”
She reached out with a hand to where he was sitting in the grass, and pulled him up to join her. “More than a hundred,” she said firmly. “Half-elves live a long time, and we’re retired now, right?”
He laughed, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Sure, Kiki. Right now, we’re retired.”
-------------------------------------------
"Do any of us actually know how to run a bakery?"
"Didn't you say it's all about getting experience?" Taryon asked. "It's like a new adventure! One that we will all be inexperienced in, at the beginning."
"I can sort of bake," said Pike. "Sort of."
"Most of us, then," Taryon corrected. "Do we have a name, yet?"
-------------------------------------------
“And do you, Vex’ahlia Vessar, take this man to be your husband?”
In the silence of night, with only quiet chirping of crickets and the rustling of the wind through the leaves of the Sun Tree, Keeper Yennen’s voice sang strong and bright.
Vex’ahlia’s heart soared.
“I do.”
-------------------------------------------
One day, a tall, dark-skinned man from Ank’harel came to visit with a lanky, half-orc bard-barian in tow.
Their retirement ended.
-------------------------------------------
There was a knock, so Scanlan fastened his silk, royal-purple robe, put on his most charming smile, and with a flick of his wrist, the door to his room swung open, to reveal Pike.
A million lines, ranging from I don’t remember asking for an angel, to why, isn’t this a pleasant surprise, to oh, I see Ioun has answered my prayers after all, to aren’t I a lucky gnome tonight?
He managed to hold all of them back and instead gave her a small grin. “Hi, Pike. What’s up?”
She closed the door behind her, and took a step forwards.
“Hey, Scanlan. I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, don’t be a stranger, come and sit down, ask away.” He motioned towards the velvet couch by his fireplace, and they both took a seat.
“Scanlan, what does your soulmark say?”
He balked. This wasn’t exactly unfamiliar territory, since soulmates was a rather rich vein for pickup lines and for hitting on people in bars. But this—seated before a warm fire with Pike sitting not too close, but also not too far away—was nothing he could ever anticipated.
“Uh…well…why do you want to know?”
“I was just wondering,” Pike said with suspiciously carefree nonchalance. “If you don’t want to show me, I totally get it—”
He pulled down the sleeve of his robe, and her eyes instantly trained in on the words.
“It’s gnomish,” she said, slightly surprised.
He shrugged, and gave her a grin. “I’d like to think it’s honoring my humble roots,” he said.
“Can…can I read it out loud?”
“Of course.”
“Stop it, Scanlan. Take all the time you need.”
She bit her lip, and traced the words slowly. It sent a strange tingling up Scanlan’s arm.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” he asked, defaulting in the face of uncertainty to what he knew best: talking. “I mean, I’ve always wondered what I might have said to the other person to get them to respond with that, or what they mean with take all the time you need, but you can never be sure, right? Anyways, I think it’s the universe’s personal laugh that I’ve also got Stop it, Scanlan written on my arm, you’ve got to admit that’s pretty funny…”
He trailed off as Pike stood up.
“Thanks, Scanlan,” she said, slightly strained. “I…I appreciate you showing it to me. I’m going to bed now.”
She started walking out of the room.
“Wait, Pikey, is everything alright? Are…are you alright?”
She turned, just before the door, and gave him a smile. “I’m okay,” she said lightly. "Don’t worry, Scanlan, I’m okay.”
She closed the door behind her, and Scanlan was left staring at the elegant woodwork in the silence. He turned back around, and lay down on the couch. Eventually, tracing his arm where Pike’s finger had been and wondering idly what she had been thinking, he fell asleep next to the crackling fire.
-------------------------------------------
“Are you all ready to go?” Percy asked. “I…I’m not sure what we’ll find on the other end, or how we’ll be getting back.”
“I’m ready,” said Grog. “I wanna go kill those creepy culty fucks.”
Vax grinned. “I agree with the big man,” he said. “They’ve got it coming.”
“Ready,” said Keyleth, gripping the Spire in her hands.
“As I’ll ever be,” said Scanlan, shooting a wink that Pike and Grog, recently apologized to, grinned at.
“Let’s go, darling,” said Vex. “It’s time.”
-------------------------------------------
Vax was dead.
And then he wasn’t.
-------------------------------------------
“I can’t help but hate her,” Keyleth shook her head, face buried in Vax’s chest as they lay together on the bed of their room in Scanlan’s Magnificent Mansion.
“I know,” Vax sighed. “I know.”
“It’s just…It’s just not fair. It’s not fair. You’re my soulmate, Vax. We were only going to have a hundred years together. And now…and now…”
“I know,” he said again, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I hate her,” sobbed Keyleth. “I hate her.”
-------------------------------------------
In the other room, down the hall, Vex rubbed at her eyes.
“He’s my brother,” she said.
“Yes,” Percy said back.
“He…if we’re successful, he won’t live past this year.”
“Yes.”
“And if we aren’t, the world will end.”
“Yes.”
“I want to world to end,” she whispered. “I don’t want to live in a world without him.”
Percy put a hand on her back, and when she began to cry, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Vex. I’m sorry.”
“It was right there,” she breathed between sobs, wanting to choke on her own words. “It was right there, in my stupid soulmark. It was right there, all along. He was going to die first. And then…and then you would, and you would see him for me.”
Percy nodded. His own body was starting to shake as well.
“We knew that I wouldn’t live as long as you,” he tried. “I’m human.”
“I know,” she said, “I know. But I wish you weren’t. And I wish Vax wasn’t going to die either.”
-------------------------------------------
“And…And I’m going to miss you. I’ll be gone soon. I don’t even know if we have time. A lot of us could be dead soon, but I’m not offering you this thing, but I’m offering you an experience.”
There was a long pause.
“I don’t know a lot of big words, but I feel like I need a little bit of clar-if-ication.”
“I don’t know if we have time for this, but maybe, for old time’s sake, because I love you and I know you love me and we share this in common—”
“—yep, definitely—”
“—I thought maybe we could prank Scanlan together.”
-------------------------------------------
The day came. And from somewhere within the dark city of Thar Amphala, lurching from the movement of the terrible, enormous body that carried it, they all linked hands and closed their eyes and nodded.
And then they began to climb.
-------------------------------------------
Scanlan, the tiny gnome bard perched up, thousands and thousands of feet in the air, held aloft by nothing but the shimmering, translucent purple form of Bigby’s Hand, made of pure arcana and here by his own force of will, looked up at Vecna, the Ascended as the sickly green swirl of a teleportation spell began to creep around the emaciated, bloodied avatar of the new god.
Scanlan raised a finger, eyes dark and cold.
“This was going to save Vax,” he said, and fired off a Counterspell that, for once, was not driven by song or dance or laughter—just the enraged sorrow of a bard who had, long ago, buried his mother, nearly just lost his daughter, and soon, all too soon, would lose one of his best friends.
It connected. There was no question there.
And then, finally, Keyleth was handed the tome.
-------------------------------------------
In the distance, the impossibly gargantuan skeleton of the massive titan loomed over the city of Vassalheim, as cheering and shouts of surprised delight burst over the night sky like fireworks. Lanterns were beginning to bloom along the city skyline, and people were coming out of their homes and armies were lowering their weapons as now the news spread like wildfire that finally, finally, the Undying King had fallen.
But Vox Machina were not celebrating.
Vax pressed his forehead to his sister’s and put his hands on her face. Behind him, the silent form of the Raven Queen watched on, unimaginably distant and terrifyingly close, all at the same time.
“I never had a greater friend than you,” he said softly. “And we traveled a lot, but I never had a greater friend than you.”
Vex shook her head, tears hitting the grass below them. “I feel like she’s taking part of me away,” she breathed, a wracking, shaking sob.
He stroked her cheek. “I will bring it with me to remind me of you.”
“I don’t know how to live.”
“I will see you again.”
“I know.”
“I will see you again. And I will tell your mother that you say hello.”
She laughed, a short a humorless laugh. “Please.” and then she sobbed again and said, “I love you. I don’t accept this.”
He nodded. “I know that it’s hard. And I am sorry.”
“I’m going to find you.”
He wrapped her into a hug. And then, after a moment, after one final hand on her back and kiss to her forehead, he pulled away and turned to Keyleth.
The druid walked up to him, and threw her arms around his neck, tears streaming down her face. He pressed his lips to hers, and afterwards whispered, “I’m sorry it’s so cold.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t accept this. I love you.”
He smiled. “I will never stop loving you.”
“This isn’t fair,” she said.
“I know.”
She looked him in the eye, and her heart broke all over again. “I guess…I guess we have to say goodbye.”
He took her hands, just as she had, all those nights ago, and squeezed them gently. “For now,” he agreed. “I love you, Keyleth of the Air Ashari.”
She stole one final kiss, and murmured back, “I love you, Vax'ildan. I’ll see you again.”
After what felt like the lifetime they would not have, he pulled away, and took a breath he did not need, and began to walk towards the dark cloak of the Raven Queen. With each step, tiny flowers began curling around his feet, small white petals blooming against the dark green grass where they stood, until a carpet of snowdrops trailed back from Vax’s pale form to the rest of his family. He turned to face them.
“S.H.I.T.S.!” he called, voice wavering but firm and strong. “How lucky I have been to have had all of you. How lucky, indeed. Thank you.”
Then he strode into the embrace of his mother, and his patron.
And then, it was just feathers.
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Years passed. Keyleth of the Air Ashari watched alongside Percy and Vex in the shade, as three dark-haired and two white-haired children chased each other through the grass and around the gardens.
“Julius looks just like him,” said the druid with a sad smile. “But you said Jonathan’s the one who talks to birds?”
“Yes,” said Vex, “and he thinks you’re very cool, so I think you should go and talk to him later.”
“I might just do that,” Keyleth nodded. “Maybe he might want to come visit Zephra, one of these days.”
“Take Olivia also,” said Percy. “We think her magic is arcane, but it might do her some good. Besides, she’s his twin, and they don’t like being separated.”
“I can see how that might work,” said Keyleth. Then she looked at Percy and Vex and asked, “Say, did Pike and Scanlan set a date yet? I know gnomes don’t really operate on the same timeline as everyone else, believe me, I know, but have they said anything yet?”
“No,” said Percy, “I don’t think so. But knowing how quickly they fell all over each other, after everything that happened, I’m sure it’ll be soon.”
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“Scanlan?” Pike asked, from their spot in bed.
“Yes, Pikey?”
“Remember when you showed me your soulmark, and you mentioned something about wondering why it said what it did?”
“Yes, I remember.”
Pike rolled her sleeve up, and held her arm out to Scanlan.
“It’s in gnomish,” he said, slightly surprised.
“It’s my humble roots,” she grinned. “Go on, read it.”
“I won’t make…” Scanlan faltered, but with a gentle nudge he tried again. “I won’t make you wait long, Pikey.”
“Stop it, Scanlan,” Pike recited. “Take all the time you need.”
Their eyes met.
“So…you think…?”
“I’m pretty sure I know,” said Pike, and grinned. “You forest gnomes live a long time.”
“Are…are you alright with—”
“I am,” said Pike. “I really, truly am.”
“Oh, good,” said Scanlan, and he smiled as well when she leaned in for a kiss.
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“Mama, what do these marks mean?” asked Percival IV, holding his arm up for his mother to see.
“That’s called a soulmark, darling. It’s words your soulmate will speak to you, one day.”
“How will I know who my soulmate is?”
“You just do, when the time comes. I know that sounds confusing, but trust me, alright? When you meet the right person, you’ll know.”
“Did you meet the right person, Mama?”
“I did, darling. And guess who that person was?”
“Who?”
“Your father,” and here, she bopped her son on the nose and he started to giggle.
“But, you know, these marks don’t always mean you have to spend time with only your soulmate. When your mama traveled around with Vox Machina, well, it almost felt like all of them were my soulmates.”
Her son considered this. “Like when I’m with Elaina and Julius and Olivia and Jonathan and Trinket and Dad and Auntie Keyleth and Uncle Grog and Auntie Pike and Uncle Scanlan and—”
She grinned, and bopped him again. “Yes, darling, just like that.”
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The wedding was small, and Grog carried Scanlan down the aisle on his shoulders as Kaylie played a bridal march on her fiddle, and Great-uncle Wilhand, arthritic and nearly bald, officiated.
There were two flower girls and one ring bear, that carried the three ring-bearers on his back.
-------------------------------------------
“Keyleth?”
They were seated beneath the Sun Tree, watching the clouds roll by over Whitestone, below.
“Yes, Vex?”
