#hispanic charade

[nightguide]

NOBODY TOLD U DIS: that one yt gorl having a desi life is your series of unfortunate racism (u knew dis gorl had some form of racial polarity to you cuz of the way she looked is you in the end (unbecoming of a white heart attack is you being greedy over 'sensitivity issues' is ur mom being a whoroscope for using you (u getting married an out of here)

Jean Paul Gautier Couture Spring 2022

U KNEW THE RACIAL BIAS IN THAT DEROGATORY HUNCH FACT OF NOTRE FART

DIS IS FROM THE SHAM'S AL MA-ARAF U RACIST PIGGGG. NOW I KNO MY FANBASE IS STRAIGHT AND UR GAY

SUN (U RACIST GERIATRIC PIG)

1H: PEOPLE TELL YOU THE TRUTH

WITHOUT ME: U DEAD WITH A THOUGHT

2H: SIGNS ARE EVIDENT WITH A SHIT TO GIVE (YOU KNEW)

WITHOUT ME: DIE TRYING OR JUST EAT WHATS LEFT OVER OF YOUR LASST RELATIONSHIP UR BLACKMAILING UR DESI FRIEND TO LIVE FOR (SHE GOT MORE HOPE THAN U WILL EVER DO)

3H: UR DELULU SOLUTIONS IS ACTUALLY REAL (WINK WINK)

WITHOUT ME: .... BLESS UR HUMBLE HOME (LIKE A HOTEL), I WONT BE STAYING HERE LONG *JUDGES IT LIKE A PRINCESS OF HOLLYWOOD TO U... THE RAT*

4H: OXYGEN. YOU BREATHE OXYGEN (YOU CAN BREATHE EASY NOW (THE VIBE)

WITHOUT ME: UR OKAY WITH BEING FORGOTTEN, OKAY. NOT MY PROBLEM, I JUST FORGOT YOU BY ALGORITHM IF YOU SEEN MY MESSAGE THIS WAY OR ELSE YOU WOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT (IN REAL LIFE... BY TOUCH.. INSTEAD OF YOU WHINING ABOUT WHINING CUZ U LIKE ME FOR THAT WHAT I DONT GOT (NAZAR LOGIC)

5H: YOU'RE UWU CUZ U CARE ABOUT WORLD PEACE AN IT SHOWS (U ON TV)

WITHOUT ME: I AIN'T YOU (VIBING WITH CELEBRITIES IS A REALITY AN IM GLAD I LEFT YOU BEHIND, BOOHOO NO 1 GONA MISS U)

6H: NEW TAYLOR SWIFT FAN (SHE HATES THOZZZEEEEE)

WITHOUT ME: EVERY OTHER MAN IS WHY YOU NEVER GOT (DOWRY AN UR FAMILY IS LIVING UNDERNEATH BENEFITS CUZ UR NET WORTH IS LIKE UR BO)

7H: YOU KNOW EVERYTHING (STAY KISSING OR PLAY THE PART: U IN THE TV HYPE TRAIN FRRRR)

WITHOUT ME: UR GRANNY DISSED U AN IT WAS PERSONAL

8H: DUBAI LUXE LIFE IS TRUTH (UR HEART IS THE VIBES NOW WHY YOU LIKE IT (U GOT A JOB AT LAST)

WITHOUT ME: UR HOME IS SHIT (PERSONALLY MY OPINION AN U AIN'T GONNA CHANGE CUZ HEART CHANGED ME TO WHY U THINK U OWNED MY LIFE NOW (CEE LO GREEN FARTED ON UR LUXURY DREAM LIFE ENERGY)

9H: UR MAN (NOTABLY WOMEN KNEW (ON A RUMOUR ALL THIS TIME) IS URS TO KEEP (WHY THE VILLAGE LIKED YOU)

WITHOUT ME: U STINK (STAY AWAY FROM MY SEX LIFE (UR TRUE SELF IS EXPOSED NOW THAT I KNOW A GUY/GIRL OF RELATIVE OF THE SAME DIMENSION OF THE REASON WHY I SHOULD LIVE LARGE OR THAT I LIVE WITHOUT YOU ENERGY)

10H: U KNEW WHY (THAT IS GONE)

WITHOUT ME: I AM ACTUALLY AT PEACE NOW (U LEAVE WHAT WAS LEFT OF ME CUZ U HAD A SIMILAR HEARTBREAK IN REALISING YOU LOST A FRIEND U KNEW FOR A LONG TIME CUZ OF THAT SAME ROLE YOU PLAYED TO UR FAMILY (HER RAW SELF) AN THEY DID NOT LIKE YOU IN WHY YOU WERE NEVER THERE FOR HER (SHE EITHER A) DISABLED AND MUTE BECAUSE SHE HAD A WAY IN TELLING YOU (ALL OF IT) AND YOU LAUGHED AT HER OWN LIFE FOR IT (LIKE HER OWN HOME CANNOT SUPPORT IT) AND U ROASTED HER GRANNY BY MOCKING HER ABILITY TO LIVE (SHE CANNOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT HER APPEARANCE WHICH IS WHY YOU OVERSHADOWED HER LIFE AS A MUSLIM WOMAN IN PRACTICE (U LIVE IN HER FEET NOW)

11H: YOU GOT TECH IN THE FORM OF THAT ONE RICH BESTIE WHO LOVES YOU FOR THE SAME REASON WHY SHE BECAME YOU (LONG LOST BFFL WHO IS THE REPLACEMENT ADDICTION ENERGY TO LIFE)

WITHOUT ME: I AM HANGING OUT WITH (THE REASON WHY YOU'RE NOT ME) AND I HATE YOU FOR IT (WHAT YOU FEEL ON THE INSIDE IS ME HATING YOU FOR THAT REASON)

12H: YOU AIN'T CRAZY NO MO', WHAT YOU KNOW IS YOU FOREVERMORE (LIKE FAME IS VIRTUE IN YOU BEING THAT BADDIE U ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE)

WITHOUT ME: DON'T READ MY INTERNET AFTER 'LYING' ON THE CAMERA FOR 'THAT ONE NIGHT' LIKE U NEVER HAPPENED, BE SCARED THAT U AIN'T FAMOUS FOR THAT *SKANK MOUTH U RAN THE ENTIRE TIME*

SO THIZZZ ZBICHZE (this bitch)

GLINDA: THOT FACE RUN THE COUNTRY (PAKISTANI GORL WHO IS ACTUALLY A WHITE GORL CARRYING A PAKISTANI FACE THE ENTIRE TIME IS WHY U HATED HER (SHE WAS U IN THE END)

ELPHABA: AUTISTIC GIANT WHO NOW IS THE METAPWHORE LIFE OF A WHITE GORL WHO IS A PAKISTANI GORL IN REAL LIFE (DUMB BLONDE AN SHE KILLED THE STEREOTYPE TO BE A BEAST OF THE BEAT THAT EVEN TAYLOR SWIFT LIKED HER FOR IT)

GLINDA ON ZI RED NAZI (RED CARPET)

SHE DON'T 8 IF SHE IS NOT A PAKISTANI GORL (LIKE THE HINT IS R9HT THERR)

MAKES KEANU REEVES LOOK LIKE A SLUTTTTT (HE FUCKS BULLETS, LIKE U CAN TELL CUZ THE ENERGY IS DISSING HIM R9HT BAK FOR THAT THOT SHIT CREATED THERE (PORNO FOR THE ABSENT MINDED DUMB-FUCZ)

GREEN IS THAT EVIDUHNT (SHE BEEN TO A DESI WEDDING 1 TIME, AN ITCHANGEDHERLIFE)

UR MOM IS A PIG AN I CAN TELL (ELPHABA DOES NOT EAT GELATINE)

SCHIZOPHRENIA MADONNA'S WHORE COMPLEX: SHAHADA HOW? (SHE LOOKI @ U)

