#diseased pariah news

[effectedfoxx]

from Diseased Pariah News 8, page 39 (x)

SYNDROME. Why? Becasue we love you.

[ali-ali-al1]

Doing my EPQ (extended project qualification, UK thing) about queer history is great, apart from the fact that every time I try and sit down to research I end up on the verge of tears

Big Feelings Babey 👍

[placegrenette]

doing my annual reblog for World AIDS Day

Longing for Dick and Laughing at Death: The Story of Diseased Pariah News

All right, Tumblr, gather round. This is not my usual style here, and I have missed World AIDS Day by a number of days, but I searched for “Diseased Pariah News” on this nonsense site and got all of two coherent hits, and that does not sit right with me. So let me tell y’all a story of black humor, porn, a pre-venture-capital-overrun Bay Area, lovingly photographed penises, recipe testing, friendship, and death. It’s all true but I wasn’t there; sources are linked throughout and compiled at the end.

Cover of Issue #3. This and all illustrations courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society and Calisphere, the online archives of the University of California. Support your librarians and archivists, kids!

“It’s My Party and I’ll Die If I Want To”

The short version of the story is: Diseased Pariah News was a zine that ran for eleven issues, all published between 1990 and 1999. It was edited almost completely by, and addressed pretty much exclusively to, PWAs, or People With AIDS.

To remind you whippersnappers: to know you were HIV positive in 1990 was to know that you were going to die a lot sooner than average, and probably not peacefully. As Jonathan Kauffman wrote in “Get Fat, Don’t Die,” a 2020 Hazlitt essay on DPN: “So many of the narratives of the time circled around two themes: memorializing the terror and adulterated sweetness of being alive as everyone they knew was dying, and shearing through the cordon of dehumanizing indifference that the public had erected around plague-struck communities. The experience of daily diarrhea or constant nausea may have been too visceral, too private, or simply too grinding to fit into the arc of a plot.” The diarrhea could go on for months, by the way. And that was separate from debilitating fatigue, potential blindness (from CMV retinitis), or constant prickly pain in your hands and feet (from peripheral neuropathy).

This was years before the development of protease inhibitors and “the cocktail” could prevent HIV-positive patients from developing full-blown AIDS; AZT could slow things down, but it came with nasty side effects. AIDS was not like the tuberculosis, or rather like the romantic conception of tuberculosis, in which one’s dying status could be signaled by paleness and the occasional discreet cough. AIDS was painful, and complicated.

So somebody had to have a sense of humor about all this.

Co-founder, original Serene Editor, and the guy who gets the credit for having the idea in the first place, Tom Shearer

Tom Shearer was a computer hardware engineer living in San Francisco, running a zine on the side called GAWK (it stood for Gay Artists and Writers Kollective) when a reader named Beowulf Thorne (more on him later) complained that GAWK looked terrible. Shearer challenged Thorne to do better; Thorne rose to the challenge; one thing led to another and the pair ended up collaborating on a whole new zine, this one focused on the experience of dealing with AIDS. Shearer got the title from an Advocate comic in which a flight attendant asked a passenger: “Would you like the smoking, non-smoking, or diseased pariah section?” (This was during a time when airlines not only had smoking sections but were occasionally refusing outright to transport PWAs.)

From the very beginning, Diseased Pariah News was meant to be funny, helpful, and obsessed with dick. Page 3 of the first issue lists a number of practical steps PWAs can take (“Call Pac Bell for low income phone rates”). There was also a Resources page, dedicated to advocacy groups, support groups, even mail-order pharmacies easy to work with, anyone whom the editors judged would treat PWAs fairly and not waste their time. In between those two was the debut of the column, “Get Fat, Don’t Die!,” dedicated to high-calorie recipes specifically designed to combat wasting disease, illustrated by a naked man in a come-hither pose; the debut of the column “Porn Potato,” which reviewed porn videos while keeping a much better sense of narrative than its subjects; a short-short story titled “I Fisted Jesse Helms”; and a contest to guess Shearer’s T-cell count. (Not included yet was the centerfold feature, which would include the model’s history of infections and T-cell count alongside his full-frontal glory; that would come in later issues.)

Shearer died in April 1991, as the second issue of DPN was going to press. (”Thanks to Mike for guessing optimistically high,” ran the conclusion to the T-cell count contest.) Issue #3 starts with Thorne recounting the aftermath of his death, including a visit to “Akbar and Jeff’s Cremation Hut,” and then, contemplating taking over DPN by himself, allowing himself a rare show of mourning:

Seriously though, the reality of Tommy’s death isn’t funny. But then, neither is it funny that the first President to preside over the age of AIDS couldn’t make himself say the name of the syndrome. Or that a septuagenarian senator would obstruct prevention programs because he would rather see his nation’s children die than “promote deviant sexual behavior” (all the while forcing us to endure tobacco subsidies and its retinue of smoking related deaths). Or…well, you know enough about this yourself, you fill in the blanks. What can I say about this situation? You can either laugh or cry, but crying gives you crow’s feet.

Fortunately Thorne wasn’t alone for the rest of the ride: as “Cranky Editor,” he was joined by Tom Ace, christened “Humpy Editor,” and Michael Botkin, who already had a reputation around the Bay Area as a suffering-no-fools journalist and critic, as “Sleazy Editor.” DPN had found an eager audience to begin with–Shearer and Thorne had to double back to the printer when the first print run of the first issue sold out–but at its peak it had a circulation of 5,000 and could be bought in dozens of bookstores across multiple countries. The guys were dedicated and passionate without being self-important, and it showed.

Left to right: Sleazy, Cranky, and Humpy, in an undated photo (1994?), for a DPN Christmas card.

All eleven issues have been archived and can be read in PDF form courtesy of the Gay and Lesbian Historical Society and the University of California’s online archiving efforts. Highlights include “AIDS Barbie,” in #8; an interview with playwright and ACT UP co-founder Larry Kramer in #9; Thorne’s evisceration of And the Band Played On author Randy Shilts (who had himself just died of AIDS) also in #9; and the Opportunistic Infection Merit Badges (OIMBs), introduced by Botkin in #10:

The outcome will be an array of badges and ribbons which tell the educated viewer, at a glance, just how progressed your HIV disease is. It will be particularly useful for health care providers, who instead of taking lengthy histories will instead be able to briefly study a PWA’s array of service ribbons, badges, etc…. a careful study of my OIMBs would quickly reveal my obscenely low T-cell count (17 at last testing), the fact that I’ve had PCP, peripheral neuropathy, MAC, wasting syndrome, cryptococcal meningitis, and herpes, and that I’ve taken every nucleoside analogue known to man. This would allow those who want to fawn over or avoid me to act accordingly, and avoid the frustration of mistaken acquaintanceship.

