#i thought tumblr understood it better than other platforms. but apparently fucking not

[burnyourtrains]

Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art Stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art stop stealing art

This means reposting without permission. Feeding into ai. Taking as your own. Not giving credit to the artist. Posting things that aren't yours in the first place. Etc.

This goes for fanart, original pieces from the artist, writing, gifsets - anything someone took the time to make.

Stop stealing art

[ma-at-thought]

Story-Time With Ma’at

White Supremacists and Nazi Bingo

I actually had to sit here for a minute and stare at this title. I’ve written about a lot of things on Tumblr, but even just a few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought I’d be writing a current events piece on fucking Nazis. Given the content, this will be a long time-traveling story-time.

Let us go back in time, to my innocent years fresh out of high school.

There I sit, at the computer. It’s not my computer of course, but it’s the first home computer I ever had access to. Ah, how I remember those buzzes and pwings that heralded incoming internet connection. I scroll through the chat rooms that have been created that day on Prodigy, and I stumble across one for white supremacists. Curious creature that I am, I go in.

It was really boring. I can’t honestly remember what was being discussed in there. It certainly wasn’t anything relating to white supremacy. It was just people who happened to be white supremacists chatting about whatever was happening on the news, or talking about a TV show, or sharing stories about their lives. I was very baffled; by the chat name, I should have been bathed in vitriol about the more colorful people in the country. But nope, just people talking like ordinary people.

I finally get curious enough to send a private message to one of them. I pick the most articulate one, and open the conversation stating that I am not a white supremacists, but want to understand what was going on with such a thing. I even tell him that I’m half Hispanic, a lie to see if he changes how he speaks with me.

Spoilers: It didn’t change how he spoke to me. I ask him how my mixed race would influence his behavior, and he tells me that he wouldn’t marry or have a child with me. That’s it. I ask him about concepts like ethnic cleansing and he is disdainful of the very idea. All he cares about in relation to other races is that his bloodline be “pure”, and there is no reason to do any harm to anyone over it. It was his choice to not marry or have a child with someone non-white, you see, but he has no problems working with or interacting with any people of color. I find that to be very weird (and a potential start for a modern Romeo / Juliette story,) but not harmful or violent like historical Nazis or the KKK is. I thank him for his time, he wishes me well, and that was it.

Let us go further back, to my 8th grade year.

Schindler’s List is released. My 8th grade class has a field trip to go and see the movie for educational reasons, and we’d spend the next two days in history and religion (Catholic school) classes discussing it.

That movie is awesome. In the sense that it fills you with awe. Do you know how hard it is to keep a bus full of 8th graders quiet? Well, on the trip back to school, it is easy as pie, because literally nobody says a word. Complete silence. And if you’ve seen the movie, you understand why. If you haven’t seen the movie, I strongly recommend it. It isn’t something people want to see, but it is something people need to see.

And we’re solemnly lined up, still shrouded in quiet, to file into our class room when it came time for the 6th and 7th grade classes to switch rooms. They knew we’d been going to see the movie, and some want to ask us questions. Most of them are hushed, like we were, wanting to know what happened, wanting to be told about this masterpiece of sorrow. But one boy comes up to me, grinning like an idiot. He flat-out asks me “How many boobies did you see?!”

I don’t even think. I punch that kid in the face hard enough to send him staggering backwards. I didn’t even know why I did that, and when the principal asks me, I just repeat what he’d said. And when I tell her what prompted the punch, she looks appalled. An act that would normally come with a three day suspension was instead recorded with a single note of the act, because most of the education staff was utterly horrified that anybody would even think such a thing. 

About a week later, we are all gathered in the auditorium for announcements. Parents are invited to this meeting as well. As it turns out, there is a planned KKK march coming up, and the school staff wants to discuss options for us. Our school is on the route, and while we don’t have many kids of color, everyone is still very concerned about this, and what our few non-white students would experience if the KKK happened to come by during recess. 

In the end, it is decided that the safest thing to do is to close the school that day. The teachers ask our parents to not show up to this “parade” either; they feel that the best way to show these hooded assholes they aren’t accepted was to have them marching down completely empty streets with no one to yell at. Most of the public schools take our lead and cancel school that day too. Some people joke (in that somewhat non-humorous, mildly disturbed way) that school is cancelled on account of ‘heavy snow’.

We spend our day at home researching the KKK and the Nazis, so we will all have class discussions on the matter the next day. And as far as I know, those paraders really did march to nearly-empty streets.

And one last trip further back in time. I am right around seven years old.