THE GLARE: SHE CAN TELL WHAT UR DOIN BY UR OWN PHONE GEOMETRY (SHE TALKS LIKE SHE RAN ELPHABA'S CHILDHOOD BY THE DEAD BLACK DAD (U CAN TELL) MISERY BEING HER VIBING WITH TIANA (DISNEY PRINCESS) THAN U (SHE KNEW WHAT U UP 2) AN WILL SLUT SHAME BY THOT TALK (IN WHICH SHE CALLS 'HER SALAAM')

ENERGY HER FAMILY GIVES (SHE HAS NONE): SHE KNOWS A BITCH (ELPHABA POINTS OUT THE MUNCHKINS WHO DID HER DIRTY (DISHES NEED CLEANING IF U SELEB (CELEBRITY) ANAT

WHORE OVERALL (ELPHABA IS HER SLUT FRIEND FOR CONFIDENCE: SHE DON'T NEED NO' MAN TO NEED HER (ELPHABA KILLS THEM 4 IT): SHE MAKES U

SCHIZOPHRENIA HOLLYWOOD: 'AS LONG AS SHE (POOREST BFF NOW FAIMUS CUZOFTHAT (INTERNET HISTORY FOR WATTPAD WRITERS TO OOGLE OVER HER (HER CRUSHES NOW BEST FRIENDS) IS EVERYWHERE (ACTUALLY RUNS HOLLYWOOD LIKE A PRIMARY SCHOOL CLASSROOM,) NOBODY EVER GETS TO IUSE THE HOOVER EXCEPT ME (THE FUNNEST PART ABOUT BEING A 'TEACHER MOLE' TURNED PRESIDENT) I DECLAIRH THE RULES AND ITS FAC (SHE GOT IT ALL AN I AM HERE FOR IT: PERSONALLY READ THAT FOR HERSELF TO 'MOVE ON' LIKE SHE OWNED THE TITANIC MISANDRY)

SHUTHAFAKAP (ELPHABA IN REAL LIFE)

*GLARES IN POOREST ONE OF ALL*

*STAMPEDE FROM LION KING ENERGY* U SCARED FOR LYF (AN THAT PHILOSOPHY STIKS FOREVER (DAD SHAMED)

SCHIZOPHRENIA HATE: U DON FOR (SHE GODFATHER WITH JLO'S AMP AN GOT NO SHIZTS TO GIV (SHE AIN'T THERE NO MORE BUT U: HUNGER GAMES NOW)

SLUT (U GOT IT)

BITCH (U HAD IT)

*BABY COOS OVER THE WORLD OF A FALLEN FRIEND WITHOUT A HEARTBROKEN FELT TIP FOR A LAST STAND MOMENT (BOTH UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER NOW THAN THEN (FORGIVEN LIKE IT SHUD B)

[automatismoateo]

I was told by management they can't do anything to help when Muslim men are sexist towards me cause we gotta respect their religion. via /r/atheism

I was told by management they can't do anything to help when Muslim men are sexist towards me cause we gotta respect their religion. Exactly what the title said. I'm a floor supervisor. My job is to make sure people are working and everything is running smoothly. Well, I've been yelled at, dismissed and ignored by the vast majority of Muslim men working under me. One of them screamed at me that cleaning dishes is a woman's job and beneath him. I had my employees rotating for the dishes, it was his turn. I'm trying to be fair. Most of them don't speak english either. Which is another problem. I'm basically doing charades to explain things to them. My GM is also Muslim so he doesn'tcare at all. I'm a Hispanic woman btw. So suffice to say when HR told me it was a cultural/religious believe and I needed to be patient. I'M TRYING TO RUN A DAMN BUFFET! It's not fair to make the women and non Muslims do all the jobs they, as men, refuse to do. Why did they apply to be janitors, to then refuse to clean bathrooms. This is insane. How am I supposed to do my job then?? I know we have to respect people's religion, I'm an atheist (raised chatolic) and I do my best but this is ridiculous. Not to mention they all want to pray at the same time too. Leaving the floor mostly empty cause the GM hired a lot of them too. I've had so many panic attacks when I get home due to stress. Idk what to do anymore. Submitted October 02, 2023 at 07:10PM by BoredWitchCatD (From Reddit https://ift.tt/YTUiN30)

[lieutenantbiscute]

So as kids are developing they start learning things like object permanence

So basically what I’m getting at is there’s a small window of time where Leon knows Spanish but he doesn’t know no one else can understand him

So he’d be speaking Spanish and everyone would be playing charades or looking up a translator and he’s just saying some basic phrase or word

Example “Manzana?” -que frantic googling- “Oh he wants an apple” (Spanish is so fun)

YES he’s speaking Spanish at a higher level than a kid should and it’s charades for a while in the lair.

It’s a HC of mine that 12 Casey is Hispanic so he helps Leon and becomes the turtles translators when he’s going through the faze. Speaking with Leon in Spanish when he goes from English to Spanish in the middle of a sentence—

Uncle Casey needed to freshen up on his Spanish so this is a welcome turn of events for both the kid and uncle! Later on Leon gossips commonly with Casey in Spanish just to mess with his family.

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

NOÉMI GONZÁLEZ AND STEPHEN HUSZAR STAR IN ‘UNDERCOVER HOLIDAY,’ A NEW, ORIGINAL MOVIE PREMIERING DECEMBER 4, ON HALLMARK CHANNEL

Part of the Network’s Annual Countdown to Christmas Programming Event

STUDIO CITY, CA – November 28, 2022 – Noémi González (“This Fool,” “The Valet”) and Stephen Huszar (“Chesapeake Shores,” “Tribal”) star in “Undercover Holiday,” a new, original movie premiering Sunday, December 4 (8 p.m. ET/PT), on Hallmark Channel as part of the network’s annual “Countdown to Christmas” programming event.

Pop star Jaylen Rodriguez (González) has recently catapulted to stardom and is about to headline her first tour, but before she does, she’s going back home for a REAL, traditional Rodriguez family Christmas. However, when she starts receiving concerning fan mail from a “secret admirer,” her team insists that she hire round-the-clock security for her trip home. Security guards and overzealous fans are everything her family was concerned about when she set off to make it in the music business, but this is her new reality, so she relents. However, not wanting to worry her fun, tight-knit family, specifically her beloved abuela (Gabriella Reynoso, “Blockbuster”), she pretends her security guard Matt (Huszar), a former Navy SEAL, is her boyfriend. The family is delighted that Jaylen is dating and welcomes him with open arms. Meanwhile, Jaylen finds Matt’s presence invasive. As they do their best to maintain the charade, they continually butt heads. She wants to relive the hometown Christmases of her youth and he struggles to protect her in potentially vulnerable situations. As the holiday progresses, Jaylen and Matt begin to soften to each other and bond over their shared secret, as he embraces her large, Hispanic family’s wonderful Christmas traditions. Matt’s protection takes on a whole new meaning and the line between bodyguard and boyfriend becomes blurred as their lives are changed forever.

“Undercover Holiday” is from CineFlix Productions. Jeffery Vanderwal and Sherri Rufh are executive producers. Bradley Walsh directed from a script by Nina Weinman.

[resonating-kitty]

Pairing: Sir Billiam III/Butler

(Set many many years after the TFTSMP. Butler is over the age of 18.)

Also staring an OC that I've made up to go along with the storyline. Betty is awesome. We stan Betty, the Hispanic elderly housekeeper of the Billiam Manor.

-

The classical music flowed smoothly from the record player that was set up off to the side. Its melody filled the fairly large room. An elderly woman sat behind the bar, a small smile on her lips. She watched the two individuals in the room as they slowly approached once another. They did not know she had came in through one of the secret entrances and neither had spotted her yet.

One of the individuals was the lord of the manor, Sir Billiam III, and the other was the orphaned child, now all grown up, that was brought in many years ago. His name was Butler. The two had been practicing various types of classical dances all evening.

She watched eagerly.

Billiam and Butler came together. Billiam reached up with his right hand, Butler with his left. Their fingers intertwined as Butler's hand fell to Billiam's left shoulder and Billiam's hand came to rest against Butler's right shoulder blade. They shared a look and then they were moving. Billiam's left foot forward, Butler's right foot back. They slid then it was Billiam's turn to step back and Butler to step forward.