“Do…do you think you’ll ever find someone else?”
There was a pause.
“I…I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe. It’s…it’s still too new. But I know he would want me to move on.”
“You have all the time in the world, darling.”
She laughed. “Oh, I know.”
“I know there’s a lot to be said about soulmates, but still. We’re not soulmates, and I still feel connected to you. To everyone in Vox Machina.”
Keyleth nodded. “I know what you mean,” she said with a small smile. “I think…I think it’s always nice to know who your soulmate is, but it’s also nice to just…to just spend time with other people.”
“Yes,” said Vex, poking Keyleth in the arm. “It is.”
-------------------------------------------
Nobody knows the reason why, or how, or who is behind the curling lines of text that appear on the skin of every newborn child across the planes. Perhaps it’s the work of sentimental deities, brushing their fingers against the arms of their creations to let them know that no matter what, in this chaotic, unpredictable, dangerous world, they will never be alone. Perhaps it’s the gods of love, helping mortals find the ones with whom they will share every full, deep breath of air and every beat of their hearts. Perhaps it’s the work of trickster gods, playing their jokes on those who will never know who their other half is, until the end. Or, perhaps, it’s the work of the Raven Queen herself, Weaver of Fates, Matron of Death, leaving her mark on creation and urging all to find their fated and enjoy the time they have together, before the inevitable.
Nobody really knows.
But maybe, as a wise goliath once said around a campfire in the woods outside Whitestone, under the night sky with his friends at his side, “who cares?” In the end, you stick with the people you love, all the people you love, and perhaps, maybe then, it won’t matter what fate tried to tell you. You’ll have found the ones you wanted, and you’ll have been with the ones you needed, all along.
And that? That is more than enough.
-------------------------------------------
This was a place, almost a hundred years later, where the sun was bright, and the grass seemed to glow, and the skies always felt like home.
“Your sister says hello.”
There was a laugh, and a smile, and a warm hand on his shoulder.
“I know, Freddie. I know.”
#critical role#critical role fic#fanfiction#fanfic#campaign 1#jay writes#percival de rolo#vex'ahlia#vax'ildan#keyleth#pike trickfoot#scanlan shorthalt#grog strongjaw#c1 spoilers#MAD SPOILERS#soulmate au#last words au#text#perc'ahlia#vaxleth#pikelan
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THE LOST GIRL’S HOME IS IN BOOKS: spring leisure reading
Girl Reading (1850), oil on canvas, Andre Fontaine
Writing on my phone. On the train. Woke with a sore throat. Snow outside the Manhattan window turning to sludge and then puddles. In the morning Alex and I made our way to Tisch to pick up books from Wendy and sit in on Fred Moten’s class. He spoke for three hours about a paragraph in Zalamea’s Synthetic Philosophy of Contemporary Mathematics, constellating the Isley Brothers with quantum physics with the history of slavery with Solange with financialization with the spatio-temporal dimensions of Judaism with critiques of the individuated liberal subject. In Fred’s presence I’m always in awe. When he says the stream of thought will go where it goes, I know what he means, what it feels like, to want to read everything. To have no filters. To be a being who is…interested. “You know, it’s like a river that winds through all these different terrains, and part of it winds through the history of science, and part of it winds through category theory and general topology, and part of it winds through Russian cinema—I’m just interested.” (Moten) Would like to linger more on the things I read and not just mark passages to return to…later. Has grad school de-skilled me? Has the process of becoming a “historian”—of having to read thousands of pages per class in grad seminars destroyed my ability to read slowly? Poetry is becoming harder to read. It demands a kind of attention other than the kind of attention I have become accustomed to—the temporality forced into me by the academic grind. Last semester I did my comprehensive exams. For two hours I was quizzed by 4 professors on the contents of ~400 books. My fields were: Prisons and Police; History and Political Economy of Race in America; Social and Political Theory (Marxism, psychoanalysis, critical theory, Frankfurt School, feminist/queer theory, post-structuralism); and Black Literature, Theory and Cultural Studies. “Studying” for my exams hardly felt like studying at all—I was just doing what I’ve always done: read. But the thing about being in academia is…you can’t just read what you want to read (unless you’re Fred!), you’re supposed to specialize. Your supposed to read within your discipline, to be monogamous with your dissertation topic. But sometimes…my mind needs ventilation. I need to let my mind wander. So this spring break I went on a kind of “retreat”—I rented a little eco-bungalow on a mountain overlooking the ocean in Deshaies, Guadalupe, with the intention to do nothing except read, journal & spend time in nature. It’s weird to now have a life where I have to schedule in these compressed snatches of leisure. Between my academic life and artist/public intellectual life all life is becoming work work work. Constant travel, mountains of assignments to grade, grant applications, bureaucracy, student emails, assigned readings, lesson planning, talks—in psychoanalysis I am sometimes too fatigued to finish my sentences. What was it? “The disquieting feeling that we don’t own ourselves.” My poor journal, neglected since last semester. Turned inside-out and called into presence by the Pavlovian PING of the push notification. Life becomes the work of feeding the avatar. It’s nothing new. It’s the same ole subject formation, in overdrive. The you of I (alienated Lacanian subject) — identification with an image of self that circulates as…I-am-that. When the avatar takes over your life, when you become what the public makes you…how can you find a way to re-inhabit your life as you? Quiet. Unplug. Has busyness evacuated my inner life? I’m still me. But look at how much my situation has changed…
Here are my notes on the books I read over spring break (some finished the week after I returned…)
Tolstoy - Anna Karenina
My skin takes it in. Ghosts enter and leave this vessel, Sunship Earth. Body, too, will become a ruined beach house covered in pale violet morning glory vines, its shutters still hinged shut. Now Nabokov is analyzing the varied march of time in Tolstoy—there is something like a moral in Kitty and Levin’s slow dance, against the locomotive thrust of Anna and Vronsky. A road—to where? The bull in the clearing, the smell of the tiny yellow flowers and the fade, the gloaming, the wall of water, peach-haloed in the sunset. The dimming, the peep of the first cicada, the crushed cicada that lost its way, the dream that wrote her destiny, the dirty peasant rooting around in the sack—the man split by the wheels of the locomotive. A force that nothing, no one escapes. [Holy shit. As I type these notes from my journal my train has been stopped in Providence because the train ahead of us hit someone]. Yes, I have had the dream of the man with his hand in my sack [“It was crowded in the market. I was trying to photograph the flowers but the image was distorted because a man had his hand in my backpack”]. Can a sudden silence wake a sleeping body? I think, as I wake, that I have caught the day in the precise moment of transition. What crossed over then, the wind swept the island clean. Like Anna Karenina I have been under the spell of the dream: what I now no longer know if I can trust. Nothing could have saved Anna the terrible omen flashing above her life…
Nabokov - Lectures on Russian Literature
Freud and Baldwin love Dostoyevsky. Nabokov loathes him. What does that tell you about the kinds of people who love and hate Dostoyevsky? Lovers of Dostoyevsky: hysterics, neurotics, fringe-dwellers, madmen. Dostoyevsky is to literature what Zulawski is to cinema (emotional excess–which is why teens also love Dostoyevsky). This whole book is an argument for Tolstoy and against Dostoyevsky. Lovers of Tolstoy: the good, the moral, the erudite, Oprah. Nabokov is a snob à la Adorno, but his lectures on Tolstoy are damn good (skip the ones on Dostoyevsky), especially the ones on dreams and time in Anna K.
Nabokov and Barabtarlo - Insomnia Dreams
This book is pretty fucking cool. It is an inventory of Nabokov’s proleptic dreams, which he wrote down on notecards after reading J. W. Dunne’s An Experiment with Time. Dunne was an aeronautical engineer and crackpot philosopher who developed what I sometimes call stoner dream theory. He believed that past-present-future exist simultaneously and that the experience of time as an arrow moving forward is an effect of waking consciousness. In dreams we are unhitched from normative time and can access the future–are touched by future events.
Notebook notes: Dunne and Nabokov dream to know time in every direction. So future events loop back to pierce our sleeping heads. Did I believe—the future is making contact with me. What did the dream corrupt? I could not outrun it. Nabokov dreaming of South Station [strange, that’s where I’m headed as I type up these notes…]. Dreams of the lepidopterist: chasing the butterflies with a giant spoon instead of a net. Sometimes he’s an insufferable pedant. But even pedants can have a compelling dream life…
Lemov - Database of Dreams: The Lost Quest to Catalog Humanity
Professor Lemov teaches in the History of Science department at Harvard. She is currently a faculty fellow in a year-long Crime and Punishment seminar at Harvard that I am also a part of. I first got interested in her work after she presented an excellent paper on the history of Cold War behaviorist experiments (many of which were conducted on prisoners, including the practice of “psychosurgery”) and early efforts to use data to construct psychological theories of deviance. When I found out she wrote a history of a dream database, I knew I had to read it.
This book is a history of Bert Kaplan’s ambitious mid-20th century quest to create a database of dreams and psychological data (called the Primary Records in Culture and Personality), which consists of a collection of the raw notes of the thoughts, feelings, and dreams of people from around the world, stored on the now-obsolete technology of the Microcard. It is at once a history of: microfilm technologies, data science, the information storage ambitions of postwar social scientists and anthropologists, and psychologists’ obsession with the dreams and unconscious thoughts of ethnic “others.” The story of the database is fascinating in itself…but I wanted to know more about what was in the repository. Sometimes the unconscious speaks:
“A man named Birch Tree told of a dying young man of his acquaintance who had dreamed too ambitiously: one night, he was able to see ‘every leaf in the whole world’ and perished soon after, like the leaves that fall from the trees each year.”
“dream #19, in which he was shooting birds, surrounded by sunflowers as big as evergreen trees”
“Dreams were “palimpsests for understanding what could be called ‘not-self,’ the place at which the self begins to shade away into nothingness or something else.”
“If you sat in a library looking at someone’s dreams, what were you seeing?”
The database of dreams was dead on arrival.
But there’s another living database of dreams assembled by oneirologist Kelly Bulkeley: http://sleepanddreamdatabase.org/ – have read and enjoyed several of Bulkeley’s books too. The convocation of the oneirologists…
Sliwinski - Mandela’s Dark Years
How strange, I read this two days before the death of Winnie Mandela. Did Nelson dream of Winnie while in prison? There is a lot to chew on in this little book. I keep returning to the dream that is circled in the text, Nelson Mandela’s dream from prison:
I had one recurring nightmare. In the dream, I had just been released from prison—only it was not Robben Island, but a jail in Johannesburg. I walked outside the gates into the city and found no one there to meet me. In fact, there was no one there at all, no people, no cars, no taxis. I would then set out on foot toward Soweto. I walked for many hours before arriving in Orlando West, and then turned the corner toward 8115. Finally, I would see my home, but it turned out to be empty, a ghost house, with all the doors and windows open, but no one at all there.
The subject in absentia dreams their erasure while in prison, the experience of becoming-ghost. (Mandela’s recurring nightmare. How apartheid structures the geography of the unconscious…)
Szabó - The Door
“If there was [an] article about what to read once you’ve finished Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, The Door—though it lacks the scope of those books—might top the list.” I read no such list but did finish the Neapolitan novels last year. I read The Door after it was recommended by 3 of my feminist friends.
To say what this book is about would fail to get at the experience of reading this book. It’s deeply disturbing and all the more so because Emerence, the narrator’s housekeeper, is the exact likeness of my aunt Helen. They are women for whom every emotional door has been sealed shut. They both had dogs that were passionately attached to them. Under what conditions does the wound grow into an impenetrable shell? Grow into the pride of self-sufficiency…
Notes: The book is bookended by a recurring nightmare of a door that won’t open. An ambulance outside, and the silhouettes of paramedics seen through glass. Most of my dreams are about the absence of shelter, porous structures, rooms that are always open to invaders. But here is a nightmare about being trapped inside with someone in need of help. Ferrante’s Days of Abandonment resonates too.
Resonances. Lightning strikes the two babes Emerence was fleeing with. In Anna Karenina, lightning missed Kitty and child. The plots of two novels are crossed. What characters evade in one novel befalls characters in another. It’s like the books are talking to each other through the body of me.
Schmitt - Political Theology
We should discuss this book in person. My thoughts are too sprawling to give shape to them here. People on the left read Schmitt for his critique of liberalism and though there are parts of it I find compelling (I’ve elaborated the concept of a “financial state of exception” in my book Carceral Capitalism), the part about liberal democracy lacking decisionism because it’s weighed down by a Weberian bureaucracy is, I think, wrong. Well, that’s what I felt while reading McCoy’s In the Shadows of the American Century immediately following Political Theology.