I can’t speak for you, but the badges were what stuck in my mind: humor black enough to communicate the bleakness of its source. It’s funny how history can seem incommunicable. Odds are you reading this are young enough that if I try to tell you what it felt like to look down Lexington Avenue on the afternoon of September 11, 2001, and see a great column of smoke and no cars, you can place the reference but probably not the devastation. People dealing with the aftereffects of COVID now are having a hard time gaining empathy for what it feels like to have their body betray them; the distance of a couple decades or so is not going to help. To take history at all seriously is to admit that the various horrors of the past are ungraspable. But the badges allow you a glimpse of what it was like to live in the midst of this particular horror.

Which is not to say that the DPN guys were particularly concerned with history. Hamilton-style musings about legacies would have left them cold. History had, in a sense, been stolen from them, and so they were going to embrace the present they had left. Especially Thorne, who would be the guiding force behind DPN for the rest of its run.

The Story-within-a-Story of Beowulf “Biffy Mae” Thorne, Writer, Editor, Graphic Designer, Illustrator, Cartoonist, Recipe-Tester, Critic, Know-It-All, and Horndog Extraordinaire

and also, a babe. I don’t care what your gender/sexuality combination is, you would’ve been at risk of doing some pining.

Beowulf Thorne–no, that wasn’t his birth name, but it seems to have been the name he used exclusively during DPN’s run, so that’s what we’ll stick with–was born in 1964 and grew up in southern California, but fled to the Bay Area in 1983. I saw one source say he tested HIV-positive as early as 1986, which is to say before the term “HIV” was even in widespread use. Suffice to say, dude had to start contemplating his mortality far, far earlier than he should have. He was enrolled at UC-Santa Cruz for a while, studying biology, but that whole contemplating-his-mortality part led him eventually to focus on graphic design and advocacy: first with various condom-promoting organizations, such as the Condom Resource Center in Oakland, and then DPN.

If he hadn’t been doomed, Thorne probably would’ve been one of those guys resented by his acquaintances, just for the sheer number of things he was good at. He was not only DPN’s chief writer and editor but its layout artist and the designer of its related merchandise (not to mention the OIMBs). While working as a graphic designer for Addison-Wesley, he would occasionally piss textbook authors off by pointing out errors in their text, even though he wasn’t supposed to be factchecking: he just couldn’t help it. He did full-page, multi-panel “Captain Condom” comics for several DPN issues; that takes some time and effort now, never mind with Adobe Illustrator as it was three decades ago. He tested all of the “Get Fat, Don’t Die!” recipes. He was a gardener who specialized in orchids, cacti, and meat-eating plants, and beautifully detailed plant sketches are scattered in his collected papers.

1994 version of the Condom Educator’s Guide, co-written by Thorne and Daniel Bao (who would later work on DPN issues) and designed by Thorne on “his trusty Macintosh.”

And he could write. Reading him, you’d never guess the man wasn’t a trained writer, or is now twenty-three years dead: his voice is unstoppable. I’m not the type who laughs out loud at books easily, and while reading the DPN back issues, I found myself giggling repeatedly at the turns of phrase in Thorne’s porn reviews.

Oh, yeah: he also was Porn Potato. And just generally an unabashed horndog. He and Ace met when Ace saw Thorne’s personal ad: “Relatively stable 25-year-old design student seeks other adventurous good-looking men for mutual sodomy and oral copulation.” When a POZ writer asked Thorne about this in 1997, Thorne–who by this point was dealing with neuropathy and killer candida that ate his gums down to the bone–said cheerfully of Ace: “He’s quite buxom. I’ve always had a letch on him.” If Thorne and DPN stood for anything, it was the conviction that an AIDS diagnosis could not take away the right and responsibility to live, and living included being sexual.

But You Already Know the End of the Story

The hardest issue of DPN to read is the eleventh and last one, which came out in 1999, three years after #10. “In the eternity since DPN #10 appeared,” ran a note under the masthead, “66.67% of the editorial staff expired.” Botkin had died in 1996; that left Thorne and Tom Ace. By this point there was a new set of treatments available, but they worked a lot better if you hadn’t already been fighting HIV (plus the side effects of AZT) for over a decade.

One of the last DPN pieces Thorne wrote was on viatication, the practice of selling your life-insurance policy to be able to collect cash while you’re still alive. His health was failing pretty fast at that point–another of the last pieces is about CMV retinitis blinding him–but the article is practical, funny, and devoid of self-pity. It will break your heart nonetheless.

Deciding to viaticate my policy started with some soulful contemplation. The first thing I had to face was my own impending mortality. It was as though signing the paperwork obliged me to kick the bucket on some kind of schedule. For an obsessive taskmaster such as myself, there were some control issues….

Finally, there’s a little roulette. The closer to death’s door you are—on an actuarial basis—the more moolah you get. You don’t want to cash in too early for a measly 50% (two-year life expectancy). On the other hand, if you wait for that 80% jackpot (six-month life expectancy), you might croak before you can enjoy it all. I was feeling pretty grim at that point, so the time seemed right.*

* For all you voyeuristic sickies, It was necrotic periodontitis.

He died on May 8, 1999. Reportedly his friends tried and failed to create a snowglobe with some of his ashes and Astroglide lube.

Tom Ace, miraculously, is still in possession of his mortal coil, or at least was as of 2010, when Vice interviewed him. Kauffman was able to talk to several of Thorne’s friends for his 2020 Hazlitt article. Beyond that I didn’t find a lot of easily accessible information about DPN’s survivors, either editors or readers.

Why Remember Diseased Pariah News

It’s not for everyone, I’ll grant you that. It never was. Even setting aside the sharp (necessary) line it drew between PWAs and HIV-negative onlookers, it was very much a product of a small, dedicated group with its own goals. If you are not a white gay cis man, you were not going to feel seen, as the modern saying goes, reading DPN. And if you don’t draw as strong a link between sex and vitality as its editors did, the repeated explicit celebration of dick might well put you off.

It’s still worth remembering, and celebrating. DPN is the kind of work that’s not easy to preserve. There were thousands and thousands of zines in the 1990s, and we’ve got no hope of learning from all of them, or even a good percentage of them. Eventually the people who can remember getting zines in the mail (my husband still sometimes uses the term “trib,” short for “minimum acceptable contribution”) will be gone. Our ability to communicate has expanded so much in the last three decades that it’s hard to archive and learn from all that communication–think of all the lost MySpace and Geocities pages, bulletin boards, emails. Preservation will be by definition selective, and later generations’ sense of what was actually happening thereby skewed, but we ought to preserve what we can.