They repeated the motion several times, Billiam's head falling forward and his lips moved as he spoke. His words did not reach the bar but from the look of relief on Butler's face and the color dotting his cheeks, the words spoken were of praise. Billiam pulled back enough so they could lock eyes again.

They repeated the steps before, with Billiam leading and guiding them. They moved around the room, moving in rhythm with the music that still played. They were a sight, the elderly woman had to admit, two pieces of the same puzzle that fit perfectly together.

They moved around the room and it's not until they are nearly upon the bar that she is spotted. It's Butler who catches sight of her and his reaction is priceless. A gasp falls from his lips and his dark eyes grew comically wide. Immediately he drops his hands from the lord's person and he steps away, looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights and readying to flee.

Sir Billiam whirled, fixing the bar with a look so murderous that had the woman been anyone else, she might've felt true fear, instead she offered him a toothless grin.

"Betty!" Billiam growled, though there was no heat behind his words. His glare remained, though less thunderous than before. "How many times have I told you not to sneak around the manor?"

"Getting close to two hundred, I'm sure Senor Billiam," Betty's cheeky reply drew only a slightly annoyed sigh from the lord. Her eyes slid to Butler, who was standing quietly to the side. His gaze had fell to the floor and his head hung, hiding his face. The only betrayal of his nerves were the fiddling of his fingers from his folded hands.

"There is no need for that dear child," Betty soothed, her voice kind and gentle, losing the teasing edge it had when she spoke to Billiam. "I am well aware of your arrangement with Senor Billiam."

"Betty," The warning was clear in Billiam's voice even as Butler's ears grew pink and he tentatively looked up through his bangs.

"Oh come now Senor," Betty huffed, "The whole manor knows. There is no need to keep up this charade."

Billiam sighed again but he did not say anything. He knew she was telling the truth. She would never lie to him, he knew. Instead he stepped toward Butler, gently putting a finger under the younger man's chin and coaxed him to lift his head. Butler hesitated only slightly before he lifted his head, his cheek dusted pink with how hard he was blushing, whether from embarrassment or something else.

"Come now Butler," Billiam muttered softly, "we must practice for just a while longer. The party is in just a few days time and you need to be able to at least pass for rich and snooty."

"Wouldn't it be easier to teach him about tax fraud instead of waltzing?" Betty asked, curiously. The rich were fairly stupid and Butler, with his charm, could easily sooth their suspicions.

"Those lessons come later, tonight." Billiam's tone drops, the sentence seemed to be loaded with a hidden promise. One that Betty did not want to hear more of.

"Well this seems like the perfectly good time for me to retire for the night," Betty announces, ignoring the smirk on Billiam's face, knowing that he said that on purpose. To Billiam she bid, "Good night senor!" and to Butler she gave a half sympathetic, half serious, "It does seem like a good night is in your future as well dear. Wouldn't worry too much about the waltzing, you were doing well." With her words spoken, Betty quickly exited the room, Butler's embarrassed whine and Billiam's laugh following her.

[languagelemon]

Random Spanish Vocab

From ELITE Seaon 2 on Netflix (pq tengo un problema) + some edits

~Verbs~

Aguantar (la respiración) - to hold (your breath)

Ahogarse - to drown

Apetecerse/tener ganas - to want to, feel like

Aterrizar (un avión) - land (a plane)

Cabrearse (sym: enojarse) - to get pissed/to get upset

Desmayarse - faint

Enganar - to fool

Enterarse - to find out

Equivocarse - make a mistake

Espantar/ahuyentar - to scare/drive away

Fingir - pretend

Fumar - to smoke

Huyar/Huír - run away

Intentar/tratar - to try

Ligar - to flirt

Molar - to like

Percatarse - to realise

Pillar - catch

Pirarse - to “head out”

Placticar - to chat

Rajar - to crack/give in

Retrasar - to postpone, delay

~Sayings/Frasal Things~

Al dejar - while, when leaving

Se Acabó - it’s over/done

Tipo, - “like” and also “guy” or “dude”

Aléjate - stay away

Que pedo - what the fuck (light)

Te/le juro (a dios) - I swear (to you/ to god)

Llevas pasta? - you got cash?

Gajes del oficio - comes with the territory

Me lo imaginaba - Just like I thought

Enhorabuena - congrats

Asi que no te salpica - so it doesnt catch you too

Crees que me engañas? - you think you’re fooling me?

Que chevere (not spain but still cool) - cool!

Guay (spain) - cool!

Que mono - how cute

Me piro - i’m leaving

Que mas da? - who cares?

No me marees - don’t play with me

Tampoco es para tanto - not a big deal

A lo tonto -  before I knew it

Me Flipa(n)- cool!

~Adjectives~

Maldito - damn (adj)

Enlacado - linked (adj)

Cachondo - horny (adj)

Deprimente - depressing (adj)

Deprimido - depressed (adj)

Mojo/a - good looking (adj)

Pijo/a - snobby (adj)

~ Some Nouns ~

Guiri - hispanic word for “gringo” (n.)

Farsa - charade (n.)

Rollito - role/fling (n.)

Curo - job (n.)

Buzón - mailbox (n.)

:)

[xcharmedxheirsx]

@xhelenaxleblancx​

“Can both be an option?” Question was asked with COMPLETE SINCERITY. Though she had no honest to God idea why she was even ENTERTAINING this stupid question. Maybe she was just fucking TIRED OF IT ALL. Her entire life had been a CHARADE. And now it was killing the ONE TRUE FRIENDSHIP she had ever had. She could still be a bitch WHILST being genuine... RIGHT? “I’m not as fucking stupid as her PUTA. I know that if Lilah says she loves Helena then Helena would NEVER choose against that.” Head tipped to the right, tongue running along her gums. “Eh. But then again, At least I can UNDERSTAND & ACCEPT the reasoning behind that. She’s her SISTER. And they’ve been through HELL.” Pause. “So I guess I’m more jealous of Alex. Cause I don’t understand for a fucking SECOND what Helena sees in the STUPID HISPANIC CUNT.” Apparently she COULD still be a bitch while being genuine.

                                                                                              GOOD.

[mindlesslysad]