McCoy - In the Shadows of the American Century
This book is part of an ever-growing body of literature on the decline of US hegemony and the rise of China as a global superpower. But what this book adds to the analysis is a thought-provoking discussion of the changing nature of geopolitical struggles–from a navel-based strategy to a land-based strategy. McCoy unpacks the influence of Halford Mackinder’s theory of the Geographical Pivot of History, which posits that the future belongs to whoever controls the Eurasian landmass (the World-Island). During the Cold War the US has maintained its hegemony by controlling key axial points–through NATO in western Europe (on the west side of the World-Island), and the strategic positioning of military/naval bases around the Pacific, and the forging of political and economic alliances with South Korea, Japan, the Philippines, etc. This book is a good overview of how the US built and maintained its empire, and offers possible blueprints for its decline (McCoy’s analysis of Obama’s attempts to salvage US hegemony through his “pivot toward Asia” and Trump’s acceleration of the decline of US hegemony was interesting…). After reading about the CIA’s covert operations in Latin America I felt that liberal democracy is not at all lacking decisionism, as Schmitt says, but like all states it maintains its power through brute force (militarism/war), international diplomacy, strategic alliances, soft power, proxy warfare and covert operations, international trade agreements, technological prowess, surveillance, etc.
Saterstrom - Ideal Suggestions
What is the relationship between what is seen and unseen?
Saterstrom’s poetics can be summed up by her line: “dust mote footing the invisible”–the “thing” itself is often absent, even as it mutates everything present, but there are ways to access ghosts, traces, invisible forces, and the disappeared. Like a projection that flashes when it catches smoke in the phantasmagoria–you can catch it in the transition.
The form of the book is satisfying. I enjoy the way it alternates between ars poetica and the enactment of the poetics it is trying to sketch.
Notes:
“In the other world everything also exists. But in versions complicated by the softness that dissolution makes.”
“what happens between women when the center of female triangulation is scarcity and lack?”
Simone Weil: “When a contradiction is impossible to resolve except by a lie, then we know that it is really a door.”
divinatory poetics as a way to bear “the absurdity and enchantment of human experience”
to write from “within the membranous precincts between our multiple bodies in the larger rhizomatic field of resonances, where much is sounding and is also unsounded.”
Christian Hawkey: “the holes in our bodies and skulls are voice chambers, sound chambers, wherein our own voiced selves and the voiced selves of others constantly enter and exit, and are changed by our bodies upon entrance, exit. Consciousness…is less a vehicle for “self-presence” than a void, a blank space at the site of intersection.”
“the friendship of our ghosts”
“A raw garnet dug up from earth appears as a piece of burned glass and smells of warm dirt. How did this garnet come to rest here, pinned between sky and sea, a mineral between the here and hereafter? Lines made through the absenting of lines, they suggest their phantom shapes into calligraphy. And someone arrives, a dead poet, she writes in an elegant script a poem about geese. It is a melancholic poem featuring geese, a landscape, and reflections about death. How do the deceased live within the blurred calligraphic strokes dependent upon whatever it was we erased? Who was here first? The process of being read, truly read. One day our lines appear in some other’s erasure.”
Where Freedom Starts (an anthology of essays on #MeToo)
This is an excellent collection of essays on #MeToo that captures the spectrum of feminist responses to the nascent movement. It includes black feminist critiques of carceral feminism, a discussion of black and Latinx vulnerability to sexual violence in the sphere of domestic labor, queer critiques of moral sex panics, feminist analyses of social reproduction, analyses of how undocumented women are hyper-vulnerable to sexual assault in the workplace (and at risk of deportation if they report sexual abuse), and more. I appreciate that many of these essays attempt to grapple with the emotionally and politically messy aspects of sexual violence–How do we determine the category or degree of the harm done? What you do when you feel ambivalence toward your rapist and internalize blame? How is victimhood constructed? I plan to return to these topics and questions in an essay I hope to write in May.
**This ebook is free from Verso.** Get it here.
Marina Van Zuylen - The Plentitude of Distraction
If I ever teach my Lost Girls class on the poetics of wandering, I would definitely include this book!! So, so good. Yes, the poet needs to give herself over to her reveries. To luxuriate in the waywardness of experience–the soul cut loose.
Notes: Darwin’s great regret: “Up to the age of thirty, or beyond it, poetry of many kinds … gave me great pleasure, and even as a schoolboy I took intense delight in Shakespeare, especially in the historical plays. I have also said that formerly pictures gave me considerable, and music very great delight. But now for many years I cannot endure to read a line of poetry: I have tried lately to read Shakespeare, and found it so intolerably dull that it nauseated me. I have also almost lost my taste for pictures or music…. My mind seems to have become a kind of machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of facts, but why this should have caused the atrophy of that part of the brain alone, on which the higher tastes depend, I cannot conceive…. If I had to live my life again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week; for perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been kept active through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.”
Discussed this Darwin passage with my analyst for some time. I don’t want to become a work machine! Give me “delicious idleness”!
“stop measuring your days by what you can report to your boss or to your conscience”
waywardness: “reveries unfasten him from his constructed social persona, eventually converting dispersal into a gathering of self-hood”
Blaise Pascal, Pensées: “The only thing that consoles us for our miseries is diversion. And yet it is the greatest of our miseries. For it is that above all which prevents us thinking about ourselves and leads is imperceptibly to destruction. But for that we should be bored, and boredom would drive us to seek some more solid means of escape, but diversion passes our time and brings us imperceptibly to our death.”
“the pure pleasure of a contemplative experience”
“It is not too late to side with some of the great propagandists of wasted time, with the practitioners of reverie, and cultivate the pleasures and pains of mental mayhem.”
Marx - Capital Vol 1
It’s always a good time to re-read Marx. In December I started a Capital reading group with my comrades LaKeyma and Joohyun. Marx is best read with your women of color crew!
Sithole - Steve Biko: Decolonial Meditations of Black Consciousness
Did an event with the incredible Tendayi Sithole at NYU (moderated by Fred Moten and Wendy Lotterman), so I wanted to read Tendayi’s work on Biko before the event. Many parts of the book draw on Afropessimism to analyze Biko’s liberatory political philosophy. We had a long discussion (privately and during the panel) about Afropessimism’s reception in South Africa (”it’s given us a language to understand our predicament,” says Tendayi). Such good work, and such a wonderful person and poet too!! During the reading Fred said Tendayi and I “became a band.”
McGuckian - The Flower Master
Re-read this at the Deshaies botanical gardens in Guadalupe. Unfuckwithable. McGuckian is one of my favorite poets of all time. Also read the parts about McGuckian in Northern Irish Poetry and the Russian Turn. Had no idea McGuckian draws so heavily from Russian literature, and that she feels there is a natural kinship between Russians and the Irish due to their historical predicaments…
Harford - Fifty Inventions that Shaped the Modern Economy
Pop economic/business and tech history. Replete with compelling stories and fun facts about underappreciated inventions. The chapters I was most interested in were the ones about inventions that fundamentally transformed gendered labor (TV dinners, infant formula, the birth control pill). After a while this books started to annoy me because the novelty wore off and I can only handle so much praise of the so-called wonders of capitalism.
Brogaard and Marlow - The Superhuman Mind
I don’t think I’m any smarter after having read this book. It’s somewhere between pop science (in the style of Oliver Sacks) and self-improvement literature. The book tries to give you mental “hacks”–mnemonics and algorithmic mental shortcuts. Most of the the book describes case studies of people who have accidentally unlocked superhuman mental capacities as a result of a brain injury, stroke, etc…or they were just born neurologically atypical. Synesthetes have good memories. If you’ve ready any of the pop sci books on memory you already know these tricks… the Greeks have known about the Memory Room for a while too…
Still reading:
Moten’s Black and Blur
Anne Boyer’s A Handbook of Disappointed Fate
Doudna and Sternberg’s A Crack in Creation: Gene Editing and the Unthinkable Power to Control Evolution
Frank Stanford - The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You
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Companions, advisors, and romances react to an inquisitor who has absolutely no aptitude for battle (no hand-eye coordination, most fights involve a lot of running away) but is basically a walking encyclopedia of knowledge both useful and not so much. (Can't remember if I sent this already or not)
…So if Mod Sarah was Inquisitor, then?
Cassandra: She quickly keys in to the fact that they’re a civilian non-combatant following their complete lack of skill in defending themselves from demons. She takes the lead and tells them to stay behind during fights, not wanting them to get injured or in the way. Following stabilizing the Breach, she tells them bluntly that they MUST learn to fight, and that either she or Varric or Solas can start teaching them, depending on what class they want.
If she is the one chosen to teach them warrior skills, she and the other warriors in the Inner Circle work them to the bone for weeks, months on end of sparring and hours of working out, but they’re capable of defending themselves, even fighting when they’re done with them. As for their knowledge, she sometimes finds it useful, asking for their thoughts on unknown things they find in the wild, sometimes aggravated if they act like a know-it-all. “Clearly, you were a scholar before all this happened, but now you must be a fighter as well.”
Blackwall: Cassandra, Solas, or Varric have already started teaching them to fight, but they’re still pretty sloppy when they meet him, to the point at which he just tells them to stand aside during the initial fight. If they’re learning to fight like a warrior, he joins Cassandra, Cullen, and Iron Bull in training them, sometimes acting as something like a drill sergeant. “You’ll thank me when you can keep yourself from getting decapitated!” he tells them. He does compliment their intelligence and knowledge, however, and finds it useful when they’re out in the field, or if he just wants to know something he’s curious about.
Iron Bull: He basically punts them out of the battlefield the minute he sees them for the first time and tells them to stay put. When they get to talking, he can figure out a lot about them– scholar, never fought a day in their life until the Breach. He agrees with the others that they have to learn to defend themselves, and if they go for a warrior class, he’s right there working them to the bone like the other warriors. He even has Krem help him teach. If they complain, he grins toothily. “You’ll thank us when you can go close a rift without getting eviscerated by a demon.” He quizzes them a few times on their knowledge, to gauge what and how much they know, and finds himself impressed. “Once you learn how to fight… you could have been a great Ben-Hassrath.” he compliments.
Varric: He’s really patient with them– not everyone can fight, or should fight, and he’s sympathetic to them. He likes to ask them for information all the time when he doesn’t feel like doing hard research when writing his book. If they choose a rogue class, he suggests they just learn how to use a crossbow– it’s relatively easy. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of training involved, but he also teaches them to identify traps and how to make traps– “Given the fact you’re a walking encyclopedia, Brainy, this should be a piece of cake for you.”
Sera: She’s baffled when Cassandra pushes them out of the way during the fight in which she first meets them, and is told they have no fighting prowess. “Ooooh.” she remarks. “Well, we’re gonna have to fix that, yeah? You can’t go around… not being able to fight when there’s demons everywhere and you’re the only one who can fix it.” If they choose a rogue class, she agrees with Varric that they should, initially, learn to use a crossbow for sake of simplicity, but states they should also learn to use a longbow. “Crossbows are good and easy for beginners, but longbows ‘re better by a lot. Come on, I’ll teach you.” Well, she and Leliana teach them, at any rate. Unlike Leliana and the warriors, she’s much less of a workhorse, and just has them come and practice when she’s shooting arrows for shits and giggles. Leliana’s the one working them, but she’s the one who teaches them tricks and fun stuff, which actually helps them learn a lot. She also remarks that they have to learn to be sneaky, which she teaches by having them accompany her during pranks.
Cole: “Blood dripping, heart racing, I’m going to die, they’re going to die, I shouldn’t be here. You’re learning, but you still don’t know how.” If they choose to be a rogue, he smiles. “It’s okay. Sometimes people have to die. I can help. I can teach you.”
Vivienne: She’s sympathetic, but states they must learn to fight. “Knowledge is well and good, my dear, but in your new role, you must adapt. A healthy dose of fear keeps you alive.” If they’re a mage, she completely understands– not all Circle mages learn useful offensive magic. Many specialize in healing and other fields. “With how smart you are, learning offensive spells should be a non-issue. Learning how to react in a proper fight is another story…” She’s remarkably patient with them if she has to teach them.
Dorian: He’s a little envious of the idea of being allowed to learn and study in peace for so long into life without the barest concern for combat, but that time is long past gone for them, and he pities their loss. They get along as academic sparring partners, and often bounce ideas off each other. If they’re a mage, he offers to teach them practical offensive magic. “Fortunately for you, you now have a charming and talented tutor in the art of combat magic.”