But also: these guys were trying to bring laughs, help, and comfort to a vulnerable population, and in 2022 we like to think we approve of that kind of thing. Meanwhile they themselves were vulnerable, far more so than they should have been, and they recognized the unfairness of their situation but they did not whine. They were brave in the face of death, which is hard, and physical pain and the deterioration of the body, which is even harder. And we still in these supposedly enlightened times don’t have a good mechanism for thinking of campy gay men as brave. They weren’t looking to be remembered. We should remember anyway.

Sources

All the back issues of DPN are archived on Calisphere, the archives of the University of California, with Beowulf Thorne’s papers. Direct links: #1 (1990), #2 (1991), #3 (1991), #4 (1991), #5 (1992), #6 (1992), #7 (1992), #8 (1993), #9 (1994), #10 (1996), #11 (1999). Some of the information comes from this collection of contemporary articles Thorne clipped.

Tom Ace, “Thorne on Our Side,” POZ, August 1, 1999

Mark Allen, “That’s Not Funny, Or Is It?,” Vice, December 31, 2010

Jonathan Kauffman, “Get Fat, Don’t Die,” Hazlitt, April 28, 2020

Greg Lugliani, “Last Laughs,” POZ, October 1, 1997

[evilminji]

(O.O ) The PONDERING is back!

You know Walker?

One of the Zone's literal ACAB? We are shown in one episode, that real world items? Against The Rules(tm).

Now, that COULD just be HIM being An Asshole? But let's be real! Unlikely. Rules/Laws get made for a REASON, generally. Usually because someone ruined it for everyone by being an asshole. Taking things too far.

You start OUT with the obvious Rules. Like "Don't Tear the Zone Apart." And "No Genocide of Literally Everything Forever You Fighty Little Assholes" but over time? You have too add stuff. Like "George is Forbidden to use the fax machine and he knows why" and "Ice Lairs and Fire Lairs have to be X distance apart AND YOU KNOW WHY"

And? IS there a central Governing body, regulating the Zone Rules? Nope! Pariah's in nappy time! BUT the manic, Iron fisted, Obsessions of THE LAW across time and space are sure willing to step up and help keep order. It... KINDA works!

And they MOSTLY have the same-ish Rules!

Like NO FUCKIN LIVING WORLD STUFF. Because? To GET such contraband? You'd have to break containment of the Zone, go THROUGH a random ass natural portal, that may or may NOT be safe, may or may NOT ever RECONNECT to the Zone, to literally terrorize the unsuspecting living souls (assuming you can FIND any), on the other side, JUST to drag that shitty candy bar back home.

Leaking ectoplasm the whole time. Poisoning the air, land, and sea. Making NEW ghosts where there might not have been any. Effectively making you their deadbeat parent. Which is premeditated child abandonment. And you DEFINITELY didn't PAY for those objects. Thief.

So, NO. No Living World Shit.

BUT!

Like city states! The Area of influence each Law Man(tm) has? While wide and sprawling? Does NOT perfectly mesh together like puzzle pieces! There ARE dead zones. Lawless, "unclaimed" areas.

Which? Are not so unclaimed.

For just as The Law has it's Obsession? So too, has the Underworld. Shaddy casinos and auctions. Black markets run like street fairs. What some Ghost Weed? They can hook you up, man. Vinnie over there was a Runner during Prohibition. He knows where ALL the classy joints are.

He can hook you up with some REAL nice Living World collectibles.

From All Over.

And? I bet it's that LAST bit? That REALLY sparks Danny's interest. He saved the guy from the GIW, who may or may not have busted him trying to... uuuuh... LIBERATE, some fine scotch for the bar back Zone side. Who's to say, really? Regardless, Vinnie? Pays his debts, you here.

Beside... the feral little gremlin kinda scares him. Good quality to have, no question, but maybe cool it with the biting? You don't know where they BEEN. You'll get a disease.

Now... all you gotta do, see, is... *mutters* *map scribbling* *bad idea enabling*

Which? Constantine! League Members of your choosing! Like a field trip from hell! Some how in the SINGLE shadiest den of Obvious Criminals you ever did see. The sky is green and they aren't in their dimension anymore. Circle up! NOW. Young Justice shoved to the INSIDE of the circle, adult heros on the outside.

Constantine? Knows where they are and wishs he didn't. He... he's not sure he CAN get them back. Going to try obviously. But no one panic. Don't show fear. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Start walking.

Danny? Loading up the speeder~ Christmas gifts for daaaays~~☆ Everyone is Salty but respectful, cause anti-ghost tech meant they couldn't steal it. They did TRY. But... fair play, kid. Nice ride.

Only? Right before he gets in to leave? Some vibrating blur shoots over? Talking fast and followed by an older blur? Oh hey, humans. Like... ALIVE humans. Sup?

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[vladdyissues]

Wow. Thanks for a comprehensive answer about "Danny meets Vlad in college". I absolutely like the idea of ceremony! The cool first meeting! And as you like the AU, I would share some my thoughts: • Several months before Danny went to the Wisconsin college his parents finally share their memories from that period. It was obvious to Danny that at least the part of the college personal will be ignorant to him for his last name, so, Danny would try not to say it in Wisconsin until someone ask. "Who are you?" - "I'm Danny. Just Danny" • According to the last paragraph, It'd be easier to both halfas see each other appealing, maybe, sexy. No parallels to Vlad with The idiot who sent him to the hospital for several years. No about-relatives stuff (we all see parents' friend as a native uncle/aunt). • When after several years of relationship with Vlad Danny finally decide to introduce him to the family, there was a pure shock on faces of all trio (Vlad, Jack and Maddie). "Danny, why didn't you tell me your parents are Jack Fenton and Maddie [her maiden name]?!" // "Danny, why didn't you tell us your boyfriend is Vlad Masters?!" • Plasmius and Phantom explore the Ghost Zone together. At one trip like that Plasmius got hurt badly in the attempt to defence Phantom. His ecto-acne comes back to the weakened body. Danny sent him to the Wisconsin hospital where the old doctor recognizes the patient and the disease. He tells Danny the truth: Vlad had ecto-acne before, he wouldn't survive this time and they don't know how to cure him. Jack and Maddie are the last hope of Danny. The young halfa beg them to help Vlad. The "Masters of all times" stuff next. This is a good chance to the trio to get along again. (Or it is even better way to introduce Vlad to his parents?) But what I don't know at all: what powers Danny would develop to his 19/20 y. without Vlad? Like would he ever try to duplicate without him or other stuff?