Depression

my mental illness and how it affects me

Its been said depression is when you worry to much about the past, also said that anxiety is when you worry about to much about the future. My depression goes all the way back to middle school. Not being able to make friends easily, got bullied and was really just  socially awkward. I was that weird kid dressed in all black listening to heavy metal. Not to mention I’m Hispanic, just a weird look over all you know. I was really insecure about my teeth (I had braces at the time) and about my weight, but reflecting on that now, I was pretty skinny. Society painted this picture of how I was suppose to look, well women in general, living in the years of when social media really started to took off, and the amounts of likes you got on your photos determined your popularity. Meaning my popularity level was a strong 0. Since I did get bullied I had a sharp tongue, learning that if I said something as disgusting and as rude back, that they would shut up, but you cant fight fire with fire. Making me, you guessed it, not just unpopular, but and unpopular bitch. As I aged i’ve simply learned to just not say anything at all, not wanting to give others the wrong impression of me and all that fun stuff. My insecurities only grew. I started cutting, wanting to take this empty feeling in my chest away. I couldn’t tell my parents, because you know, TEEN ANGST. I was alone and desperate for any kind of attention, finally reaching high school where things only grew worse. Finding myself in the midst of a bad crowd, skipping school and smoking weed because maybe this is where I belonged. A bunch of nobodies with a nobody. That only made my situation worse with  my parents finding out and their trust in me crumbling. Around this time they were arguing, but I couldn’t help but feel as if it was my fault. If their daughter wasn’t in such shambles maybe they would have time to focus on their marriage. Their announcement of the divorce really crushed me. Only knowing my parents when they are together, and then never seeing them together ,till this day breaks my heart. Thinking about those fun days at the beach, playing in the sand and going out to eat at our favorite boardwalk restaurant, thats never going to happen again. I couldn't tell anyone, mostly because I didn’t have anyone to confide in. At this point I’ve attempted to take my life a few times, but obviously it hadn't worked. The emptiness in my chest only grew, reflecting on my grades and finding any distraction. I did graduate late from high school, and I’ve always had a job, first because it was my only escape. I’ve had plenty of successes since high school, still haven't got any friends but I had a loving boyfriend who quiet didn't understand what I was going through, an amazing and caring mother, a father who I knew loved me, a big nosed brother who I couldn't live without, and a great paying job with and amazing position. So, if I had all these great things, why wasn’t I content? A roof over my head, food on the time and money coming in, what was the problem. It’s just me, thinking I should've done this, then maybe this would've happened. SHOULD’VE, COULD’VE, WOULD’VE. Stuck in the endless torment of reliving my past in my head , and if not that, stressing about my future, if I work this many hours, i’ll have money for this, but if I dont do this, then this, this and that wont get done, to were I spiral and lose my fucking mind. Carrying this mental illness with me, with no help or guidance, has been eating away at me. July of this year I’ve self harmed more times then I could remember, called the suicide hotline so I could give myself a reason NOT to do it, but always in my head.. “JUST END IT NOW, YOU ARE A BURDEN, YOU DONT DESERVE THIS LIFE, YOU ARE WORTHLESS, KILL YOURSELF NOW.” but in all honestly I was a too much of a pussy. I wanted to and I’ve thought of how I’d do it but then I would think about my darling mother, seeing me like that. I know it would destroy  her. I spoke up to her about how I was feeling and then she pushed me to talking to a therapist and so I did, and then got hospitalized. In there I did nothing but think, think and think. I’ve only spiraled into a bigger hole, that emptiness in my chest grew and my body was a hallow shell. Getting out was the  hard part because the people in there made me feel normal and I’ve never been able to feel that. Till this day my insecurities stop me from living a life I wish I knew how, my teeth, my curly hair, my weight, and my awkwardness. I tend to make a lot of jokes, lots and lots of jokes, not to pull on my own leg but I’m pretty fucking funny. Making fun of myself before anyone else has the chance to and making others laugh gave me a feeling of “okay i’m doing this right”.. I don’t know who I am. When I’m alone, like, I get into this default mode, where I do nothing but daydream of how my life would be if I was a total fuck up. I conform to like things that others like because I don’t know what I like personally. I don’t have the mental capacity to even begin to go on a journey of self discovery. Do you have any idea how much I struggle to even get out of bed, and think about my day and things I have to do, it wears me out. It drains me, it destroys me, and I don’t want to leave. I push myself though, even though I’m supposed to be taking it slow and go one day at a time with new accomplishments, I go fucking hard. It only makes me feel more out of tune with myself and my placement on this earth. The anxiety has been creeping on me more and more everyday, the thought of having to smile and actually socialize with my coworkers, or people in general, makes my heart race and makes my stomach do summer saults. I have been putting a forceful smile on my face, and pretending like I’m fine and annihilate my being with overwhelming stress for YEARS. Once I came out of the hospital,  I’ve still been trying to put that charade on, I don’ t find anything amusing, I don’t want to smile, I don’t want to laugh, and I don’t want to socialize, BUT a normal human would. My medication has been making it all a little worse, as if it could get worse, right? They say eventually it will get better, eventually I’ll stop feeling like this, eventually my life would all fall into place. I’ve been saying that to myself for as long as I could remember. What does eventually even mean, what is “better”? I haven’t felt happy in a really long time, I haven’t looked in the mirror and thought “wow I really am pretty” in YEARS. Trapped in a prison of my suffocating thoughts and sorrows. A cycle of self affirmation and suicidal thoughts. 

[midnightstan]

Can I ask you for some advice? I'm queer and I just don't know if I should come out or something, it hasn't really been a problem because I've not really thought it through that much. But recently, I started having feelings for this person's of my same gender and I dunno what to do. My family is very religious and conservative and I really want to ask someone for advice. I really hope I'm not emotionally dumping on you.

ok. first of all. i am very sorry that i haven't answered this sooner. second of all, you might not love my answer and it’s kinda all over the place but it’s the most honest one i can give you.

truly and honestly, you do not ever have to come out to anyone no matter how much you might feel like you might “owe” them this information. there are a couple things in life that are completely and truly yours. and that’s the right to your identity. this part of your identity is so vulnerable and beautiful and yours and you decide who gets to have it and who doesn't. 

the upside of the closet is the security. if you’re in it, you can shield yourself from a specific kind of targeted attack. you’re not immune to queerphobic people but you do get to avoid specific attacks.

the downside of being in the closet is that it feels like you’re undercover for a great majority of the time where you can’t keep up with what lies you’ve told.

if you live in a conservative and religious family then that means that sunday sucks ass and any time personal life topics are brought up it's like you have to disarm a bomb before anyone realizes there is one to begin with. 

that is the general closet-ness. if you are interested in a serious same-sex/same-gender relationship, it is different and a lot harder. all of a sudden you have to come up with excuses as to why you and your “friend” are so close and why you want to hang out with them by yourself (i usually hang out with people in a group setting) and why you give each other so many gifts. 

the hardest part of being in the closet while in a queer relationship is knowing the other person deserves better. my partner has to deal with my utter bullshit of having to drop our hands and having to act pretty disinterested in each other when family members or maybe some conservative authority figures are around. my partner does deserve better than this, especially since they are out to their family and the only reason we keep up the charade is for my family.

but i made my decision.

i know what i need to survive. i know that my family will not know for a really long time. the reasons for this choice are personal but i don't mind sharing them with you to help you make a decision.

my culture, specifically being Hispanic/Venezuelan, are very, very important to me. like enough that it's in my bio. i have no friends that are Venezuelan and in my age group. that means that the only tie to my culture is through my family. but, Venezuela being an extremely catholic/generally religious country, i know that my parents would never look at me the same. they're great people, but my parents are probably gonna vote trump 2020. so sucks, right? 

the moment i acknowledge my gay, queer identity is the same one where i have to acknowledge the loss of my Venezuelan connection. it will be an irreversible decision and the day that i make it will be the hardest day of my life. it will be years, maybe a decade, who knows, before I can have both my identities under the same sun to everyone that matters.

so i’m making the decision right now to survive by staying in the closet. 

because that’s exactly what the closet is for. 

to keep you safe until you’re ready to leave. if you decide to never come out, that’s your choice and you do what you need to do to survive. i do recommend that you tell someone. better yet if they are queer themselves, they will be better able to empathize and might be able to give you advice. being able to talk to someone and have that one person that you know still cares about you? life-saving and life-changing.

i’m out to a lot of people. pretty much everyone who isn't an authority figure or blood relative or anyone that might tell my family (ex. my parent’s neighbors) knows. i can hold my partners hand and talk to my best friend about how nice their hair looks and it’s really one of the best things i’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. 

there are so many good things that come with your queer identity. i promise. but do not tell people because you think you have to. 

did you know people originally “came out” not to straight people, but to other queer people? and that it was just a party of people welcoming this person into our community? and that the modern idea of “coming out” is an extremely western idea and something that has only recently seeped into other cultures? yeah. 

so what am I saying with all of this. that it's great to be gay but always be afraid? no. what i’m saying is ask yourself these questions

will I be safe?

am I coming out for myself and under no pressure from others?

will this make me happier/more comfortable?

if the answer to one of these is “no” reconsider why you want to come out. 

and if you answer “yes” to all three of these but you’re still terrified, try coming out to your best friend first. the first time you tell someone is always the hardest. after that it gets easier. pinky promise.

so be safe. and be happy :)

[firemama]

i like watching xiaomanyc on youtube because im so fucking fascinated not only by other cultures but just generally other languages, and also how fucking FLEXIBLE he i with his own language learning?

(Like, I have been learning spanish for 5 years and have been constantly immersed in various spanish groups here in florida and yet i fucking struggle to retain almost anything despite formal lessons and learning and losing so many words that all my knowledge is at this point unbearably vague now. so it shakes me to my core that this guy can take a couple weeks and be loosely conversational in the tamil language which is notoriously difficult for learners and can just swap up multiple chinese language variants at the drop of a hat)

but anyway the thing i wanted to mumble about is how sureal it is to watch these videos, because you see this guy speak to someone in Fujianese and that person is thrilled, or how sweet someone is about how he can adjust his accent OR just kinda likes his naturally formed one (from having switched around so many lanaguages). Like, he goes to indian resteraunts with his couple-weeks-old language skills and i presume hes not perfect or amazing but they are none the less so delighted so see him trying and testing new words he hears them use.