Solas: He finds it a little aggravating, how they trail behind the party during Haven, and how often he finds himself throwing barriers and telling them to stay put. When he actually gets to talk to them, though, he finds himself very pleased and enthralled with the intellectual sparring partner he’s befriended. If they’re a mage, he insists on teaching them himself. “While you have spent your years thus far studying non-combat magic, it’s time for something new,” he says cheerfully, “I believe it will be both a learning experience for you and necessary for future endeavors.”
Leliana: At first, she wonders if they’re faking, but watching them for a little while makes her realize they sincerely have no idea what to do in a fight. She’s nicer to them after realizing they’re a scholar, and admires their intelligence. “Nevertheless, your life has significantly changed in a short period of time. You must learn to defend yourself.” she says. If they choose to be a rogue, she works them to the bone, but they’re perhaps the most prepared for a fight when she’s done with them as compared to other rogue teachers.
Cullen: He voices concern immediately over their incapability in a fight. “Your knowledge is good, but the reality of it is you must learn to defend yourself. I’m afraid your life as a sedentary scholar is over.” He ensures someone’s teaching them to fight in their chosen class. If they choose to be a warrior and have him teach them, like Leliana, he trains them and works them to near-collapse, forcing them to drill with the soldiers, but they come out fully prepared for a fight.
Josephine: She sympathizes with them so much. In many ways, she’s a lot like them, and offers her apologies for what they must endure. Whenever they’re done with a particularly heavy training regimen, she makes sure they at least have a comfortable room to return to with plenty of books to relax with. They become book buddies.
#keltic-moon#Mod Sarah#Dragon Age#Dragon Age Inquisition#Cassandra#Iron Bull#Blackwall#Cole#Varric#Sera#Dorian#Solas#Vivienne#Josephine#Leliana#Cullen
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17 Best Advice for New College Students | College tips & tricks for success
Starting a college can be overwhelming. It is a whole new world!
Interestingly I used to think that once one enters the 20s , a carefree life welcomes you ahead.
I literally used to write this in my daily diary when I was 10 . . . but after having gone through college!
I realized that life was not as I thought . . . clearly not.
If you are dubious and wondering what to expect then this blog post has got you covered with all the essentials.
College is fun but not all fun!
There are certain things which if known before time then it serves the best. Let’s dig in:
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1) First Semester Might Dump your expectations but . . .
The first year classes may seem all over the place.
But they will get better and major specific with time.
They will not be as engaging as you might have thought them to be.
So just know that engaging classes will come ahead. Don’t get disappointed.
#1 advice for new college students:
Just know that engaging classes will come ahead. Don’t get disappointed.
2) Planning early
Remember to plan ahead. But do not get engaged with excessive planning. Just plan once in the starting.
I am not talking about everyday to do lists. I am referring to the semester plan.
You will have an academic year plan in your hand so set semester goals from the starting.
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This is the best guide you will ever need in your career.
#2 advice for new college students:
Get the most efficient way of achieving your goals through a proven productive system.
This is the best guide you will ever need in your career.
3) Waking up early
Remember that in college you will lack motivation because nobody will be shouting in your ears for waking you up.
Yes, you do not have your mom close by.
Your professors simply do not care if you show up or not . . . you might get lucky if you get an awesome roommate who can be your alarm but that is not a popular case!
I will highly suggest you to make a productive timetable.
Your productivity depends on your routine.
We all have 24 hours but you can make most of them by investing in this guide for a successful life ahead.
#3 advice for new college students:
I will highly suggest you to make a productive timetable.
Your productivity depends on your routine.
We all have 24 hours but you can make most of them by investing in this guide for a successful life ahead.
4) Studies & Fun run parallel
Get pro at time management since the start.
Remember that time management does not mean to dig yourself into the studies every day. It is the act of balancing out.
If you are spending a day out then you need to balance the time spent for fun while staying up in the library the next day!
If you really want to get pro at time management and boost your productivity to an insane level then learn from the experts a full proof way of succeeding in life.
#4 advice for new college students:
If you really want to get pro at time management and boost your productivity to an insane level then learn from the experts a full proof way of succeeding in life.
5) You can’t do it all so prioritize.
I remember that when my college was starting out I had so much on my to-do list. I wanted to visit every galaxy!
I had aimed to join several clubs, lead a radio station and maintain grades etc.
After an overwhelming freshman year I realized that I sucked at prioritizing!
I learnt the hard way and affected my grades initially but i do not want you to do that.
Get a complete blueprint to make an efficient to-do list that actually works for your benefits.
Again I will advise you to learn from the experts because the harsh reality is that you can’t do it all.
#5 advice for new college students:
Get a complete blueprint to make an efficient to-do list that actually works for your benefits.
Again I will advise you to learn from the experts because the harsh reality is that you can’t do it all.
6) You will not get any special treatment
Professors in college will fail to acknowledge you when it is about the special treatment.
Even if your scholarship will be on stake, they will care less.
Even if you are just failing by 0.5, professors will care less . . .
do not expect anything from them no matter how many warm smiles of appreciation they pass on your during the lectures!
#6 advice for new college students:
Do not expect anything from them no matter how many warm smiles of appreciation they pass on your during the lectures!
7) Who cares?
If you are too self conscious then you need to realize that no one truly cares.
Yes, the world does not revolve around you so you need to stop being hard on yourself.
By no one cares I mean that I stop being afraid of what others will think.
People would not judge you, your dressing or your grades.
Because honestly speaking, everyone gets caught up in their own shit that they hardly get time.
Nobody also cares about your future. Thus, you have to get independent and make your life.
#7 advice for new college students:
Drill into your head that Nobody cares about your future. Thus, you have to get independent and make your life.
8) Adulting is not what you just thought of
With adulting comes all new responsibilities like bills and other payments.
#8 advice for new college students:
Own every task from day 1 to avoid the hassle later.
9) It is okay to be perfectly imperfect
It is okay if you do not get perfect grades, perfect vision or perfect friends in the start.
#9 advice for new college students:
Know Things will take time.
10) Mission of making friends
I have been growing up by listening that one can only make true friends only at school.
Have you also heard that college is not an ideal place to find true friendship?
Or that people are only your friends there for selfish reasons?
If yes, then let me counter this very fact by sharing my own experience.
You can get great friends in university. It might just take more time. But you will.
I miss my seniors . . . i am cherishing some great relations AND you can too. Just be kind and helpful . . .
#10 advice for new college students:
Know It requires a bit of effort to prove your sincerity in college and nothing else!
11) Asking for help is alright
Take help whenever you need one .
Trust me you will not get answers staring at the dorm ceiling!
#11 advice for new college students:
Remember If re-reading or revising is not helping then do not shy away from sorting your concepts instantly, as piled up stuff would not lead you anywhere.
12) Real Learning starts outside
Me and my friend were joking around the other day and discussing the education we were receiving in college.
#12 advice for new college students:
Know that life is the best teacher . . . Remember you will not learn everything in college. You will have to find your ways.
13) Challenge and try out new things.
Doing the same things will yield the same results.
So try something new for growing up. The last thing you want to be is remaining stagnant.
#13 advice for new college students:
Go out of the way to try new things.
14) Will things go according to plan? No.
If I talk about myself then my long term goal was fixed but the short term goal kept swinging . . . these short ones will change so do not hesitate and they will change for the better.
#14 advice for new college students:
You will have a constantly changing plan. So be ready for it.
15) Don’t fret about your major
Major!!! This is the point of an extreme resonance!
If you have an undecided major then do not obsess over it.
Tapping my tale:
I had decided my major and studied computer science in the freshmen year but then switched to communication and design in the sophomore year!
Completely different school. So it’s okay to take time.
#15 advice for new college students:
Remember girl, you will figure out things gradually.
16) Approach your RA
I have forgotten the count I had eaten at the head of my RA for discrete mathematics.
I literally used to catch him near corridors and sit on stairs to solve problems.
I even did not care about his timings!
#16 advice for new college students:
So do not hesitate girl and stick till things are crystal clear.
17) Just get started girl
Stop planning and get things done.
I always talk about the behavior of our mind in this blog.
Whenever you need to get started with something new, your mind will show reluctance.
Why?
Because it will have to make new patterns and connections and it is afraid of that (the fear of procrastination) So know that any assignment, meeting or project is only hard until you start it.
#17 advice for new college students:
So stop planning and get things done.
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*WARNING, RANT ON THIS PROVINCE/EDUCATION, BUT THIS NEEDS TO BE SAID* ..smh... They'd rather teach kids how to factor trinomials and deduce university tier calculus at Grade 8, than prepare them for the hell that is budgeting life in British Columbia- Now don't get me wrong, this observation is not to say mathematics hold no principle place in our future, it does..In fact, almost everything viable about the nature of this province's future, rests on numbers and academic systems..and I understand standards and specialization, but we're alienating an entire generation of young teens, making them feel fucking stupid because they can't match up to the archaic education paradigm we've refused to update. A system, that has been dumped on them, leaving them like vacuous economic products sitting on a rusty conveyor belt, just pieces in a worn out machine with no direction! We're talking about a generation more exposed to an ever changing world, more prone to make brash decisions and almost three times more succeptable to suicidal tendencies, than previous generations. A group of kids, which bear the circumstances of either fitting in, functioning or fucking off! We 👏need👏 divergent👏 education👏 ... dynamic teaching and infusion of technology- we need to be passing on social preparation skills in direct and creative conjunction with academia! We need creative thinkers and analytical students, not one or the other. The economy can be diverse, but is restricted by the lack of options our teachers are given and the result is that some students will grow up with the idea that they're valueless in the shadow of trades proficiencies, or financial bracketed jobs As for the ones that will have self-driven use in those aforementioned industrious fields, will it be halted by the atmosphere that this province rests on? We're talking about a social atmosphere that encompasses poor healthcare support, employment dropouts and inadequate resource allocation..Situated in a market that is priced beyond reason, while the cherry falls off the top of the fiscal shit-pile! All of this, what a dilemma... and more can be attributed to a multitude of political follies, mis-management and lack of care for our youth It's broken- its intrinsically bloody well fractured and I really don't think that's an acceptable burden to place on our provincial future! They wonder why people leave this province in mass droves? What's to be confused at, there's a revolution with people taking a split as their course of action..A choice people feel may save their future and reduce their stress! ..And that's just the thing: all the stress, struggles, depression, challenges...Yes they build and allow for experience in the human equation, but when it's literally being infused with the upbringing of our humanity, that's not fucking ok! We need to start holding the powers that be, accountable and stop pandering to montetized and outdated modules of thought process. *LISTEN*...Just a little over 4 Weeks ago, my Newphew just about hung himself to death, because he feels misplaced in a system that has told him because he can't meet academic standards, he's essentially retarded..This is the same kid who knows how to interpret and write complex musical scales/chords and has an amazing ability to repair and build things with out so much of a search on Google for reference...My newphew whom is friendly, outgoing and full of life almost ended his, due to the restrained reality he can't have flexibility with, in order to thrive to his fullest potential!!! We need to change the foundations of our roots in this decade. If you made it to this point, whether you agree or not, I thank you for reading..It means a lot to me. /End Rant
#My province#education#rant#economy#education system#British Columbia#BC#personal#ideas#thought process#bullshit#paradigm#changing the education paradigm#we need to hold the government more accountable
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For real tho
As a kid, women as a sex had the capacity to support themselves by gaslighting, deferring importance to a conversation and consigning it to the waste bin of relevance, or do so by way of saying, “I don’t want any part of that conversation,” so it’d die.
When women do this, conversation literally dies, because the only thing men can do after that is refuse to drop it, in which case the issue among women mutates into, “men are FORCING US to talk about stuff we don’t want to.” And that becomes a higher priority of contention than whatever the original problem was. Women’s hypoagency takes forefront any time women decide it should, and there’s absolutely nothing an individual man can do about it, and if they decide they will not tolerate a group of men holding the issue important without relationship or familial consequences of distance or non-compliance or non-cooperation, there’s nothing we can do about it.
So posts like that one of a woman being caught snitching on the whole, “Haha. I’m using my position as a nurturer and caretaker to abuse you in the future,” when the common female complaint was, “men either don’t trust us because we’re women or they don’t open up because they’re paranoid and can’t deal with being fragile,” they’re as good as gold for the discourse.