Excellent thoughts! I especially like that last one with Plasmius getting hurt and Danny having to go to his parents to save him. ("Please, Dad, I love him!" Lots of great hurt/comfort moments and an opportunity to repair the broken College Trio at long last.

As for Danny's powers, I can only speculate. (It's funny how much of an inspiration Vlad was to Danny in the canon timeline, even as his arch-nemesis. If it hadn't been for him, Danny might not have ever learned how to duplicate himself, and therefore would never have had the means to defeat Pariah Dark 😮) But I think Vlad in this AU would have plenty of time to teach Danny some new and very useful techniques... 😏

[oldandcrusty]

It was red lyrium all along!

I'm doing a series of posts on institutional change in each Dragon Age game. My one on Origins only got 3 notes but I'm doing this for my own sanity TBH. Feel free to read the Origins post for more context on why I'm doing this and what frameworks I'm using.

Anyway. Let's make like Hawke and nosedive into a class war.

Hawke is privileged

While Hawke arrives in Kirkwall as a refugee, and possibly an apostate, Hawke has a great deal of privileges which enable them to backflip their way to nobility.

Hawke is a human with exceptional physical skills. They gain a positive reputation for being good at their criminal job, leading to opportunities presented by Varric and others in Kirkwall. By the start of Act 2, Hawke is so rich that they have risen back into nobility. And, by the end of the same Act, they are so adored by Kirkwall that even Meredith cannot lock them away if they are a mage.

Hawke is also immune to being held accountable for any illegal activities. Hawke gets away with all manner of activities, including vigilantism. They can even sell Fenris back to Danarius without consequence (seriously, what the fuck, BioWare). Meanwhile, Hawke's cop friend Aveline is set on arresting the elves who hid among the Qunari, even when they did initially try to go through the legal route.

This is not to dismiss the challenges and fears which Hawke faces, nor the work Hawke puts in. But their work gets rewarded and their crimes get ignored because of these privileges.

The privileged change agent

Hawke flourishes in the institutions of Kirkwall. However, not all of Hawke's companions do the same. Anders, Fenris, and Merrill are particularly marginalised.

Anders is hiding in the sewers, hunted by Templars and fighting what feels like a losing battle for mage rights. Fenris is trying to fully free himself of the man who enslaved, tortured, and sexually abused him. Merrill is an apostate Dalish blood mage living in an alienage. She is a pariah to all the societies she encounters, despite her kind and curious disposition.

Hawke has an opportunity to help their companions. There is growing literature which seeks to understand by privileged people sometimes become agents of change for causes which they would not directly benefit from. (If you're curious about this, two cool studies - Ruebottom & Auster, 2017; Feront, Bertels & Hamman, 2024).

This allyship - true allyship, not just the performative type - often means the change agent will bear the consequences of standing with them. Indeed, if Hawke sides with the Templars, they are rewarded with becoming the new viscount. Meanwhile, they must flee the city if they stand with the mages.

Thus, Dragon Age 2 has a really good set up to explore what a privileged person may do for the unprivileged in the face of institutional evils. However, I think the game falls short in exploring this in a few areas.

For example, the game does not adequately address Aveline's blatant corruption, racism and double standards. In Act 3, she reveals that she employed one elven woman to the guard, and the game treats this as enough to absolve her of her past actions. If justice mattered at all in Kirkwall, she would have been at the very least kicked out of the guard.

But there is one, big, red problem which I think sorely derails Dragon Age 2's attempt at exploring institutional evil.

Red fucking lyrium

The main plot culminates with the revelation that Meredith has been driven mad by red lyrium. Red lyrium is a type of Big Bad, similar to the Blight (it is blighted lyrium, after all). It is a force outside of institutional evils which causes harm to people. A real world equivalent would be a disease or natural disaster.

However, red lyrium does not do this in Dragon Age 2. Instead, it diminishes the accountability Meredith and (in particular) the other Templars. In fact, the Templars fight her not because they care about mage rights, but because she's written off as crazy due to the red lyrium. This turns the Templars into heroes. Meanwhile, all the mages in the Circle are dead - aside from Bethany, if she was there.

In Origins, the Blight exposes the flaws and evils in the institutions of Ferelden. This is just like how natural disasters and diseases disproportionately affect people who have less privilege in their institutions. So, having a Big Bad in a story does not necessarily weaken explorations of institutions. It can actually be an effective way to spotlight the existing inequities.

One can argue that the red lyrium highlights Meredith's hunger for power and hatred for mages. I personally do not find that compelling; we know that Meredith has these traits, and the Kirkwall Circle is already considered the most oppressive of the Circles at the very start of the game.

Essentially, red lyrium eclipses institutional evils rather than highlighting them.

[empirearchives]

Napoleon and Water

Excerpt from the book Aaron Burr in Exile: A Pariah in Paris, 1810-1811, by Jane Merrill and John Endicott

Aaron Burr lived in Paris for 15 months, and this book goes into detail about those years living under Napoleon’s rule. This part focuses on Napoleon’s water related reforms.

———

Napoleon’s fountains gave drinking water to the population, that is, children drank water, not beer. The water was free, not purchased. And the apartment would have had a separate water closet equipped with squat toilets (adopted from the Turks) and a bucket to wash it after use. Some restaurants and cafes had W.C.s, even one for ladies and one for gents. These were hooked into the sewer system that branched under each important street.

Napoleon merits points for delivering fresh water to Paris. If serving Paris with water from the d'Ourcq River by canals was not be a consummate success, Paris gained 40 new fountains, and the emperor commanded that fountains run all day (instead of a few limited hours) and that the water be free of charge.

Perhaps the most laudable of Napoleon’s policies were utilitarian city works, especially bringing clean water and sanitation to Paris. The improvements to infrastructure included new quays to prevent floods, new gutters and pavement, new aqueducts and fountains, and relocating cemeteries and slaughterhouses to the outskirts of the city. This was also a way of keeping up employment. An Austrian aristocrat in town during Napoleon’s wedding to Marie-Louise wrote his mother, in Vienna: “Nothing can give an idea of the immense projects undertaken simultaneously in Paris. The incoherence of it is incredible; one cannot imagine that the life of a single man would be enough to finish them.”

It was a tall order. Previous rulers had been aware of the problems and one big engineering initiative, a failed marvel, had been the waterworks at Marly, located on the banks of the Seine about seven miles from Paris. Louis XIV had it constructed to pump water from the river to his chateaux of Versailles and Marly. This was the machine marvel of its age, with 250 pumps that forced river water up a 500-foot rise to an aqueduct, and it was a sight Burr mentions going to see. By 1817 the “Marly machine” had deteriorated because it was made of wood, and the waterworks were abandoned.

Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, the prominent 19th century literary critic, wrote that there had been “ten years of anarchy, sedition and laxity, during which no useful work had been undertaken, not a street had been cleaned, not a residence repaired nothing improved or cleansed.” Postrevolutionary Paris was at a nadir in terms of both the inadequate, disease-ridden water supply and the filthy streets, which were basically open sewers, deep with black mud and refuse.

“Napoleon,” writes Alistair Horne, “was obsessed by the water of Paris, and everything to do with it.”

Parisians had mostly been getting their water directly from the Seine or lining up at the scant pay fountains. In 1806, nineteen new wells for fountains were dug that flowed day and night and were free. Napoleon had a canal built 60 miles from the River Ourcq, ordering 500 men to dig it, while still a consul in 1801. It brought water to the Bassin de la Villette, opening in 1808. Some doubted the wisdom of having such an abundance of water—an oriental luxury that might incur moral decay. Now the supply of water for firefighting was also much improved. The canal had light boats, as Napoleon tried to make back some of the huge expenditure by licensing navigation, and a circular aqueduct from which underground conduits went to the central city. In 1810, there were still many water porters wheeling barrels through the city.

Now Napoleon attacked the problem of the Seine as a catchall for pollution. Parisians were so used to it that men swam naked in the river and a contemporary guidebook advised merely that the water of the Seine had no ill effects on foreigners so long as they drank it mixed with wine or a drop of vinegar. Thus houses on bridges were demolished and an immense push began to clean and modernize the city sewers.

As this book is about Aaron Burr, here is section about Burr taking inspiration by a new water related invention during his time in Paris:

Remarkably for someone who was very aware of his health, he never complained of the water. He did, however, take an interest in an invention to make it easier to dig a well. When the inventor of a process to make vinegar from the sap of any tree was not in his shop, Burr and a friend, “Crede”, went to see another invention: “We went then to see Mons. Cagniard, and his new invention of raising water and performing any mechanical operation. His apparatus is a screw of Archimedes turned the reverse, air, water, and quick silver. Cagniard was abroad; but we saw a model, and worked it, and got the report of a committee of the Institute on the subject. If the thing performs what is said I will apply it to give water to Charleston.”

[Bold italics for quotations by me]

[ina-shumelim]

Raging against the dying of the light: Chumbawamba don’t want to fade away

(Content note: HIV, suicide.)

I grew up with one Chumbawamba album that my mother had a self-burned copy of. It was not Tubthumper, but rather the calmer and much more melodious A Singsong and a Scrap (2005). Recorded by a much smaller Chumbawamba (Jude, Lou, Boff, and Neil) as half the band had left after the previous year’s Un to pursue their own projects, Singsong embraces a soft folk sound, foreshadowed already ten years prior on the Love-portion of Swingin’ with Raymond (1995). My favourite song on the album is By and By, an hommage to songwriter and labour activist Joe Hill (“don’t mourn, organise!”)—can you imagine a more beautiful epitaph?

Anyway, today yesterday I was listening to Fade Away (I Don’t Want to), on the same album. The title reminds me of Neil Young’s My My Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) (1979): “It’s better to burn out than to fade away”. In autumn 1980, John Lennon commented on this song as he understood it:

I hate it. It’s better to fade away like an old soldier than to burn out. If he was talking about burning out like Sid Vicious, forget it. I don't appreciate the worship of dead Sid Vicious or of dead James Dean or dead John Wayne. It’s the same thing. … If Neil Young admires that sentiment so much, why doesn’t he do it? Because he sure as hell faded away and came back many times, like all of us. No, thank you. I’ll take the living and the healthy.

This led Neil Young to clarify:

The rock’n’roll spirit is not survival. Of course the people who play rock’n’roll should survive. But the essence of the rock’n’roll spirit to me, is that it’s better to burn out really bright than to sort of decay off into infinity. Even though if you look at it in a mature way, you’ll think, “well, yes ... you should decay off into infinity, and keep going along”. Rock’n’roll doesn't look that far ahead. Rock’n’roll is right now.

When Kurt Cobain committed suicide in 1994, he left a note referencing this line: “I don’t have the passion anymore, and so remember, it’s better to burn out than to fade away.” I think it’s a line that reads very differently depending on what place you are in.

In 2005, Chumbawamba are in their forties. They’d tried to change the world with punk rock and had their time in the limelight, but to what avail? It must have been tiring:

It’s a mighty long way from my own front door To the world we were going to make We got bloodied and bruised for the old excuse That it’s hard just staying awake

It seems so easy to sit down in your rocking chair, remote control in hand, and turn to a Fine Career (The Boybands Have Won, 2008). And maybe that’s what their life looked like from the outside. In the liner notes to the song, they tell the story of meeting a 45-year old punk, like Chumbawamba at this point without spiky hair: “‘punk is here,’ (touches his heart) ‘I don’t need the clothes to prove it.’” This seems to have resonated with the band, now an uneasy listening folk act. But it is not the sound or the outward appearances that make the punk band: Chumbawamba have not surrendered their fight, they are still looking for a reason to kick and scream:

Wake me up if you catch me falling Gently into the Night Shine up my shoes ‘cos I can’t get used To the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas’s poem Do not go gentle into that good night (1951) describes the futile fight against death. Wise men, good men, wild men, grave men—when they feel death is near, they all “rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Even though for Chumbawamba the fight is not yet against death, the stakes are equally high: “Struggle! To struggle is to live, and the fiercer the struggle the intenser the life.” (Pyotr Kropotkin, Anarchist Morality, 1987).

I think it is worth noting that Do not go gentle inspired another of Chumbawamba’s songs: The closer of Anarchy (1994), Rage, is dedicated especially to the people behind Diseased Pariah News, a 1990s humorous zine by and for people who were HIV positive:

Hear the ghosts of everafter Yell of anger Ring of laughter Don’t go gently into the night Rage against the dying of the light.

[rajatwebsmileindia]

Indian Dog Breeds: A Complete Guide to Native & Desi Dogs

India is home to some of the most resilient and intelligent dog breeds, perfectly adapted to the country’s climate and environment. While many people opt for foreign breeds, Indian Dog Breeds are often healthier, low-maintenance, and highly loyal. In this guide, we’ll explore the best native Indian dog breeds, their unique traits, and why they make wonderful pets.

Why Choose an Indian Dog Breed?