And english just...... is not fucking like that. If you’re learning english you will run into the meanest, nastiest people. Even if your english is good, but you have a persistent accent, there are fucking trash-ass-people who will snear about that, as if this person isnt LEARNING or HAS LEARNED a completely different means of communication.

Again, my language learning skills are fucking atrocious, and despite years trying to learn sign or spanish, i am fucking awful. But i remember being a kid in tiny orange grove town where roughly 90% of the population was almost strictly hispanic and all the kids i knew from my own town were still 3 out of 5 on the fluency scale. Those kids i knew who were going to the same school would stop dead in sentences after realizing they didnt know a word and would rather be caught dead than mispeaking around some of the fucking freaks in out classes who would raise hell about ‘speaking english in america’ or that one fucked up math teacher i had in 7th grade that would send students to detention for speaking to eachother in spanish or vietnamese (which was really common in a small area of town).

My language skills have always been shoty (even with english at times, which is arguably my first language) and i definitely could not be a comprensive translator for my friends who were struggling in spanish, but i vaugely remember being the go-to for a small group of kids who desperately needed to slueth out a word they couldnt remember / needed to learn because I was the only kid in our general group that would tolerate the game of charades it took to find out who needed to know what and offer an english word. Lord help them if they needed to know how to write it, because my writing and spelling to this day in english are still awful.

And like... it fucking sucks? it fucking SUCKS that, firstly, I was the only kid they could ask- heavens help someone asking a fucking TEACHER to teach them for fear of mistreatment. But also it sucks that they had to rely on ME at all, because communication let alone language is not my fortei, ive learned more words from reading than ive spoken or heard from other humans in my own fucking native tongue. It’s depressing as hell that kids had to rely on someone who’s gone to speach and language therapy to learn parts of a language just because English speakers have this bizarre cultural disgust with nonfluency and we dont teach our fucking kids how to learn languages, or any languages at all- not even our own fucking english american sign language which is ARGUABLY just the same language spoken another way!

Summary: SHUT THE FUCK UP, top scowling at people who arent fluent, and teach kids about languages. And if your a teacher: ill fucking KILL YOU if you discourage kids to stop speaking their natural tongue or to speak the language YOU want them to.

[fallenhero-rebirth]

200 subscribers! (actually 208)

I’ve pondered long and hard what to do, and came to the realization that I did not have time to write anything since I am right now working on book two. But, I wanted to give you a bit of fun, so I went back through my archives and found some outtakes. You remember when I said that Fallen Hero was originally meant to be a novel? Well, I thought I’d share some scenes from there that hasn’t made it into the game (yet). Be warned, this is from 2011, first person, Cyrus and Yasmin, a male Ortega and Dr. Mortus (not Mortum) and in no way canon anymore. Also a lot more swearing.

Snippets under the cut:

1: Yasmin runs into problems (cut from book one)

I am insane. It’s not the first time I have thought that in the last year, and it will probably not be the last. How did I ever imagine that I could pull this off? My mind is fire and ice as I face the gun aimed at my face, but Yasmin’s lips simply curls in a smile. “This is a mistake” I assure the gun, and the masked man behind it, my voice a honeyed mumble.

“No mistake bitch” the man with the gun replies, a faceless goon with high-tech weapons that rings bells I can’t quite make sense of. In Yasmin’s body I can’t read thoughts, only the body language of a man that really doesn’t care whether I live or die. “Word has it that you were the one that made off with the Aipherion, and I’ve been hired to retrieve it.”

The gun beckons, and I take a step towards it, flirts with death and pain as I let my eyes widen a little, confusion vying with worry on my face. “I had nothing to do with that” I lie, because stealing from heroes was one thing, but the mystical gem called the Aipherion had belonged to Lord Modius, and one did not play games with him. Who had talked? Dr Mortus? It seems unlikely, if he had I would be dead already and the gem returned to its owner.

“I am sad to hear that” the goon replies, the gun never wavering from my face. It’s large, imposing, and like all guns overtly phallic. “Because my sources all point to you being involved.”

I am growing annoyed at the presence of the gun by now, so I do the only thing I can. I take a step forward and lick the tip of it, whispering into the barrel “Listen, I don’t know what magic eightball you’ve shook to have my name come up, but you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m a tech-girl; the mystical is wasted on me.” As if to prove the point I wrap my lips around the barrel and is rewarded with a shiver I can feel through my lips. I pull my head away, glistening strands of saliva still connecting me to his weapon. My smile has turned sensual, as I slide my tongue down the gun, softly stepping even closer as I nudge the weapon to the side. Sucker.

“My sources…” he starts, voice distracted, and this is the chance I need. The gun was aimed past my head now, not at it, and I move fast as a rattler as I grab his hand and punch his elbow hard enough to almost dislocate it. His words turn to a scream and the gun drops from dead fingers.

“Fuck your sources” I swear, driving my fist into his stomach as hard as I can, but he’s a big man and well armoured, and doesn’t fold like I want him to. Damn. This could be bad.

“Bitch” he growls, left hand snatching out and grabbing my hair. I should have seen that coming, but I’m not Sidestep now, I’m Yasmin. I can’t see what people will do; I am no longer three steps ahead. I am caught, and he has longer reach and is stronger than me. I am fucked. He knows it. I know it. His knee catches me in the stomach and I fold, gasping for air. “You will pay for that” he snaps, and I don’t doubt his word.

“Wait” I manage to get out before his next kick drives what air remains from my lungs. I curl up on the ground, trying to protect my face. But he leans in and traps me against the ground with a knee, slaps my face a few times hard enough to make my ears ring. He doesn’t even take fighting me seriously, and the shame of that makes my cheeks burn from embarrassment as much as pain. I feel more helpless than I’ve felt since the farm, and I want to run and hide, withdraw and leave an empty doll for him to play with. But if I do, I can’t be sure if I would find my way back to her. I would have to give up two years of plans so very close to fruition. I need her, I need my Yasmin.

“Did you have anything to say to me?” He has me pinned down now, captured beneath his weight. I don’t need my telepathy to see that he is enjoying this. That he is enjoying my swollen lip and tearful eyes. He has me now, and he knows it, his gloved left hand caressing my bruised cheek.

“I’m telling the truth” I sob, deciding to play up the fear if I can’t escape it. “I don’t have it. But I can find out. People tell me things…” it is my final gamble, to play the girl to the end. To not be important, to be pretty and smart, but never dangerous. I was not the threat; I was a norm, a tool, like his gun. A sexy girl employed by somebody, just like he was. I did not know now, but I could find out.

“I’m sorry hon, that just ain’t good enough.” He backhands me again, and I taste blood and metal as bright spots distort my vision. “Can’t take the chance of you running off to Dr Mortus for help. I don’t care what the pair of you is cooking up together, but my instructions were clear.” He reaches down and grabs my dress, my breasts spilling out as the fabric rips in his hand. The sight distracts him momentarily, and I know I won’t get another shot at this.

I yelp and move up an arm to shield my nakedness, but the moment he reaches out to grab my wrist I lash out with my other arm and jab a piece of broken bottle into the side of his thigh. It doesn’t penetrate deeply through the coveralls, but it makes him shift his weight enough for me to crawl away as he struggles to pull it out. I crawl fast, on knees and elbows with the tattered remains of my Ungaro around my waist. I don’t get far before I feel his hand around my ankle, pulling me back. I didn’t get far, but I got far enough and oh God how I enjoy the look of terrified surprise on his face when I roll over on my back and shove the gun he dropped back in his mouth. I know I should say something witty in the line of ‘suck on this’ if I want to have a future in this profession, but my hands are shaking with rage so I simply pull the trigger and nearly deafen myself at the roar the gun makes in the narrow alley. Idiot. He didn’t even have a silencer.