As a kid I heard that disgusting, “Proof? :^) Do you have proof women do that? :^) Can you prove it?” thing more than once. And it’s a trap. Because you can’t. There’s no think tank a man can go to to prove anything negative about women that, at the time, women (generally the ones drawing from feminist literature and support groups and sources) would not accept any think tank pieces from, “religious fundamentalist” or “republican” sources. And since all the major academic groups tended to favor gynosupremacist narratives, like the Heritage Foundation favors big business, you either had a poisoned well to draw water from, or you had nothing at all and were but a single man.
Meanwhile they could throw all the biased sources at you they wanted, “verified by professionals and degree bearing scientists in their fields of secular study,” (what amounted to cooked-books written by Twelve Nancies Agreeing on wives tales and truisms and absolutes as facts.) and decide to play the card of talking to you like you were a fussy baby before their logical and reasonable superiority.
In fact, the distinct angry sassiness of American fedoralords and “PROOF? PROOF? U HAVE PROOF? THEN NO HAW HAW HAW IDIOT LOOK AT THE IDIOT.” really harkens back to that era. Because I remember that shit. That was just the more masculine version of social relations on those pretenses.
Rather than outwardly call you an idiot or attack you, the girls would more signal your disagreement as why you’d be excluded from their groups in the future and made fun of as a non-entity/irrelevant entity to their circles.
Just. The sheer power that comes from female socialization and being able to be defacto part of that and being UNABLE to participate in that as a male. And the power that comes from HAVING that special socialization privilege, but it not be considered any kind of privilege, because, “Men have the privilege and are the oppressors.” Your privileges get to be invisible and exempt from criticism, context or consideration. It’s uncanny. To be above reproach as a sex, and somehow still the oppressed. Individual males that challenge that lose the safety of the herd and become marked for, “whatever happens to them,” if women feel at risk or upset. So there’s always that pressure not to go get that discourse ball if it lands in too strong and entrenched of a female court.
And no similar respect is paid to discourse that lands in the male court. Because no male issue gets to exist without its interpretation as either oppression of a female issue, or be a derivative of a female issue. You can touch our stuff, we can’t touch yours.
... So yeah.
Technology has made all the difference, because it allows a greater pool of experiences and interactions and lowest common denominators, it allows time stamps, it allows the potential for accountability. Women can no longer just ignore reality until the problem goes away and pretend they didn’t see a thing, so it doesn’t exist, and will be excluded from consideration in future conversations. And hope other women don’t see it, or that other women that do see it, realize they need to participate in denying it happened. The number of weak links in the chain go up and strain the hegemony.
And I am happy.
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Political Blitherings, et c.
Preface 0.1. Politics, race issues, anger. Part venting, part thinking. Below the cut.
Questions? Responses? Acknowledge my right to exist and equal treatment, and I’ll debate almost anything. There’s an ask button, use it. Fail to acknowledge that basic point and we are done, full stop.
Preface: NDN = decendant of indigenous peoples of the continents located between Western and Eastern Eurasia, in case you didn’t know.
Second preface; I hope even if you don’t agree with me on very many things, so long as you agree on my basic premiss, that you will read this through if you care about current events. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that you already like one or two of the drawings I’ve made, if you’re still watching me at this point.
I’d just like to note that I might be occasionally strident and political from time to time for the next, well, foreseeable future, as long as we have an ACTUAL. FUCKING. TOOL. OF.THE. KREMLIN. IN. WASHINGTON. I would prefer just to paint sailing ships and stupid pones, but times are what they are and people like me are now under attack from my own fucking government in this climate. I love the Socialism. I hate Fascism, Soviet communism, and their various interbred ancestors and descendants, and hate the idea of them growing stronger here.
Creating art is an essentially political act, and don’t let any two-bit neo-nazi pieces of shit tell you otherwise. What difference it makes is debatable, but what isn’t is that silence is complicity. Do not be silent. Do not let others tell you that your fear, that your oppression, that your experience and your identity do not matter. Do not be gaslighted. There are four lights, and let no one tell you otherwise.
My first President, and the last I felt any respect for, was Carter. The first I could vote for was Clinton, and I couldn’t stand him. The first I could actually vote FOR, rather than against, was Obama, and only the first time around. I’m an NDN. I hate the fucking United States, the agent of physical and cultural genocide, that destroyed so much of my people and my culture and my very social fabric. I hate the flag, I hate the government, I hate every shred of this godsdamn pathetic farce of a Republic that has the balls to call itself a Democracy. I want to see the US burn, fall, fail harder than Rome ever did.
But. I still live here. This is my land. My ancestors’ land, ripped away by the white man’s (and woman’s - the white woman’s complicity in colonial oppression is deep and rarely conveyed) violence and greed. We have been here, and I mean my cultural group, the NDNs of the Columbian Plateau, TEN THOUSAND years at a BARE MINIMUM -- even white anthropologists and archæologists, some of the most racist academic disciplines, acknowledge this. When humans in the middle east were first starting to put one sun-fired brick on top of another, we were figuring out how to balance the recources we had and the needs we had. For thousands of years, my people lived a way that did not degrade the land, and did not require war, or conquest, to maintain that way of life. What kind of mis-steps led to such a thing, I do not know - I have long assumed that some kind of gross overharvesting/overexploitation of the available resources led to the realization that resources must be managed, and human populations controlled, if there was to be any balance between humans and the landscape that gives us life.
So. Where am I going? I don’t know. I’ve had a cider and just now a beer. So I’m just expressing at this point, because I’m starting to feel a tiny bit comfortable about my audience here, small (but growing! thank you!) as it is.
Basically, silence is no longer an option at this point. Those of you still in your early twenties or so (I don’t want to assume, but demographics say almost half of you are under 24), might not really get what an important place we stand in, right now. But let me say this directly right now. Even if you’re well aware of it.
All of our values, and all of the values our founding folks held (regardless of their hypocrisies or defects, etc., etc.) are under attack right now. The very essence of what is a ‘fact’ is under assault right now. Science is under assault now. People who are not white, straight, and devoted to the myth that this is a white, straight nation are under attack right now.
If you’re white, stop criticising the anger and rage of POC right now. If you’re male, stop criticising the anger and rage of women right now. If you’re a Nazi, kindly fuck off and live in the most excruciatingly painful manner possible. If you see a Nazi get punched in the face and you say ‘well, but...’ fucking ditto, I have no time for your temporizing. Say ‘well, but...’ one more time, and as a lifelong pacifist who has never yet dirtied their knuckles on anything more offensive than a sheetrock wall, I will happily break your nose and dislocate your testicles, free of charge.
We need to pull together. I’ll say for one time, and hopefully one time only, I have a hard time with white liberals. I’ve been betrayed so many times by them. But we do need you to come to your senses and stop attacking the rest of us who are now genuinely under threat. Unless you thrust the topic under my nose, I don’t intend to bring it up again (might RB stuff about it tho). But y’all have had the reins for centuries now, sit down, shut up, and listen. And that’s the end of that topic.
We all have our own concerns. I’m not exactly proud, but I have a difficult time in a lot of political debates concerning race, due to the fact that NDNs are consistently shut out. I try my best to rally myself behind other folks’ suffering, but when it’s usually <this group this group us us us us> or <that group that group me me me me> one gets left on the sidelines sometimes, it is true. Trumping another victim’s card with your own weighty suit is bullshit, though. The IDEA of the White Man has fucked us all.
Let me come back to that, because I think it’s important.
THE IDEA OF THE WHITE MAN HAS FUCKED US ALL.
The IDEA of unique importance. The IDEA of a special place in history and destiny. The very IDEA of anyone being inferiour. The IDEA of a mandate over others not of our own people. The IDEA of absolute rule. The IDEA of divine right. The IDEA that being stronger and more violent has anything to do with superiority.
Sadly, all of these are pretty much true of us all, regardless of time or place. Humans are pretty shitty. But a certain concatenation of events conspired to place white European males at the temporary top of the heap of worldwide power intrigue, and they went fucking crazy with it. Crazy in a way that the world has never before seen sort of crazy, setting aside all those cautionary tales of Mu or Atlantea or whatever. Crazy as in this-single-way-to-live-is-the-only-way-or-else-I’ll-kill-you sort of way (which is, sadly, almost universal). Whether it be the worship this dead man on a stick or die, or dig gold or die, or slave-in-the-fields-because-you-happen-to-be-darker-than-me-therefore-you-deserve-to-die-horribly-because-this-guy-who-has-the-building-with-the-gold-but-don’t-die-until-I’ve-extracted-every-last-bit-of-labour-I-can-without-expending-any-capital-or-indeed-meaningful-effort-of-my-own.
Again, do I have structure here? No. I don’t care about structure. I’m fed up with being constrained on discourse. I’m done with letting conventional liberals, white or not, dictate the path and the method by which I expound ideas and express my emotions. I’ve had a Cider and a Beer, and these days that’s about enough to make it slightly difficult to type straight and copy-edit as I go. Make that two Beers as I’m half through with the second. I’m just done with excessive self-restraint in general - though that’s my limit with drinks.
I think that’s my limit on discourse here, though. I streamed all day, and chatted all day, which was fucking awesome (seriously, you know who you are, I appreciate your support and your interest). I’m worn out -- by now some of you know fairly well just why that is, and in time all of you who stick around will. Like so many who differ from the norm, I’m tired of defending the very basics of rational discourse. I’m tired of Nazis. I’m tired of Nazi sympathizers. I’m tired of racists. I’m tired of those who will ally themselves with racists to further their own worldviews. I’m tired of White Liberals who try to balance everything because it all comes out of a fucking Textbook and -- well, I’d disgrace myself totally and forfeit any right whatsoever to rational discourse if I posted the clauses I just deleted. D: Let’s just wrap that up and say I’m tired. Unless you’ve got a serious legacy of oppression and trauma in your own life as well as your family’s -- this is the time to shut up, sit down, support, and spread your ears wide fucking open.
You might be ‘white’ right now and you might have this shitty legacy of oppression, too. It’s important to realize that ‘race’ is such an arbitrary constrict -- a good modern starting point is ‘Whiteness of a Different Colour’ (ISBN-13: 978-0674951914) -- and that many of you that might be considered ‘white’ now weren’t ‘white’ a mere century or less ago. If you’re of Irish, or Scottish, or Italian, or any country with any modicum of Catholicism, or anywhere near Poland at all (for fuck’s sake I want the US to burn but I wish I could apologise for those Polish jokes), I hope you’re nodding right now. ‘Whiteness’ has always been a fluid definition, subject to the convenience of those who are in power. Sometimes you’re in, sometimes you’re out. A lot of people last year were convinced along these lines, alas. Especially white women -- it’s hard to say, but I am deeply disappointed in any gender whose space I drift into regularly --- where’s my fucking third option, thank you very much, please, reality, let LeGuin’s writing instantiate. The amount of white women who voted for a... thing that despised their very gender was, quite frankly, so astonishing, even disgusting, that it was hard to credit.
So at this point I think it’s important to distinguish between two groups: those that explicitly benefit form the current regime, and those who don’t. Establishing the basic premiss that I’m not particularly inclined to either nuance or compromise at this point, I think I can draw the lines thus:
With the Orange one are Nazis (or Neo-Nazis if you want to split hairs, I see zero fucking difference), other forms of White Nationalists, the KKK, Kremlin sympathizers, and a general cadre of the most ignorant and least qualified set of people ever set to take government positions, even factoring in the presidencies of Grant and Hoover. These people deny science, deny facts, deny the right of people like me to exist. I don’t believe in anything but the serious danger of absolute belief. But I do trust and have some shred, some modicum of faith, one might even go so far as to say, in scientific method, rational skepticism, tolerance, and love.
These people that are scrabbling for the levers of power have none of these things.�� They want unquestioning obedience, slavish devotion, denial of diversity. They want us to believe their lies, their ‘alternative facts’ or whatever the shit was that’s so ridiculous my fore-brain refuses to scrabble for the correct terminology.
But this isn’t the 1920s or the 1930s. Remember that the well-nigh universal lesson from that time regarding Fascism is that people didn’t strike back hard enough, fast enough, strong enough. Don’t succumb to the idea that it’s worth your while to debate people who don’t accept your simple existence and your equal rights as a basic, fundamental point. If they don’t, punch them if you can. Or find a bigger friend to punch them. Kick them in the balls -- most of these Nazis have balls, I know not how -- or hit them with a bat, or a bat with nails in.
Remember.
If.
They.
Do.
Not.
Unconditionally.
Acknowledge.
Your.
Right.
To.
Exist.
As.
A.
Basic.
Premise.
There.
Is.
No.