Indian dog breeds have evolved to thrive in local conditions, making them an excellent choice for pet lovers. Here’s why they stand out:

Adaptability – They are naturally suited to India’s climate.

Low Maintenance – Require minimal grooming and care.

Strong Immunity – More resistant to diseases compared to foreign breeds.

Loyal & Intelligent – Known for their protective and affectionate nature.

Top Indian Dog Breeds You Should Know

1. Indian Pariah Dog

One of the oldest and purest breeds.

Highly intelligent, friendly, and low-maintenance.

Excellent guard dog and adaptable to various living conditions.

2. Rajapalayam

Originally bred as a hunting and guard dog.

Recognized by its striking white coat and muscular build.

Very loyal but requires early socialization.

3. Mudhol Hound

A fast and agile breed known for hunting skills.

Sleek and athletic, requiring regular exercise.

Highly intelligent and trainable.

4. Kombai (Indian Bear Hound)

A strong and fierce guardian dog.

Excellent for security purposes and highly protective.

Requires an experienced owner for training.

5. Gaddi Kutta (Himalayan Sheepdog)

A large breed native to the Himalayan region.

Excellent herding and guard dog with thick fur for cold climates.

Requires space and regular activity.

6. Chippiparai

A royal hunting breed from Tamil Nadu.

Slender, fast, and extremely loyal to its owner.

Ideal Dog for active families and spacious homes.

Care Tips for Indian Dog Breeds

Proper Diet: Feed a balanced, protein-rich diet suited to their energy levels.

Regular Exercise: Most Indian breeds are active and need daily walks and playtime.

Minimal Grooming: Short-coated breeds require occasional brushing, while long-coated ones need regular maintenance.

Veterinary Checkups: Though they have strong immunity, regular checkups ensure overall well-being.

Early Training & Socialization: Helps in developing a well-behaved and obedient pet.

Explore More on Creature Companion

For more insights on pet care, training tips, and Indian dog breeds, visit Creature Companion, your trusted source for pet-related news and expert advice.

By choosing an Indian dog breed, you not only get a loving companion but also support the preservation of these incredible native dogs.

[sayit3x]

Mrs. Bea Juice’s Journal #10

Our move to Neither-Florence was challenging to say the least. I stayed by Betelgeuse’s side for months as he mourned his old afterlife and came to terms with his new constraints. Even after he started to dust himself off and tried to re-engage with the Italian Neitherworld, few would acknowledge him at all. News of his “crime” against the Pope had spread faster than word of his ground-breaking body horror, and he'd become a ghostly pariah almost overnight. Apparently, loyalty to the Church still ran deep, even after death. 

So we decided to build his haunting reputation back up with jobs no one else would touch. Jobs that were too difficult, too cheap, or too risky. I often called him topside and helped drop fliers advertising his skill. But literacy was still a mixed bag, even in the highly-educated Florence, so word of mouth would have to do. Betel did everything he could and started working pro bono in exchange for his clients putting in a good word with anyone who would listen. It was a slow and grueling effort to even begin fixing what took minutes to break.

We were grateful to find distraction and relief in our little outings. Like Rome, Florence was still enjoying the height of the Italian Renaissance, so we had no shortage of artistic and scientific endeavors to experience. We visited the massive statue of David, enjoying the view from the ground before floating up into the air for a closer look. It was fascinating how different the proportions seemed up close compared to what could be seen from the ground. Another ingenious strategy from Michaelangelo. 

We often spied on the aging Leonardo da Vinci, marveling at how his little painting of a mysterious woman, wearing the most curious and entrancing smile, was progressing. His sketches and inventions were just as fascinating, and we often copied his script in the air, mirroring it so we could decipher his notes. Betel watched him with particular delight whenever the polymath snuck in body parts, or even whole cadavers, for necropsy in search of the soul. Oh, if Leonardo only knew two souls were often floating nearby, watching him work. We were honored to meet him when he finally crossed the veil in 1519, and Betel gushed like a devoted fan as they discussed the master’s anatomical studies.

We’d been under Firenze a little over a decade by the time Betel’s reputation started to recover. He was still taking pro bono jobs, but it wasn’t his only work, and other ghosts started actually making eye contact with him on occasion. It helped that Leo X had actually died in 1521 and the Pope who followed was a Dutchman, the last non-Italian Pope for over 450 years. And as much as we had hated to leave Rome, our departure to Florence was well timed. In 1527, during the War of the League of Cognac, Rome was sacked and another plague swiftly followed. Rome's population plunged with the atrocities of war, famine, disease, and mass exodus from the city. As one of the most populated cities in Europe, Florence was now the place to be, especially if you were a ghost struggling to repair their reputation. 

But the ongoing war made us anxious. You’d think war was good business for ghosts, but in fact, the opposite is true. A sudden influx of ghosts in a single city, especially those who died in war, typically causes infighting over resources and, worse, a drop in demand for hauntings against the living. No ghost cares about hauntings in the face of war and the devastation it brings. It became harder and harder for Betel to find any jobs, even pro bono ones, and we started talking as a family about leaving Neither-Italy entirely.

In 1528, that decision became easy. Betelgeuse and I had just returned to the Neitherworld after an evening topside, and hopped into a skeletal horse-drawn carriage, as we often did on our monthly outings. But the carriage took odd turns, passing his neighborhood entirely, and sped out of the city. Betel and I could have easily phased out of the carriage and escaped, but we were both very curious who was dumb enough to try and kidnap the most infamous ghost in all of Neither-Italy and his mother. So we patiently waited for the carriage to stop. When it did, the door swung open and we stepped out, finding ourselves in an open field surrounded by hundreds of burly ghosts who, no doubt, thought themselves dangerous. As we scanned the crowd, a man stepped out from behind his thugs and we were more than surprised to see the smug face of former Pope, Leo X. 

Apparently, the now-deceased Pope still had an axe to grind seven years after his death, and had spent all that time building a small army to ”handle” the ghost that had scared him so badly. As his goons rushed towards us, Betel stepped in front of me and cloned himself twenty times, each clone sprouting a dozen arms, all bearing swords and spears. I put my hand on my “true” son’s shoulder and chuckled.

“I appreciate your chivalry, mio figlio, but you’re thinking too linearly,” I said in his ear. 

“Now’s not the time for a lesson, Ma,” he retorted as he and his clones scowled at the rapidly approaching army, preparing for a fight.

“Actually, this is the perfect time, Betel.”