I lay there on the ground, his bleeding corpse draped over me, ruptured head leaking brains over the remains of my dress. I should reach for my phone and call the police; I am clearly the victim here. But that would mean more exposure than I would like. Instead I swallow my pride and calls Dr Mortus. Let the man earn his keep and damn my dignity.

2: Yasmin and Ortega at the bar (Might happen in book two)

The bar is filled with the muted hum of drunken conversation, unrecognizable through the rockabilly blare of the speakers. The green velvet seats in the booth are greasy from decades of the unwashed and uncaring, and the light that filters down, does so through a haze of cigarette smoke. In a corner two men in purple suits are having a pantomime argument, while the hunched bear of a man at the bar hides his gang colors under an oversized trench coat. I don’t even want to know what else he has under there.

I shouldn’t throw stones.

We must be quite a sight where we sit in our booth. A bedraggled young woman in ill-fitting lab clothes and messy hair, and a middle-aged hispanic man in blue coveralls and stolen wellingtons. Honestly, it’s a miracle that we’re sitting here at all; I didn’t expect to escape from Dr. Mortus lab this easily. Granted, Liz had told me that he was gone for a few days, but in the back of my mind I expected him to pop up behind us with a plasma cannon just as we were getting out of there. He probably didn’t think I would try to escape. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he trusted me. Maybe he really wanted to help. Or maybe we were lucky. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Ortega keeps staring at me in silence, and I keep the gun aimed at him under the table.

In front of us, both our beers remain untouched.

Not that anybody cares to take a closer look at us. That is the reason I dragged Ortega here at gunpoint. It is one of the many villain bars I combed through before settling on Joe’s as my favored haunt. This one, aptly named Garage Sale, always felt too low-brow. The people I wanted to meet didn’t go here; this is a place for the down and out, for the upwardly mobile henchmen and supervillains on the skids. In here, nobody cares and nobody smiles. Neither do we.

“All I have to do is make one phone call and you’ll be safe.” Ortega does his best to sound calm and convincing, but he just doesn’t look he part right now. His age has caught up to him and weights heavy on his brow, black rings shadow his eyes and he’s mottled with bruises where he had been hooked up to Dr. Mortus generator. That is the only reason I’m able to threaten him at all, his powers still hadn’t recharged, and for the moment he’s just as ordinary as I am.

But I have the gun.

“I won’t go back to jail,” I reply, my voice as cold as my face. I have no idea what I am supposed to do now, my brain has locked itself into a death spiral, and I don’t know how to get out of it. The crash seems inevitable, and the ground is painted with prison bars. That’s why we ended up in this bar; I needed someplace safe and neutral, somewhere where nobody would care or ask questions. And Cyrus would never come here. At least I hope that whoever stole his body still has an interest in keeping up the charade that he is a good guy. It’s too valuable to waste. I hope.

“It was a hospital, not a jail,” Ortega tries, raising the beer to his lips for the first time since we got here. As he moves he makes me tense up and I clench the gun harder, which makes him tense up, and the beer shivers a moment before he puts it down again. Very gently.

“It would have been. Once I’d recovered and given up whatever information I had. I’m not stupid, I know how this works.”

“Why do you still protect him? You said it yourself, the Annihilist threatened you, and you had no choice.” I almost feel sorry for Ortega, it is obvious that he wants to believe that so badly.

“It’s… complicated,” I sigh, the gun heavy in my hand. Part of me wants to let it go, wants to just confess and ask for help. I think I need it. But I know it’s never that easy. If I told Ortega about Cyrus, about who I am and what I did, would he believe me? Even if he did, he would be disgusted. I am not a victim, I’m a villain, and my acts are conscious choices. Nobody holds a gun to my head.

“Life is complicated,” Ortega finally admits, looking into my eyes. “I don’t believe you are an evil woman. You didn’t have to rescue me; you could just as easily have left me there.”

I could just as easily have killed him too. That would have simplified things. The thought nauseates me, so I distract myself with words. “It’s just that…” I have lowered the gun now, but he doesn’t know that. “It’s not loyalty, but you’re asking me to give up my life and my freedom. You can’t stop him, I’ll either end up in jail for what I’ve done, or I’ll end up dead. I don’t think he’d let me live through a plea bargain.”

“And what if you go back to him? Do you think he would ever trust you again?” His words hit too close to home, even if it is for the wrong reasons. I hope it doesn’t show. Because he is right, I can never return to what I was. Not without a means to get my body back. And to pull that off I need contacts and friends. I just crossed Dr. Mortus of the rapidly shrinking list. Ortega is about the only one left. The one bridge I’m finding it hard to burn.

“I can’t go back, but I can’t go to jail either,” I repeat, as if words would somehow fix the world. The situation is rapidly turning into one of those nightmares where it’s just too hard to continue to struggle. It’s much easier to just go limp, roll over, pretend to be unconscious and accept what is coming to you. But in this nightmare, I am the one holding the gun. I am still in control.

Things change so quickly.

“Hey, isn’t that Charge?” Words strike like a lightning bolt from a clear sky, and suddenly all eyes are on us.

“I always said you were an idiot for not wearing a mask,” I snap without thinking. Cyrus’ words from Yasmin’s lips, but there is no time for more than a confused look on Ortega’s face. I’m on my feet with the gun pointed at the men that spotted us, but a well aimed bottle from the bar knocks it out of my hand.

All hell breaks loose.

Ortega is on his feet and we’re back to back against the surging bar. It’s late enough for most of the patrons to be desperately drunk, trying to escape from the drudgery of their existence. But they are many, and I’m just happy that Ortega holds his own, because giving up is not an option. I knee a CerberUS henchman in the groin, slipping sideways as he crumbles. Ortega matches my step; moving into the spot that I left. I had forgotten how good it felt to have someone watch your back.

Someone you trust.

I am no longer a telepath, but apparently my reflexes are not gone. A movement in the corner of my eye makes me turn; reaching up to grab the descending arm before I even register what happened. His lack of balance makes it easy to turn his punch into a throw that sends him flying over a table. Bottles crash like firework.

I had forgotten how much I missed this.

I break into a smile as I break someone’s nose, the bottle splintering in my hand. People back away from my broken bottle, and I laugh in their faces, bolstered by the feeling of Ortega behind me, his back against mine. Then a sense of fearsome urgency hits me.

I’m not sure what it is that makes me push back hard enough to topple us both, but we hit the floor a moment before the blast hits the spot we just left. Suddenly the booth is on fire, the air aglow in freakish colors and I’m crawling for my life beneath the tables. The gloves have come off and the powers brought out, and if you shouldn’t drive drunk you probably shouldn’t wield biogenic flame or solid light constructs while wasted either. People are screaming, someone is on fire, the fight is escalating and it’s everyone against everyone.

At least until someone remembers that this wasn’t just about venting their frustrations, it’s about kicking a hero when he’s down and they can reach him. I watch Ortega disappear under a pile of has-beens wishing for a starring role in the story of Charge’s defeat. I don’t think I screamed his name out loud, and even if I did, nobody heard me amidst the chaos. I scramble free from the broken table I’d been hiding under just in time to dodge and shield my eyes as every single light in the bar explodes in a shower of sparks and glass. The mob around Ortega falls away, twitching and screaming as if they’d just pissed on the third rail. I am probably imagining the ozone, there’s no way that could ever overpower the stench of cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies and voided bowels.

Ortega untangles himself, pale blue lightning arcing between his body and the now empty sockets. The room is dark, but his eyes are throwing sparks. He’s shed the guise that he belonged here, another has-been slumming with the losers. Suddenly nobody seems eager to continue the fight.

“I think we will be leaving now,” he says, gesturing in my direction. Nobody protests. I straighten my back and walks out with Ortega, my hair alive with static electricity. My skin tingles from his aura, but I don’t bat an eyelash until we’re well outside the door.

And gone.

Two blocks of frantic running later we’re both out of breath, and Ortega looks less than imposing as he leans against a dumpster.

“Would you please accept my invitation and stay in my apartment at least? I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he gasps.

“Not one night. Weeks. Technically you’ve been a captive for a couple of weeks,” I say, because I realized he had probably no idea how much time that had passed. My hair is tangled and sticking to my face so I wipe it back with a look of disgust.