Intellectual.
Debate.
Nazis and their ilk don’t want people like me, or many of you, to even exist. (I look at every follower’s profile, you delightful people and sometimes perverts [me too, no worries - even some aces get saucy every few dozen moons or so! I love you all, apart from those strange porn blogs, I don’t draw naked anything yet, please go away.]) Even after deflecting myself there, I re-emphasize that:
DEBATE CAN ONLY OCCUR WHEN BOTH PARTIES AGREE TO A CERTAIN SET OF FACTS AND PHILOSOPHICAL PREMISES. Foremost in 2017 being: an acceptance of the scientific method and of the complexities and conclusions of modern science, an acceptance to the basic freedoms of the press and of political discourse as established from our flawed founding fuckers to the current day, and an acceptance of the basic rights of all human beings irrespective of ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation.
Anyone who can’t agree to this basic, fundamental, and fundamentally inoffensive set of premises is not worth your time or energy. If they try and throw sand in your face, avert them. If they put up a mask of civility, state the basics and deflect them. If they assault or insult you, ignore them, or if appropriate, punch them -- at this point, they deserve it. As a life-long pacifist -- they so deserve it.
Keep your thumb outside of your fingers, please. I want you to be able to draw even after you punch Nazis.
Remember:
Anyone who does not acknowledge your right to exist has not established the most fundamental level of Rational Discourse.
I’ll try as best I can to keep this blog to mainly just art, but I refuse and reject all notions that I should keep politics out of my art. The act of intentionally creating a piece of art is an essentially political act, it always has been, and it always shall be.
On that point, I’ll allow one exchange to give you a chance before I block your arse on whatever platform. I DGAF about followers, sales, or bottom lines, tiny though they may be. All I want are people who I can have a rational discourse with.
I wish I could say I’m sorry to be so angry.
I am absolutely not
. I refuse to let my anger dominate my day to day living, but I also refuse to put it aside, and I think you should too. Don’t let go of that anger, but don’t let it eat your heart (it will eviscerate you in a breath if you let it.) Forge it into a sword, into a shield, into a bow and arrows to give cover to your loved ones. This is not a time for complacency, for conciliation for those who would not have us live at all. Recognize that there is a point at which rational debate has come to an end, that there are those who want us dead and are not at all joking with all those oven threats. NAZIS FUCKING EXIST RIGHT NOW. Just as their vile counterparts have existed at so many times throughout history.I could name to you ancestors that were killed, or sent to prison, or locked in mad-houses, or worse, simply because they were NDN and said that we should have rights, that we should be treated like human beings, that we DESERVED to EXIST. I have zero patience for the establishment or the White Man in Washington. I have some patience for the White Woman, even though they have often been a worse oppressor than the Man (seriously -- look at the treatment of ‘Natives’ in ‘America’ and Indians in India in the periods when it was just the by far majority male explorers, trappers, traders, etc, compared to when the women come in -- rapid swings between Tolerance and Accomodation, to Prejudice and Exclusion, all overcome with the Sickening Sweet Smell of Straight-Laced Biblical Morality and okay I can’t go on, if you are still reading I haven’t completely offended you and I would honestly not prefer to do so excessively.) but it’s really hard to trust in straight white women at this point. So many sold us out to a self-confessed ‘p*ssy grabber’ in November. ANYWAY. Anger blah blah arg razzle frazzle argiuhalsdkfgjalkdfgjh lasidfuyao psidgyoiasdygoi asydfgo iasdygpoiasdo et cetera, et cetera, et. cetera. yeah. welcome to 2017. Let’s all go punch Nazis. Or, if we can’t punch Nazis, let’s all support those who do. Because what’s more American than punching a Nazi in his (or her) Godsdamned face.
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𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙-𝕌𝕡 ♡
Hii, may I request a match-up from Haikyuu!!, Attack on Titan, and Free! Hehe.
I’m a straight, Asian, female with black, wavy hair that reaches up past my shoulders, black eyes, and a beauty mark on the right side of my jaw. I’m awfully short for an incoming college freshman, my height being 4"11. I aspire to be a nurse! (hopefully, a doctor after!) I wanted to be of help to my country’s health and medical field.
I’ve always thought myself to be an extrovert, but realized during the quarantine that I can handle quietness and having no social interactions from my friends just fine; I’m more of an ambivert, I guess. My enneagram is One and Three. I have a Mediator personality, INFP-A/INFP-T. I have a good amount of friends; however, there are only few I consider close to my heart. I have one best friend whom I consider my “constant” as we may have different/similar set of friends, but at the end of the day, we’d be the ones to spend time together. I do cherish all of my friends though! I am close and loving to my family: I try my best to be cheery and talkative with my father who works abroad, my mom is my best friend (I can tell her anything), and I get along with my younger brother just fine. I am a soft-hearted, sensitive person as well. I cannot afford people being mad at me or seeing me in a bad light and so, I try to make amends as quickly as possible (usually after clearing my head and calming down my most of the time overwhelming emotions). I try to forgive as much as I can (sometimes I apologize even when I am not at fault). I am not a perfect person, I do make a lot of mistakes and feel regret when I do, whether it being failing a test, hurting a loved one intentionally or not. That being said, my number one fear would have to be failure. I sometimes get to be hard on myself and can’t seem to accept when things go bad or for the worse, but I have been working on it. When I get moody, I tend to snap but have also been working on apologizing and being a better person.
With regards to my interests, I LOVE music a lot! May they be mainstream or underrated/indie, as long as I enjoy and vibe with the beat, melody, and especially the lyrics. I have a thing for slow songs that have heartfelt and meaningful lyrics. I literally cannot go a day without listening to music. I also very much like art! I appreciate art in any form: literature, poetry, digitial, or traditional art. I believe I am decent with art myself? Have been into sketching, drawing, and watercolor painting. I can sing somewhat and I play the piano/keyboard, but only like mediocre at best. I love spicy food, any food that is based off or with potato, and milktea. I enjoy travelling and don’t mind hours of doing so. I’m outgoing with the right people and reserved with those I am still not familiar with (I do my best to socialize though). I love writing as well; I do not publish them though. I do enjoy doing essays in school especially if the topic is something I am interested. Whenever my thoughts go haywire and spiral, I write on my phone’s notepad to calm down and then read. So maybe I am a “closeted” writer? I am not sure as I do not think my so-called “writing skills” are even considered as standard.
Academics-wise, I’ve always been in the top list somehow. Graduated HS as top 4. However, I do not think I am a genius or very intelligent, I just try my best and work hard. Sports? Never had the chance to be good at any, I’m not a physical type of gal hahaha. Recently, I have been doing home workouts just to stay fit and physically healthy while staying at quarantine. Gosh, I do not even know how to ride a bike unless there are training wheels (hahaha, I do know how to ride a skateboard though?). I remember trying to volley a ball during a PE class in elementary, only to hit someone in the head. If my memory serves me right, I think that incident repeated itself while I was Junior High. It’s embarassing hahahaha.
My love language is words of affirmation and quality time. My love language for others is gift-giving or acts of service. I’ve always had an list of traits for my “ideal guy,” but realized I do get attracted to various types (bonus points if you can make me laugh or jest/banter playfully with you). As long as my future partner/significant other shares the same faith as mine is loving & respectful, I am very much contented.
I felt like I wrote too much hehe. Anyways, thank you do much for taking the time to read this and match me from my mentioned fandoms! I hope you’re having a great day!
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Hello @belli-jelly~! WOW you wrote a whole BOOK— but I really like it omg! This gives me so much to work with as well as a better idea of who to ship you with so thank you so much for your submission~! I hope you enjoy the match-ups I give you~!
Art belongs to [This Bean!] [This Bean!] & [This Bean!]
» » Admin Ko
𝕀 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘…
ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛꜱᴜʀᴏ
Woo! Where to even begin? I guess the first thing will be how much he adores how small you are! He thinks it’s absolutely endearing and will undoubtedly tease you! Though of course he means this well! The moment he hears anyone try to belittle you or mock you because of your height he’ll be there in a heartbeat to scold and honestly intimidate the living shit outta them. He’s very similar in aspects to being an extrovert who enjoys alone and quiet time. After all, at a young age he was, as said by Kenma, a shy child. He definitely would work hard to become a constant friend in your life that no matter what happens or no matter how much time you might’ve spent apart you guys would always bounce back as if the gap never happened.
He’s observant and prickly, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a good heart. He’s rather dorky with you and loves to hear about your interests and hobbies! Though he doesn’t like that you apologize so frequently without good reason, he’ll always be there to retaliate or set things right. He feels like it’s good to own up to your mistakes, but it’s pointless and a waste of breath if you apologize for nothing you had control over.
In regards to PDA and his sort of love language, Kuroo is one who’ll be the tease. Someone who’ll affectionately taunt or tease you to see all your expressions. He most definitely loves holding your hands or just holding you in his arms whenever he can. If there’s one big thing he adores is seeing you in his clothes. It reaffirms that you’re his and that you’re comfortable enough to use his clothes for your own means of comfort.
ꜰʟᴏᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀꜱᴛᴇʀ
Blunt and always the one who prefers facts over emotional decisions; I feel as though Floch would be a good match for you! To help counter and help you grow, he’s always bluntly telling you what he observes of your interactions in any sort of situation. He doesn’t want anyone stepping over you or you wasting unnecessary time or breath when you could be doing something much more productive and helpful. After all, he personally feels as though there are ways to help everyone, but not ways to help those stubborn enough to even remotely accept the help.
Other then that though, he’s a rather gentle lover. He isn’t afraid to speak his mind and give you his thoughts. He hopes though in return you’re more than willing to speak to him and confront him of his own faults or mishaps. He loves to hear about you talk about the medical field. It’s interesting to him and he wants to pick up a few things after you.
Despite outright saying he’s a coward in most dangerous situations, he’s not afraid to let go of his emotions to make a deliberate and logical situation. Of course, this also applies to any sort of risky confrontation if you both are on a date.
Floch isn’t as affectionate as most, but he does show his appreciation and love for you in his own special little ways. Be it remembering exactly how you like your drinks and when the best time to serve them to you would be. To carrying you to bed after a long night of studying and note taking. He never really mentions it, but the little things to him mean much more than large elaborate things.
ꜱᴏꜱᴜᴋᴇ ʏᴀᴍᴀᴢᴀᴋɪ
Despite being a large and terrifying to most when he first meets people, Sosuke is surprisingly a kind giant who takes absolute pleasure in seeing you glow and pursue your dreams. Like the other two, he won’t stand if you waste your breath apologizing for something you didn’t do and will out right tell you if it was even right. After all, empty apologies only mean so much. Other then that though, Sosuke immensely enjoys your hobbies.
He loves to hear about the latest indie bands you’ve discovered. Or the latest art piece you’ve finished in spur of a wave of creativity that happened one night. No matter what it is, he’s already there with high hopes and endless support for you.
Despite enjoying a more relaxed and casual sort of date. He doesn’t mind going out in crowded places and having fun with you in your bouts of energy. He thinks it’s adorable and is always a sucker for your bright shining eyes and sweet smile.
With PDA Sosuke is a bit reserved. He tends to really show his emotions when it’s just you two, but other then that the most he’ll do is hold your hand or have his arm around your shoulders while you’re out and about. Occasionally brushing your hair out of your face whenever you both eat at a restaurant or at a cafe.