He raised an eyebrow at me as I walked past him and his clones. I snapped my fingers, and the field the army was charging through burst into tall flames. Their screams were immediate as they scurried in all directions trying to escape the fire. Another snap of my fingers and the earth tore open beneath them, swallowing most of them and the inferno, before closing up again. The dozens who escaped both the fire and the fissure began to flee, Leo X among them. I looked back at Betel, who was staring at me, wide eyed and slack jawed. He reabsorbed his clones and extra arms before joining me at my side to watch the cowards run.

“You've been holding out on me, Ma!” 

I raised a finger to my lips and grinned. “Don't tell your father.”

Betel grinned back. “I won't tell a soul.”

“Now that the lesson’s over, onto the test. How will you catch those rabbits?”

Betel thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. Black and white striped tentacles sprang from the earth and grabbed every single assailant, flinging them back towards us. The tentacles receded and sprang up again to catch the flying foes before slamming each of them repeatedly into the ground. The sound of their bodies being crushed into the earth over and over was less than appealing. I snapped my fingers again and a few instruments materialized in the air and began to play, drowning out the cacophony of screams, breaking bones, and splattering blood.

“Care to dance?” Betel asked as he offered his hand.

“Feels a little cruel under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

Betel shrugged. “C’mon, Ma. They can’t die again, and they’ll just end up in the waiting area at the guild hall anyway. Besides, why not have fun while you work?”

I smirked. “Fair enough.”

I took my son’s hand and we danced in the field as the tentacles punished what was left of Leo X’s army around us. When their screams finally went quiet, Betel’s tentacles dropped them into new fissures he tore into the ground and the earth swallowed them whole. Well, mostly whole. Our dance complete, it was time to head back. I snapped my fingers and a soft wisp of light danced around us, and we teleported back to Betel’s home.

“That light is a lovely detail, Ma,” Betel complimented. 

“Thank you, it’s my own personal touch. It’s just for show, but it makes me feel like I'm in a fairy circle being spirited away.”

“Huh. I might borrow that.”

“Please do!”

It was shortly thereafter that we packed up as a family and left Italy, heading north. Again, our move turned out to be a well-timed departure as the War of the League of Cognac brought a 10-month battle, later known as “The Siege of Florence,” to Firenze in 1529.

This journal dovetails into a fanfiction epic that I'm posting chapter by chapter every week here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63522586/chapters/162777649

[haleswallows]

A new High Chief, unknown and a mystery despite all attempts to gather information. A fearsome person. No knight or warrior or mage had been more than an inconvenience to Pariah Dark in battle. It raised only more questions who Phantom could be.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, third prince of Gotham, refuses to let the peace talks fail, even if that means sacrificing himself.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

High Chief Phantom freed the Infinite Lands from Pariah Dark’s tyrannical rule. He broke the thrall on the dragons, ended the war. But now a wasting disease plagues the dragons, and his people are suffering from the fallout of the War. Desperate for a solution, Phantom just wants peace.

Somehow, Danny Phantom gets more than he bargained for.

[moneeb0930]

Columbus died in 1505 at the age of 55. He was such a monster that the king and queen of Spain refused to invite him to the kingdom after his voyage to the Americas because of how evil he was during his financed expedition. Word spread fast about how he and his men raped and tortured and murdered the indigenous people in the Caribbean islands.

He became a pariah. He had to flee Genova (Italy) because he raped a 13 year old girl and hid in Spain, where he was broke and bedridden and finally died while his relatives shunned him from the public due to the unthinkable acts he did while at sea. When he died, he was never recognized as an explorer or discoverer of a new world. He was thought of as a “gross character with Gonorrhea, who butchered kids.”

Many Years later, when Settlers were colonizing North America, they needed a white hero to name as the person who discovered the land to justify their colonization and mistreatment of Native Americans. they randomly chose Christofo Colombo because his name had “Christ” in it, and to make it sound more European and Christian, they changed his name to Christopher Columbus, even though he never stepped foot on American soil. Then schools started teaching it. And the rest is history. But the truth is he never discovered anything. He was lost and ended up in a chain of islands. He thought he was in India. He massacred peaceful island civilizations. He murdered men, women, and kids. He tortured and raped. He brought new diseases to each island he invaded. Giving this monster a holiday is insane. We know better. And now we do better.

[dorkking]

K, I have to rant about a comic I just read.

So, Marvel has their What If....? Branding where they reimagine classic stories and characters in different ways.

"What If Spiderman saved Uncle Ben?" "What if Thor was Jane Foster?" Etc.

Well, after Disney acquired 20th Century Fox and gained the rights to the Alien franchise, they gave us this.

The premise here is "What If Burke had lived?"

Burke was the corporate bad guy of the first Alien sequel, Aliens. He wanted to get his hands on a Xenomorph to bring back to Weyland-Yutani, (the giant evil corporation of the Alien franchise) so they can make biological weapons with them.

Burke was played by actor Paul Reiser which is a coincidence because....

He's the writer of this comic.

An apparently, Paul has had a bug up his ass about being seen as just a corporate stooge and an all out bad guy because this was his attempt to redeem Burke and prove he wasn't such a bad guy after all.

Even mentions this fact on his official Instagram account

Interest piqued, I grabbed the trade paperback of this aaand.....

These are just some of the little things he did that are completely Irredeemable.

He brought an alien egg to his new home because he wants to somehow make a cure for his ill wife's unspecified space disease. Went through a list of his coworkers he could risk sacrificing to achieve his goal (but he can't do it) shows no remorse for Harold. And on top of that, he told his daughter her lungs would collapse if she left the asteroid they live on, and lied that her mom was dead.

All this ignoring the fact he brought back the Xenomorphs when most signs (he had an android go and find the egg he used for his experiment) had their population on the decline and that he got people killed because of this.

And he's "not a bad guy?"

Now granted, he's doing all this because Weyland-Yutani blamed Burke for the massive loss of life in Aliens making him a pariah.

You'd think this would be a dower toned book, with Burke reflecting on his actions and desperately trying to salvage his reputation, but the story treats the whole thing as an office comedy, featuring the Xenomorphs.

Reiser is listed as an actor/comedian online so comedy is fine, but given what he's doing, it feels disjointed from the seriousness the Xenomorphs usually required.

He's hunting the queen here.

Idk, with all the potential What If has, this just felt.....dumb.