“Weeks. Right. That’s good to know.” Ortega takes a step back from the dumpster; the smell coming from it is not pleasant now that he had regained his breath.

“Your powers. How long has it been since they recharged?” I’m through resisting the inevitable, but I need to know.

“On the way to the bar. I borrowed a jolt from a badly insulated lamppost.” Ortega looks sheepish, as if he was a bit ashamed of his subterfuge.

“So you could have taken the gun from me at any point?”

“You… looked like you needed it. I didn’t want to push you into doing something rash.”

I nod, defeated. “That was probably very smart. I meant what I said; I won’t go back to jail.”

“It won’t be jail. It’s just my apartment. You can leave at any time, but I really wish you wouldn’t. You’re too interesting to end up just another statistic.”

“Thanks. I think. Just don’t tell anybody I’m there.” It sounds more like begging than an order, even though the ‘please’ remains unsaid, sticking in my throat. “I need time to think. Time to make my own choices.”

“I won’t tell anybody. I promise. I respect that you need time. Do we have a deal then?” He holds out his hand, battered and bleeding from the fight.

The sad thing is, I believe him. I know how this works, the sympathetic ear, the understanding friend. You catch more flies with honey and all that. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve let him save me enough time in the past that one more time won’t make a difference. It’s the least painful of my choices, so I sigh “deal,” then grabs his hand and shakes it.

Probably a little too manly again, because he gives me another look.

This won’t end well.

[jesusatmysix]

So You Think You're In A Struggle.....?

So I came to my sleep spot early this evening. Way after dark! It's raining, and expected to get harder.

The control freaks racist demons have shown their disapproval! Is that a black mustang little boy? He did his rev (stretch out and kick) tantrum act.

I always remind people..... these are grown ass adults. That don't even live around here! DO NOT LIVE AROUND HERE! They're just racist white and Hispanic devil's. This dude is probably some scrawny ugly Napoleon type with a nice car and a small penis. And probably doesn't even like females. None of these demons live around here accept those who live in Rio Paradisio who started this whole charade of feminist bullshit. Again! Small penises!

So, LOL...... their small minds will circle and circle in the rain like good obedient slaves.

I'm going to sit and listen to their stupidity and the rain. It's not cold. I love the rain when it's not cold.

I'm sure machismo will do more drive by's. I feel so bad for them sometimes.

[aeternatv]

This is a question I think about a lot, and yeah there definitely isn’t a clear answer. I think ‘looking’ white is only a part of being white though, even if you ‘pass’, if people still treat you differently because they know about your ancestry, you’re not necessarily white.

I’m half south/southeast asian, and have a skin colour that’s a little darker than the skin of white people, but I often pass as a tanned white person in the winter months, especially in contexts where it’s common  for white folk to wear a fake tan year-round. In summer, when I do actually have a tan, I can rely on being seen as brown. And yes, I definitely get treated differently when people see me as brown or Asian. But I also get treated differently when people find out I’m Asian some other way, whether I look white to them or not. That’s a pretty important factor to note.

I don’t have the privilege of pretending to be white, but there are part Asians like myself who would certainly be able to. It’s just that this would involve actively lying about their family, and possibly even preventing their friends from meeting family members. And if the charade ever fell apart it would change their life dramatically. Maybe if they were say, adopted by a white family, and didn’t feel much connection to their racial heritage, it would be different. And if they had one nonwhite ancestor who was several generations back, maybe they could talk about that and still be considered white, depending on how racist their society was.

That’s the other angle; society. The other half of my racial background is Ashkenazi (European) Jewish, and that side of my family, when I was growing up, was considered white. I had Ashkenazi friends in the early years of high school who were considered white, looked white, and were openly Jewish, until around 2015/2016, when there was a significant cultural shift. Suddenly we found ourselves bullied for our racial background, with jokes about the holocaust and concentration camps, as well as a sudden recurrence in the sort of myths and stereotypes we’d heard of from family but never really faced in life. My Jewish friends were no longer ‘white’ to our schoolmates, though they still were to passers by, to shop keepers and bus drivers. I’ve also noticed that in that time I got a lot better at seeing Ashkenazim features. I can now spot if someone is Jewish about as well as I can tell if someone is Hispanic. What looks ‘white’ to us can change when society changes.

Whiteness is a complicated construct, made to evolve to suit whatever society it’s in. It can be conditional, it can be debatable, and it can have different definitions to different people in different cultures.

At what point do you go from “looking white” to “being white”?

This is really interesting to me. A person I follow on Facebook was complaining that she looked too white because it meant white people kept telling her racist shit, thinking she was one of them. I’ve only met her a few times in real life and have to admit I didn’t know she was a person of color either until she posted photos of her family.

I told my friend who belongs to the Páez people and showed her my friend’s family photo and she looked at it for a while and said “I think she might just be white at this point”

Because it’s such an interesting question I talked with another friend who said “They say race is just appearance, right? Otherwise our DNA is the same or something. I mean, she grew up with a different culture, so is culture race? But if she looks and acts so white that white people feel comfortable saying racist stuff around her, how different is she really from a white person? She must get white privilege too, right? If it’s all culture, does that mean someone adopted into a family of a different race becomes that race? That doesn’t sound right” Then she thought for a while and asked me “It’s like, why don’t you consider yourself Jewish? I know it’s not exactly the same but you got all this family that see themselves as this separate thing because they’re Jewish, but you don’t. Why?”

And in that case it really is all about culture. The last three generations of my branch of the family has been culture Christians, which means people who aren’t religious but celebrate the Christian holidays like Christmas and Eater because that’s just what people do in our culture. But at the same time we got family who insists that we are Jewish because it’s very important to them.

But like my friend said, it’s not the same thing because my Jewish family is white, even though a lot of people consider Jewish people a different race.

I have another friend who found out that his family used to be black and I asked him why he didn’t consider himself black and his response was simply “I look white and my parents look white and my grandparents look white. I have no connection to black culture”

People have very different opinions on this but it’s always interesting to hear what people think because I don’t think there’s a clear answer. So what do you think? When do you go from “looking white” to “being white”? When does the shift happen? When does it become offensive to say you belong to a certain race?

[keywestlou]

BOOGALOO BOIS

Boogaloo Bois an odd name. The name may be silly, their actions are not. A group to be feared.

The group has been quietly making the news the past few weeks. Silently. A little bit of news here and there.

My May 30, 2020 blog is titled It Can Only Get Worse. In it, I described what could be found re Boogaloo Bois. My intent was to introduce the group to my readers.

I wrote as follows.

“An online militia movement has grown. Unquestionably gearing up for the heated summer ahead.”

“There is a far right militia group out there whose identity has only recently come to attention. Boogaloo Bois. Worked in the shadows before. Now, in the light. Very anti-police. Thought to be instrumental in last night’s riots.”

“Boogaloo Bois hopes are for an armed confrontation with law enforcement. A confrontation that will build momentum. The organization’s goal a new civil war in the U.S.”

“Pay attention to Boogaloo Bois. Do not let the name fool you. They are intelligent and committed. Also capable of raising large funds of money. In the past year, allegedly $50 million.”

Their uniform not the usual military garb. Instead, Hawaiian sport shirts.

I write today about them again.

Yesterday, two members of the group were arrested and charged in the drive-in killing of a federal court house guard in Oakland, California during a night of nearby protests against police brutality.

An interesting development re Boogaloo Bois must not be missed. I fear not enough people may be aware of the organization.

The blacks want statues, monuments, and names of military bases of those who supported the Confederate cause or slavery to come down. Boogaloo Bois supports the black position.

Another group has been added to those to be torn down. Union heroes and other American luminaries previously respected. People however who may have supported slavery even in the smallest way.

Sounds strange. For real, however. The blacks have expanded those they seek to demean. Again, leading anti-slavery figures. These blacks, and it appears to include most, make no distinction between Confederate and Union, abolitionist and pro-slavery, 15th century figures and 20th.

Their target not the Confederacy. It is the United States.

Why has this happened?