#match-ups#matchup#submissions#anime matchup#submission#haikyuu match up#aot match up#free match up#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsuro#floch x reader#floch forster#floch forster x reader#sosuke yamazaki x reader#sosuke yamazaki#sosuke x reader
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Including CNN's Chris Cuomos Daddy
http://documents.gawker.com/jeffrey-epstein-s-little-black-book-1681447470 http://archive.is/qcJEO Don't forget the CDs in Epstein's safe in his Manhattan townhouse. Those were labeled "Young [name] + [name]." You can bet that those second "[names]" are more than a little worried. Then there is the ranch in New Mexico where the NM attorney general is cooperating with the FBI. There is a lot more to this than just Pedo Island. Dustin Hoffman?!?! OH NO NO NO no no no no!!!!! Hook was a pirate that kidnapped children. Please tell me it wasn't a real story. At least let me believe that Robin Williams was trying to save them. It will be hard but they will make a blind eye to most evidence. Remember, Epstein has everyone by their balls, so like in 2008, either those high profile people start working on getting him an excelent deal, or someone is getting doxed.... Epstein will NEVER have more than 5 years jail, and probably at home or in almost private comfy prison It seems like they've got two types they use in this blackmail operation. The first type is rich, powerful, influential, and easily bought with the second type, young, naive, easily swayed with lies. Both of them are the blackmail targets and both of them get used. The powerful ones get placed into positions where their influence can be leveraged whenever and however it is needed. The young ones get supported and raised into media personalities, anchors, actresses, authors, musicians, whatever they want so long as it serves the desired social ends. If you consider that such an operation could have been ongoing for more than one generation, then the implications get a whole lot weirder than they already were. They basically breed with each other and select each other's most attractive offspring to molest and groom for future generations of the cult. In fact, this would go a long way towards explaining why the cult seems to be too stupid to succeed at controlling the world anymore: too much in-breeding. I have been SAYING ALL ALONG that we will one day find that its not just powerful men who are pedos and rapists, but that all powerful people become warped by easy access to every common hedonistic pleasure. As a result, the truly perverse becomes the final frontier of hedonism and indulgence: pedophilia. Satanism rendered art. Or outright claiming intimate and full ownership over another human. And, look, here we are! Barbara fucking Walters and a host of other up-and-up women right next to their disgusting, guilty male counterparts. Hang them all. Alec Baldwin - Page 6 Sir Anthony Bamford - Page 6 Lord & Lady Baumont - Page 10 Tony Blair - Page 11 David Blaine - Page 11 Mike Bloomberg - Page 11 Richard Branson - Page 12 Jimmy Buffet - Page 13 Prince Pierre d'Arengberg - Page 18 Duchess of York - Page 21 Duke of York - Page 21 Ambassador & Lady Fairweather - Page 23 Princess of Firyal of Jordan - Page 24 Lord & Lady Giliford. - Page 27 Lord & Lady Hanson - Page 28 Elizabeth Hurley (as "Liz Hurley") - Page 32 Michael Jackson - Page 33 Mick Jagger - Page 33 Ted Kennedy Jr - Page 35 Senator Ed Kennedy - Page 35 Christoper Lambert - Page 36 Dr. Henry Kissinger - Page 36 Courtney Love (circled) - Page 38 Cheryl Mills - Page 43 Rupert Murdoch - Page 44 Joan Rivers - Page 51 Jessica Rothchild - Page 52 Hannah Rothchild - Page 52 Duke and Duchess Rutland - Page 53 Edouard de Rothschild - Page 53 Evelyn de Rothschild.- Page 53 Saudi Crown Prince Solman - Page 54 Kevin Spacy - Page 56 Peter Soros - Page 56 Baroness Francesca Theilmann - Page 58 Ivanka Trump - Page 59 Donald Trump - Page 60 Chris Tucker - Page 60 Barbara Walters - Page 61 Lord Weldenfield - Page 62 Serena Williams - Page 63 Prince Michael of Yugoslavia - Page 64 Don't just look up the famous people, some of the non house hold names return very interesting data. Lots and lots of businessmen from London and Israel are in here. It seems London, New York and Israel are the sex trafficking capitals of the world My suggest is not to go through the big names. A lot of the non household names are powerful people and those connections reveal more. Every single person in this document has a Wikipedia page, only a select ultra old rich people don't have much of a trace except foundations and events Nobody cares. Kids are killed at Disney World/Land due to negligence, people still go. Everyone knows there are pedophiles in hollywood, people still pay to see movies. Everyone knows there is something suspicious about how many Nickelodeon girls turn out to be messed up junkies, people still let their kids watch it. Nobody cares. 1000 British girls were raped by shitskins and there were no lynchings. Why do you think it would happen here? http://documents.gawker.com/jeffrey-epstein-s-little-black-book-1681447470 What is bunk1-5? Also anyone got a txt document that is searchable? someone must have done it by now I'll get a round to it. Bronfman was the ones in on NXIVM. Honorable Charles Pearson >Honorable https://ift.tt/2jM0nSY >Charles Pearson is a Director of The Dickinson Trust Ltd, The Cowdray Estate Trust Ltd and the Cabardunn Development Company Ltd. He is the principal partner in the Dunecht Home Farms Partnership, a farming business operating over 3,000 acres (12 km2) in Aberdeenshire. Enterprises on the farm include cereals, oilseed rape, beef cattle and sheep. Charles Pearson and his immediate family are owners of Dunecht Estates, a diverse rural property based in Aberdeenshire and Kincardenshire. Dunecht Estates extends to 53,000 acres (210 km2) and comprises seven estates - Dunecht Estate, Ramoir and Campfield Estate, Dunnottar Castle, Forest of Birse, Edinglassie Estate, West Durris Estate and Bucharn Estate. Interests on the Estates include farming, forestry, field sports, minerals, let houses, commercial property, tourism and development land. Dunecht House, the Category A listed building that is the centre piece of the Dunecht estate, was sold to the Scottish business entrepreneur Jamie Oag in 2012.[1] BTW, Epstein isn't Trump's only link to pedophile networks. Look into Trump's connection to CIA pedophile ringleader, Roy Cohn.
Anyone have any thoughts on the power outage in NYC being connected to this?
Servers "wiped"?
Accounts "wiped"?
Destruction of documents?
Someone here has to have some better ideas than me.
Jeffery Sachs. Jeffrey David Sachs (/sæks/; born November 5, 1954) is an American economist, academic, public policy analyst and former director of The Earth Institute at Columbia University, where he holds the title of University Professor, the highest rank Columbia bestows on its faculty. He is known as one of the world's leading experts on economic development and the fight against poverty.
Sachs is the Quetelet Professor of Sustainable Development at Columbia's School of International and Public Affairs and a professor of health policy and management at Columbia's School of Public Health. As of 2017, he serves as special adviser to the United Nations (UN)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_Sachs
I’d say NXVIM and Podesta are the two biggest connections these people will have. we know NXVIM is way way way bigger than we’ve discovered so far since it involves the Bronfman daughter. And Podesta/Alefantis have fallen off the map. we also have it confirmed now that Epstein paid women to bring other kids to him which is what the Smallville girl did in NXVIM. HOT SHIT DONTCHA Podesta probably psych-tortures the kids. NXVIM used to recruit recruiters. Shit is all connected.
Peggy Siegal.
https://ift.tt/2GcFBDL
>The publicist and hostess isn’t just a fixture of New York’s Oscar circuit; she’s the engine that drives the whole thing, organizing lunches and dinners and receptions and screenings that introduce Academy members to the year’s Oscar hopefuls and drive the conversation about every single film in contention. The best way to win an Oscar is to make a great film, but the best way to guarantee it is to get Peggy to shine a light on it.
She is the one you go to, if you want to win an Oscar
Peter Soros, needs no introduction
https://www.pdsoros.org/fellowship/governance/peter-soros
PETER SOROS lives between London and New York and has managed his family’s investment office since 1998. Their investment activities have been concentrated in a relatively small number of venture capital, private equity and hedge funds, and a broader range of direct investments in the energy, technology, telecom, consumer and financial services sectors. Prior to that period he worked as an investment banker and managed a hedge fund
Leonard Stern
https://ift.tt/2jLEIu9
Another (((Philanthropist))) and investment broker.
>Leonard Norman Stern (born March 28, 1938)[2] is an American businessman, investor, and philanthropist.
He is the chairman and CEO of the privately owned Hartz Group based in New York City. The company's real estate portfolio was owned and operated under its Hartz Mountain Industries subsidiary company, of which he is also chairman and CEO
>Stern was born to a Jewish family,[4][5] the son of Hilda (née Lowenthal) and Max Stern.[5] Max Stern was the German-born vice-chairman of the board of trustees of Yeshiva University for whom its Stern College for Women was named. He had emigrated from Weimar Germany to the U.S. in the 1920s after his textile business proved unprofitable, bringing along 2,100 canaries from Germany to sell on the U.S. market. By selling caged birds, bird cages and other pet bird supplies to U.S. pet owners through Woolworth's stores over the next thirty years, Stern's father built up the family business: Hartz Mountain Corporation (HMC), also headquartered in Secaucus, NJ. HMC later grew to become the flagship subsidiary of The Hartz Group. The business was named after the Harz Mountains of Germany. Though Canaries originally come from the Canary Islands the Canaries in trade are the result of selective breeding by farms located at Harz.
I was digging on day one when the emails dropped, from comet to the tunnels to Pegasus to worldcorp to Epstein’s temple to brocks parties...we’ve been blue ballsed with dead ends so many fucking times that it’s hard to get excited but this looks like it could finally be the big one worth digging into and Pandora’s box has only just been cracked open
i published the world corp videos to my bitchute channel CIA CLOWN
https://www.bitchute.com/video/xSIaA8fJ0oje/
Francesca von Habsburg
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francesca_von_Habsburg
Francesca von Habsburg-Lothringen (born 7 June 1958) is an art collector and the estranged wife of Karl von Habsburg, current head of the House of Habsburg-Lorraine.
The amount of women in on this shit, blows my fucking mind! Me fucking too...me fucking too baka
I hear that fren.. pizzagate fucked me up for a while, I had to take a break cause I couldn’t get a decent nights sleep or stop thinking about the horrors going on and how all these people are involved and covering it up and then the useful idiots on the left helping them cover it up with their TDS and all the border invasion with no one even mentioning the child trafficking going on which is fucking weird why isn’t that every trump and conservative response to AOC and any other leftie crying over child separation. Just drop the child rape sex slavery trafficking stats relentlessly and they’ll shut up fast. But I guess the general public isn’t ready to hear it and have the reality of what’s going on shoved in their faces yet
Governor Charles Turnbull. Governor of the Virgin Islands where Epstein lives at little st james island
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Wesley_Turnbull
https://www.instagram.com/elizabethhurley1/?hl=en
If you saw her instagram, you would think she
was a 22 yearold instagram 'model'. She posts bikini pictures literally all day everyday like shes 20.
I mean she looks great, but its inexplicable to behave that way at her age. its attention whoring of the lowest order.
>pic sorta related
the type of girls she competes for likes with
>The amount of women in on this shit
“Women are wonderful” effect. no one wants to think women, the nurturing motherly caregivers of our children, are capable of the horrors they can commit when they’re emotionally convinced it’s justifed. ask yourself how it’s possible that with modern medical technology and knowledge SIDS is just a totally unexplainable random thing that looks a whole lot like a baby being suffocated in its crib in its sleep in the middle of the night by a frustrated emotional mother. Never find a kid dead from SIDS in the middle of a grocery store at 2 in the afternoon with witnesses around, funny that.
Daisy’s destruction had a female participant that was just as sadistic as the man. Smallville actress was bringing in children for sex slavery. Female child abusers are some of the most sadistic. But nobody ever holds them accountable everyone assumes the man involved forced them to do the things they do
Robert "Bob" Weinstein. Creator or Miramax and Dimension films. Ran Harvey Weinsteins shit
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Weinstein
>2 years ago this looked like insane conspiracy by wackos
It’s hard to remember how innocent things felt before the 2016 election....when AJ was just a funny conspiracy nutjob and stuff like this just wasn’t realistic. Even just the alefantis Podesta stuff was like what the fuck. Like AJ sneaking into the bohemian grove and you’re just like oh okay that’s a thing. That’s a thing that actually happens. Eyes wide shut is a thing and everything conspiracy theory around Kubrick and his death and the actors involved in his movies is now a thing and what the fuck rabbit hole is this
Steve Wynn, he runs NUMEROUS casinos in Vegas
https://www.forbes.com/profile/steve-wynn/#7ebf6643498a
Prince Michael of Yugoslavia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_Michael_of_Yugoslavia
The Hillary timeline is a dark one fren. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Everything would be censored and shut down. You would have Dem rule forever as she floods the borders with 3rd world illegals while sending legal citizen males off to die in Russia and letting ISIS run wild to kill off the ones that don’t go to war while they all rape and breed the women and all Hillary’s debts to these elite sickos would get fulfilled as the pedo circles expand and get more blatant about it knowing they can’t be stopped
Police, Sergent Robert Goldberg...