Aight, rant over, you may return your attention to the facehugger sneaking up behind you.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Between a Rock & a Dragon's Egg

by haleswallows A new High Chief, unknown and a mystery despite all attempts to gather information. A fearsome person. No knight or warrior or mage had been more than an inconvenience to Pariah Dark in battle. It raised only more questions who Phantom could be. Timothy Drake-Wayne, third prince of Gotham, refuses to let the peace talks fail, even if that means sacrificing himself. ○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○ High Chief Phantom freed the Infinite Lands from Pariah Dark’s tyrannical rule. He broke the thrall on the dragons, ended the war. But now a wasting disease plagues the dragons, and his people are suffering from the fallout of the War. Desperate for a solution, Phantom just wants peace. Somehow, Danny Phantom gets more than he bargained for. Words: 6678, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Danny Phantom, DC Extended Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Tim Drake, Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Dan Phantom, Valerie Gray, Dorathea "Dora" (Danny Phantom), Fright Knight (Danny Phantom), Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Diana (Wonder Woman), J'onn J'onzz, Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Batfamily Members (DCU), Original Characters, Vlad Masters, a good smattering of characters from both DC and DP but not major idk there's lots of people in this Relationships: Tim Drake/Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton & Dan Phantom & Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Tim Drake & Valerie Gray Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Soul Bond, Arranged Marriage, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Political Marriage, Alternate Universe - No Powers, No Heroes, POV Multiple via https://ift.tt/p8qJ1ZV

[villain-in-love]

My s/is as specific lyrics from the songs I have in their playlists because I obviously have nothing better to do:

Fool!Katerina Kronion (The Arcana) – I Am Not A Woman I'm A God by Halsey

I am not a woman, I'm a god I am not a martyr, I'm a problem I am not a legend, I'm a fraud So keep your heart, 'cause I already got one

Real!Katerina Kronion (The Arcana) – Oh My Dear Lord by The Unlikely Candidates

Been a tyrant, been a pusher, pushing my disease Breaking bones and taking everything in front of me Priests and beggars looking up to heaven from their knees Is anyone listening?

Katharine Mortifera (Pandora Hearts) – Sirens by Bear Ghost

They say you oughta dance like no one's watching They're a telepathic chorus in my mind With their laser guided eyes Firing leers as sharp as knives A pariah gone awry Ah, just come find me!

Belial (Obey Me!) – The Devil is a Gentleman by Merci Raines

Might be the sharpest dressed on Sunday Sing the loudest in the choir But by the time she gets the Monday She's got her hands back in the fire

Katarina/Ramshackle Prefect (Twisted Wonderland) – Бесприданница by Dead Blonde

I will put on my new eyeliner, So I will be the prettiest one at the shootout (ah) I never go out without my favourite knife Do you really think that you can scare me? (Haha!)

Katrin Lester (Katekyo Hitman Reborn) – This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race by Fall Out Boy

I am an arms dealer, fitting you with Weapons in the form of words And I don't really care which side wins As long as the room keeps singing, that’s just a business I’m in

Zero (Nanbaka) – Сказка by IC3PEAK

I came from a scary russian fairy tale, I don’t care where you are from I’m not afraid of the daylight, there’s enough darkness anyway The world will give you anything you ask for, and then take it away when you least expect it I’m not playing your games, you’re going to die someday anyway

Human!Death/Katarina (Black Butler) – Undertaker by Nova Twins

Skull collector Forgive me, yeah, I can��do so much better I'm a victim of bad circumstances Can we make a deal 'Cause I'm all out of chances

The Death (Black Butler Multiverse) – Monster by Willyecho

I can be rude, be in a mood, I can be rotten I can be cruel, might act a fool, but never forgotten Creeping in the dark waiting for you… You won't like what you see

P.S. Pieces of lyrics from "Сказка" and "Бесприданница" are translated from russian by me.

P.P.S. Yes, I changed the pronouns in the quote from "The Devil is a Gentleman". Just because I can because this devil is a woman.

P.P.P.S. Since the instrumentals and vocals matter just as much as the lyrics, my playlists might not always contain the original versions of songs. "I Am Not A Woman I'm A God" suits Katerina much more when sung by Rain Paris, and for Zero I prefer slowed down version of "Сказка".

[never-was-has-been]

My added comment as an extended answer to Krister Sundelin's answer: ~

Krister. I agree with all the variations of “Leftist”. I also agree that Capitalism has been viewed, in the 20th century from multiple perspectives. My view is that Capitalism was essentially an economic approach that centered on localization of businesses, scattered around the United States in small town communities that functioned for the sake of those small communities in the mid 19th century, post Civil War. Big corporations were few & far between and there wasn’t a centralized stock market that drew the large & small businesses that decided to “incorporate”. Interestingly enough, J. D. Rockefeller was one of those few budding capitalists who mixed his devout, strict Christian Baptist beliefs with his desire to work for a company and keep the books. He blossomed and became a mini-giant in the Oil business during and after the Civil War. He gradually became adept at being an Oil company employee with simple financial genius management. By the time of the late 1880’s, Rockefeller had learned how to use the railroads to ship his Oil from Cleveland Ohio’s major Oil wells, to customers in Pennsylvania, New York and other larger communities. He was VERY shrewd and some said ruthless. But he became the symbol of successful corporate capitalism while others of his ilk were doing similar approaches to their growing corporate businesses. Obviously, Rockefeller was not the first capitalist to recognize the power that could be attained if one applied himself while being persistent and determined. But there was a dark side to Rockefeller that was mirrored in others like him. Even Teddy Roosevelt the Anti-Trust advocate, believed that Capitalism on the large scale aka Corporations, if regulated by the Govt, could function as a strong ‘nation builder’. He was a self described Progressive in his time. My point here is that Capitalism has always teetered on a thin path between evil and criminal, benefiting the few on a grand scale and morally acceptable and useful, benefiting the whole of the social structure. Even Organized Crime, if examined in terms of “business”, has elements within it that mirror the capitalists of the 19th & 20th centuries..albeit without the constant murdering of their rivals. And this is my point. Capitalism today in my view, is a highly volatile mixture of vice, crime, business acumen, greed, perseverance and determination to be numero uno, big monkey, King of the mountain, Godfather, Premier, President, or Dictator. Historically, it has grown to an unregulated monster in the early 20th century, then for a period of multiple depressions and two World Wars, was tamed with reasonable regulation until the 1980’s. Then it accelerated into a realm of deregulated disorganized “free market” corporate crime that was legitimized through legislation by the US House of Representatives, the Senate and most especially the rulings of the Supreme Court (the Citizen’s United decision 2009), that opened up MORE huge markets of “opportunities” for those willing to be ruthless…much like their 19th century predecessors aka J. D. Rockefeller. So anyone to the “Left” of that ideology, became pariahs and were pilloried, mocked and even arrested if their voices became too strong and influential. I’m reading the book “Titan: The Life of John D. Rockefeller, Sr.” I recommend this book as a resource to understand how Capitalism metastasized into the incurable disease that it is now, in my view.