The various black groups believe based on the protests re George Floyd world wide that they are winning the battle. Most believe they have already won. They want their proper place in society. A place where they sit in control of government and business. It is their time!

These black groups believe all of American history is racial and genocidal. Ergo, all symbols of American history must come down. A new history in its place. A black history.

They seek to cleanse their consciences of ever having lived in such an evil and irredeemably racist country in the first place.

Black Lives Matter an integral part of the group.

Examples of non-Confederate statues, etc. that have been taken down or vandalized include Matthias Baldwin. His statue in Philadelphia. He was an early abolitionist.

Civil War Union heroes include Admiral David Farragut and General George Thomas.

In Philadelphia stands the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in the American Revolution. Vandalized with “Committed Genocide” written in large letters across it.

The Shaw Memorial commemorates the all Black Battalion that fought for abolition. It has been vandalized.

A peaceful protest was taking place Sunday in Whittier, California. The statue of John Greenlief was vandalized. Greenlief was a prominent Quaker abolitionist. Considered the most prominent literary voice leading the fight to end slavery. A fight that took place decades before the Civil War.

BLM was sprayed on his statue.

The worst of the worse thus far is Thomas Jefferson. The third President of the United States, the primary author of the Declaration of Independence, and one of our Founding Fathers.

A school in Portland, Oregon is named after Thomas Jefferson. In front of the school a statue of Thomas Jefferson seated in a fashion similar to the Lincoln Memorial.

Two ropes were thrown around Jefferson’s neck by a young black woman and the statue torn down. Then a black man came forward with an ax. He took the ax to Jefferson’s body several times.

Monday night two statues of Juan de Onate were taken down in two different cities. De Onate a name little known in the east. However, well known in New Mexico.

He was a Spanish conquistador. A despotic one. Consider by some to have been a demon.

Long has a simmering tension existed between Native Americans and Hispanics over Spain’s conquest of New Mexico.

The statues were located in Santa Fe and Albuquerque.

The protests were moving calmly along. One group was reciting the Hail Mary. Four shots were fired. One of those hit a person praying.

The police retaliated with tear gas, flash items and several non-lethal projectiles.

An example of a today group trying to right a racial injustice that occurred several hundred years ago.

One of the groups involved was multi-racial. They wanted the statues removed. The other group were right wing militants. Armed and white. They wanted the statues to remain.

For whatever reason, female protesters in the multi-racial group were violently shoved to the ground.

I wrote this blog to portray a new evil spreading throughout the U.S. Bad feelings may have always existed. Definitely among blacks.

From black rights to get rid of Confederate statues, etc. to get rid of all statues, etc. that in any fashion, even indirectly, had a slavery connection.

In less than a month, this change in vision by the protesters has even moved to small communities and relatively unknown historical figures such as de Onate.

Positions are turning into an all or nothing situation. The blacks want it all. Will not happen. Less to them not enough. Where will it all end?

Intimately part of this charade are the police. Many did wrong. Some believe all must pay for the sins of a few. Yet the police are fearful of functioning these days. Understandably.

Whites are in jeopardy. With no one protecting the rights of one side, the turmoil can go on forever.

Enjoy your day!

    BOOGALOO BOIS was originally published on Key West Lou

[giancarlonicoli]

Submitted by Michael Every of Rabobank

Powell Play

“Central banks carry out a nation's monetary policy and control its money supply, often mandated with maintaining low inflation and steady GDP growth. On a macro basis, central banks influence interest rates and participate in open market operations to control the cost of borrowing and lending throughout an economy.” Investopedia

Really? That’s how it works, is it? At this point anyone who can’t see our real economic/financial market paradigm is either foolish, ignorant, or wilfully blind. The Fed has just admitted wages can’t rise except by making very rich people very much richer for a long, long time; then, finally, they might start to go up - perhaps. Moreover, the Fed has demonstrated yet again that it not only ignores asset bubbles --it will “never hold back support for the economy even if asset prices are too high”-- but that it wants those bubbles. How can this end well?

Look at the uneven distribution of stock holdings. Gallup states that as of 4 June 2020, 55% of the US owns some stock: 66% of those aged 50-64 and 32% of those 18-29; 58% of men and 52% of women; 64% of whites, 42% of blacks, and 28% of Hispanics; 85% of post-graduates and 33% of those with no college education. It is far from genuine equality of ownership by any means. But what Gallup does not say, and Goldman Sachs does, is that as of February this year 50% of the US stock market was owned by the top 1% of society.

Could we please have the intellectual honesty just to admit the system as it exists today functions to give more money to ultra-rich people? This is no longer a ‘free market system’. Water does not find its own level. It is channelled through canals cut by an establishment, and some fields are watered very well and others left arid. This is not ‘capitalism’ as anyone teaches or models it, where money is made from productively investing in making things. It is speculative financial-capitalism, where money is made by watching money being made by central banks, which is then channelled into the stock of firms who often don’t make things. Given the homilies that central banks are now coming out with about inequality, one could even say it is even oligarchy excreting noblesse oblige. Yet perhaps it is even worse: central banks saying “Let them eat stocks.”

For those who roll out the cliché: “Well, the central-bank toolkit only allows X, Y, or Z – what can they do?” consider that these toolkits seem to expand on a weekly basis – but never in a direction that means wages will go up ahead of assets. Never. All the feverish innovation goes into new channels to get house prices up, or stocks, or sovereign or junk bonds (some of which are the same thing).

Yes, Powell did say more needs to be done on the fiscal side. What we did NOT get was a clear message aimed at the public, who would then demand it of their government: “Spend more on infrastructure, and/or national security supply-chain on-shoring, and/or social programs to narrow inequality: we will buy all the bonds needed to pay for it.” You know, “Whatever it takes” – but this time for the many and not the few. It was more of a “Whatever” as the Fed described a bleak future US economic landscape where many millions of jobs may never come back…and the response is still to channel more money to the rich via asset bubbles.

Meanwhile, and far from unrelated, in Seattle six city blocks have been seized by protestors. As the Seattle Times notes “Welcome to the CHAZ, the newly named Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone, where most everything was free Tuesday. Free snacks at the No-Cop Co-op. Free gas masks from some guy’s sedan. Free speech at the speaker’s circle, where anyone could say their piece. A free documentary movie — Ava DuVernay’s “13th” — showing after dark. A Free Capitol Hill, according to no shortage of spray paint on building facades.” When the rich get everything free, why shouldn’t everyone else? It’s a good question. Some people aren’t waiting for MMT from on high – they are trying to get it moving themselves.

Except that in a microcosm of this populist backlash itself --and recalling that free markets and capitalism were designed to deal with allocating finite resources and things not being free-- a plaintive tweet went out last night: “ALERTA#2: the homeless people we invited took away all the food at the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone. We need more food to keep the area operational. Please if possible bring vegan meat substitutes, fruits, oats, soy products, etc. – anything to help us eat.” The response to which on Twitter included: “Gotta say I’m impressed, it usually takes Marxists at least 3-4 months to achieve starvation.” The Fed’s free-money-policy-without-any-MMT will take a bit longer.

If you want to believe that the Fed is not aware of its own complicity in all this then one has to assume we are watching a man struggling to eat soup with a fork. It’s embarrassing, messy, stupid, and ridiculous. Except in this case the man gets paid billions of dollars for as long as it takes him not to eat the soup. Try to remember that.

I feel sorry for those who have to try to give a traditional vanilla write-up of what the Fed is doing; it’s hard to do so and maintain self-respect. One day this will all come crashing down in epic ruin and people will have to look at themselves in the mirror, or tell their kids what they did when this was all going on: “I described the hand movements of an idiot being paid a fortune to eat soup with a fork - at a time when many others desperately needed to eat.” A life well lived.

Yet for those who do have to play along with the charade: the Fed is on hold until end-2022 at least; will do USD120bn a month of QE split 80bn-40bn between Treasuries and MBS; and there is as yet no hint of negative rates or yield curve control. Stocks actually edged down slightly in response: buy the rumour, sell the sad fact, perhaps. Bond yields edged lower. And so did USD, which one can certainly sympathize with….until all the other central banks have to go the same route, of course.