All about Israel and the Island Massage parlor
Well hello David Rockefeller!!
just waiting for the connections to most powerful sub-par pizza joint operator in DC.
selling pizza to politicians is evidently enormous business in Washington
jimmy "hit the kids like a comet till they vomit" alefantis
james "enslave the kids in my pizza parlor" alefantis
ole' jimbo "my pizza sauce is made out of ground kids" alefantis
james "scott tenorman is a true story" alefantis
jimmy "dungeons, chains, leather & shipping container human trafficking " alefantis
jimbob "monroe in the front door, never leave, in to the museum behind my house" alefantis
james "live in DC, my museum is the pedo embassy" alefantis
big jim "drop 'em off at my house, chop 'em up in my museum" alefantis
james "just dont talk about my museum" alefantis
jimbo "what pedophile network?" alefantis
james "we don't even have a basement" alefantis
ayyy it's old jimmy "bloodthirsty rage upon the vulnerable" alefantis!!
jimbo "dont eat the hotdogs" alefantis
jimmy "dont even get me started on the punch" alefantis
james "the water in my museum" alefantis
jimmy "somebody poisoned the waterhole" alefantis
jimbo "most of my friends are homosexual pedos" alefantis
jim "after it was discovered my websites contained hidden downloadable content, a criminal destroyed my computers harddrive" alefantis
jimbob "i can help you burn down your island" alefantis
Ohhhhh hoe hoe tay!
Ask Caroline Orr...how she like living in VA. Sampson Rd, Dahlgren, VA 22448 amirite???
Ask Tommy Christopher how he likes living on Newton Ave, Oaklyn, NJ 08107 and how
Ellen T Thomas 69 1947
Kathleen J Thomas 39 1978
Matthew J Thomas 45 1971
Megan E Thomas 34 1983
Robert J Thomas 74 1942
Robert S Thomas 53 1964
Ryan R Thomas 34 1983
Dana M Thomas 52 1965
Ethel Thomas 97 1920
Jack C Thomas Jr 54 1963
Jeffery S Thomas 43 1974
Kelly L Thomas 44 1973
Kimberly A Thomas 49 1967
Margaret R Thomas 76 1941
Clara P Thomas 74 1943
John F Thomas 46 1971
Are all doing...tell them hiya from me...will ya
Ask Oliver A Willis' fat ass how southern MD is. Sweetwood Pl, Waldorf, MD 20602 right? Wait...I ALREADY KNOW HOW IT IS! But, ask him how
A Wills 46 1971
Ann Wills 48 1969
Beverly L Wills 40 1977
Cheryl D Willis 49 1968
Cheryl M Wills 57 1960
Christopher N Wills 38 1978
Frank Crosson 46 1971
Jane T Thomas 54 1963
Karen A Wills 64 1953
Oliver A Wills 65 1951
Seth T Sahid 37 1980
Sheila Sanders 61 1956
Ricky B Wills 57 1960
Tina L Wills 46 1971
Are all doing XDDDD tell them, suuuuuuuuuuup XD
Wait wait wait...here's his mammy and daddy
Mom and Dad
Karen And Oliver Willis(Sr.)
Montezuma Dr, Fort Washington, MD 20744 is a shithole XDD
His sister Tina Sahid, Arbory Way, Laurel, MD 20707 Laurel huh??? My ex is from Laurel...blow them a kiss from me, k? 5/10
And don't forget you little bitch...you wanted this
https://thedevilman666.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/groups/qanonreports https://twitter.com/CIACLOWN1 https://www.bitchute.com/channel/ciaclown16661/
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Chapter 2 Letter
Aunt Lucy and the Ancient Seed Exchange Dear Old One I’m beginning to suspect that the hardness of my exterior is proportional to the softness of my interior. Exhibit A: these calloused hands. and thank you for the memories, the movements, the functions, the callouses, the hard work and the plants. I pay special attention to them, these fingers, crusty with the day, all. These fingers in the dirt, so that now they speak differently with hands that speak softly and tap softly, feel no fishhooks from a mean, fighting weed hiding just below the soil surface, or wrapped up in some hay like a shit secret. All this air in these lungs, these trees changing colors. What was it like for you, the time you felt Autumn? The, the great cut-off before, the so-long-‘til-later? The wild colors, the impending stomach paunch? What was the large animal you ate, and were you around the fire? Did the flesh ground you more to the soil and the wind and the leaves? Did the nourishment smell like the wet, sweet decay of falling leaves, yet smoked? When did you discover the usefulness of the peppercorn for the belly in digesting the meat? I had salami the other day, coated in ground pepper. It made me think of you. The academics of today like to pretend that all of the discoveries previous to particular consciousness were accidents of observation that later, through making impulse became a controlled craft. Starting with fire of course, but later extending to paint, bread, wine, beer– the alchemy of all the small things. I have a hard time swallowing that story. What’s the smallest thing you carried old one, before satchels? I bet it was a seed, I bet the seed found a way to its own coy scrounges and knew exactly when to detach from the mass of follicles and vitamins, and fell to the soil and waited–peevishly– for winter to pass. Was your son with you by that time? Did they toss the seed , discarding it like an unsavory louse? How long had you missed the sun and the seed and the plant that grew all year all the time, uninterrupted by the decay, the shorter days, the warm gold of the Autumn sun, the cooling dirt? Which stars were you facing when the fire burned? How old was your son that time? My hands pause over squash. I generously dunk a cloth in vinegar water and wash the squash. The sounds of their cleaning are so unique in the morning, it is as if the dew sings through the falling water. Lavish and comforting, and the sting of the vinegar lives in my nose, and cracks my hands into future dried grain. The dirt melts off the squash and slugs its way into the bucket with the falling water, and the sight and feeling of uncovering the gourd from its blanket of soil as it lived and grew and fattened, slowed down, got sleep drunk, slumbered this past season brings dregs of gold and dragonflies into my atrium. I’m preparing them like for someone’s belly or refrigerator. I sing to them in my heart as I lay them in the trailer. They fill up my hands with their roundness, with their vicarious curves and each one is so different. Each one such a delirious expression of their experience and circumstance out in that field and patch of shade, hidden or lying like a sexy goddess on a piece of dried and cracked soil far away from a withering mother vine. They fill my hands with their roundness, and make my palms feel small. So unlike my hands, these squash children. I tap their noggins. I feel their sweetness soothe me under. The trailer fills up with hundreds of them gleaming-glowing, drives away; I say goodbye, I miss them, but am so happy. Were you happy in the transition from warm to cool, in the season of juxtapositions and crossroads of abundance and decay as the fruits squeeze the life juice from the last drops of nurturing sunlight? Were you happy as the seed nestled into the soil and tasted the wane of summer ? Did you massage your hands after you washed your son like an awkwars squash for the first time; did you kiss him on the nose as he smiled like a seed at the sun after a long winter? Goodnight
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Here you can see your average white, liberal lady blogger:
Patient C in a dress her family called "retro hippie" with dog, Lucky.
Or you can see PatientC, me: white lady, disabled mom, loyal wife and girl friend, #Resist Bitch, Proud mom of Girls that with her belong to the #LGBT/#QUILTBAG community, poor Randian leech, sometimes obese but usually just a few pounds "overweight," Buddhist and ULC minister, neuroatypical rabble rouser and oversharing blogger.
One thing (among many) that you cannot see is this: I live with black people.
To my surprise, the data backed up my observation that not many people live with people that do not look like them. In the US, even outside of racist housing policies from corporate to governmental, people tend to self segregate not just along class but racial lines. There is so much material out there on redlining, racist home loans, government segregation, the Northern migration and then later, smaller repatriation. Go look, academics and commentators have formed whole careers saying things about this and you should know about this in the US if you live here, or see if it happened where you live if you live elsewhere.
What I want to focus on here is that my white family of weirdos is even more weird because we chose to live among different folks. 90% of our neighbors are African American. This makes a lot of the people in our lives black. It means that policy meant to affect black citizens probably changes our lives too - in a secondary if not a primary way. If there is a fire nearby, or a shooting, or a tree falls in our area, we stand outside and work with black people to see if help is needed or comment helplessly if that all we can do.
Within site of our house, we have one neighbor that is a white guy. He is a disabled vet with a Latina wife. Minion One sometimes house sits for them, which changed their life. They participate in the local feral cat program & never felt like they could vacation for more than a weekend and now, if they can scrape together the cash, they can go visit her relatives and not worry about home or the kitties.
On the opposite corner to ours is a Vietnamese lady that was cool for a decade and a half but now has some beef about the breed of my dog. One of the same breed knocked her down once and once she realized I had the same breed of dog she stopped talking to me. But it is the kind of beef you get anywhere from anyone, nothing special about the fact that she comes from where she comes from and I am so white as to appear translucent.
The neighbors just south of us are a black couple with a couple of grown children from previous marriages. In the summer of blood here, a few summers ago, they lost a grown son to a gas station shooting - he was just there, gassing up his car. We got to know each other after that - their opinion on white people (I later found out) was profoundly changed because I checked in on them each day for that terrible first week, and off and on thereafter. But I only found out because they had family/friends parked around the block, including around our corner yard. When I asked about it, I was devastated: he was another guy that thought it was funny that I played Halo. Another black guy, something incidental to our conversation, but race mattered in how the case was reported and treated.
Now we lean on each other as needed. Hell, my dog Nissi came from a litter sired by their dog - the husband helped pick and nurture her specifically for me. He was under the opinion that I needed a dog for company as the Minions grow up and I am out in the yard alone with some frequency. So now I have a wonderful nanny dog that loves everyone but from her pit bull looks folks assume she only wants to eat their face and I am never hassled by strangers anymore. I take Nissi over to play with her dad and sister at least once a week, like neighbors might do.
Our mailman is Nigerian, he loves our dogs and chats. He is terrific at his job so we leave a card with a small token of appreciation in the mailbox at the end of the year. Not a big deal, really.
I can keep going. I can re-agonize about the black kid under a white sheet that summer. He was only there because a cop thought he was suspicious or a suspect or something. He was unarmed, doing nothing illegal or unusual, just walking down the neighborhood street. When the Minions were younger he was one of the kids that got cold water bottles from me when they were running around playing like kids do.
Some of those kids have grown, left, and now some are coming back. My guys get asked about that white lady with the cold water and if she is still here. It warms my heart to be remembered like that! I did not consider, however, that I was also the first white lady they ever talked to outside of school or other regimented experience. I was just looking after the kids like their moms.
Or I could rant about how we chose this for ourselves and the Minions. It was vitally important to me that the kids attend class with people that did not all look like them. Turned out, sometimes they were the only white faces in their class. I stand by that decision. Now the Minions are at a loss when they hear about how white and black people in the US sometimes see each other. They bristle when they hear about racism or racist practices. They are trained to get out in front when there is trouble because they are so much likely to fare better when interacting with authority. They have seen the school to prison pipeline. They have seen what I call the abstinence to poverty parenting pipeline.
We try to be good neighbors, like folks do. Every time a new family moves in, we introduce ourselves, if appropriate, as the crazy crackers on the corner. We affirm that we have lived in this place for over 15 years. Our neighbors ask about race and political issues more since the last election than ever before. I field these questions like when neighborhood girls used to ask me about white people hair - with patience and dignity. I tell the Minions to remember that even just to ask is to risk, so when they get asked race questions to do the same with the knowledge that the tenor of their response may determine if the folks asking ever try to do so again.
What is the point here, then? To affirm that some of us do live what we believe, as much as we can, and raise our kids/Minions to do the same. To remind folks that our neighbors are not their neighbors, but at the same time are their neighbors. Once the racial tension settles, and folks know we are not, in fact, the villains in a Spike Lee joint, we were accepted as good neighbors. We had to get past our fictive kinship with other white people to show that we are decent folks. Although we did not deserve that distrust, we understood and accepted that we would have to be better folks to be thought of as good folks. We endeavor to do this every time we get new neighbors.
This is why I react with rage when black mothers grieve over the pointless loss of another black child. This is why when a mentally ill man was shot by a cop at a corner church here I was livid: the family had to raise money for a headstone while that cop was honored in event after event. Apparently shooting a crazy person is something that they honor. But to me these are people - kids and neighbors, not a dehumanized demographic.
This is part of why I get called a "race traitor" and shit when needless black death permeates the culture again for a few moments: I am not set to default white sympathy. My "we" is my family, friends, and neighbors... my "we" is not just white folks.
And yeah, I sometimes bristle when white do gooder liberals are accused of carelessness and callousness. I get it, and I never criticize the folks with that beef: I see it too, and the few holdouts like me and mine never outweigh legit beef over the movement as a whole. There is so much left to do, and current US culture is in full reverse mode regressing on everything from shrinking the franchise to struggling to re-stigmatize LGBT folks.
Why post this? Not to excuse any past, present, or future race faux paux, hurt, or damage I may have caused nor to flaunt my meager efforts. I post this just as a way of pointing to a spot and saying "I am here." Maybe it will mean something to someone that needs to know that in this mess of a country and time there are still people out there doing what they can to do things differently.
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