Her name is Ruth. She and her husband are friends of my grandparents, and came over to our house (my grandparents raised me) to play Bridge every couple of weeks. I’ve known her for most of my life, and years before had been given an explanation for why her arm was crippled. I understood what Polio was. She’d been very sick when she was young, and was lucky she didn’t die because of it. 

So here all these old folks were, waiting for the fourth couple to show up so they could play a card game I do not understand to this day. I'm sitting on the couch with Ruth; I'm not allowed to hang out in the room once the game started, but my grandparents are just fine with me socializing before it begins.

I don’t know.. maybe I just never saw Ruth wearing short sleeves before. She usually wore long-sleeved blouses and sweaters, but today she’s wearing a short-sleeved white shirt beneath her jacket, and she’s taken the jacket off. We’re chatting, because she’s a very cool adult who is all about socializing with kids, and then I see her tattoo. I’m shocked, because tattoos were strange, and mostly on younger folks. I reach out and touch the blue numbers on her inner forearm and ask why she got them.

The whole room goes silent, which is enough to make me shy away; I thought I’d done something wrong. All eyes are on this couch. But apparently, Ruth is prepared for this question. And so that day, I learned about Nazi concentration camps, and how Jews were rounded up and labeled with a numbered tattoo. I learned how she got Polio in the first place. The Bridge game was put off for about an hour, as these adults talked to me about this dark time in history, let me ask questions, and tried to help me understand these events well beyond what history classes taught seven year old kids.

And now, we come back to the present.

In this particular present, Nazis are still relevant. Two days ago, I discovered that a few people I was friends with on Facebook had Nazi inclinations. At first, I thought they were posting pro-Nazi political cartoons to mock them, but as it turned out, I was wrong. I kept trying to discuss the matter with them, mostly because I was desperately hoping that I was incorrect in starting to think they were Nazis, but it wound up being like a game of Nazi Bingo. 

They call the Nazi symbol the NSDAP flag. They believe that banning immigrants is the first step to making America better, and don’t think it should stop there because people of color are making trouble. They treat the Nazi Party as though it was a worthwhile and acceptable political platform. They talk about how no violence or imprisonment or lists would be necessary if there wasn’t so much active resistance to their ideals. They’re white. BINGO!

In truth, though, I do see a problem with what’s going on today, from “the good guys”, and that’s the over-liberal usage of the term “Nazi”. Not all white people are Nazis. Not all Republicans are Nazis. Not all who voted for the Mad Mango are Nazis. Not even all white supremacists are Nazis (though all Nazis are white supremacists. It’s sort of a prerequisite.)

Political parties do not equate to Nazis. (Unless it’s the Nazi party, which I half expect to show up on ballots in some places.) I know quite a few Republicans who are horrified by what’s going on. Even ultra-conservatives are outright comparing Bannon to Nazis. You don’t get much more right-wing than Glenn Beck, for example, and he’s declared Bannon to be similar to the Nazi propagandist Goebbels. My grandparents were Republican and if they were alive today they’d be absolutely livid about our current government. 

As for the Outrageous Orange, many people did vote for him because they liked some of what he had to say, and were certain that there was no way he could enforce the rest. You can recognize those guys now; they’re wide-eyed and shaken, regretting their vote. And believe me, I understand the “I told you so” urge. But let’s not label them as Nazis. They’re horrified, and they Do Not Want what is happening; many want to try and stop it. They don’t want four years of this.They don’t even want four months of this. They could help ensure that we don’t have to deal with that, but if we keep calling them Nazis, it’s going to drive them away. They didn’t understand before the vote, but they absolutely understand now.

I support punching Nazis. I’d like to do it myself, but there aren’t any in my immediate vicinity. There have been some political comments going around about how anybody can be labeled as a Nazi to excuse violent behaviors toward them. Those comments are correct; I’ve been seeing little hints of that here and there, and we can’t let that keep happening. Anybody who supports ethnic cleansing, be it through deportation, denials to immigrants, or violence, qualifies for Nazi-hood, and therefore punching. Anybody *coughBannoncough* who insists on being prepared for a religious war and tries to ‘rally the Christian soldiers’ against Islam (or really, any religion or skin color) qualifies for Nazi-hood, and therefore punching. But just being Republican, or voting for the Crazy Carrot, aren’t enough to qualify as punchable Nazis. 

Violence isn’t the answer, not when it’s applied in a blanket manner over whole groups because of the actions of some members. Call your Senators; you can look them up here. Call your House Representatives; you can look them up here. All of us should have learned from history, but it is rapidly becoming apparent that our Cheeto-In-Chief and his Cabinet of Horrors are ignoring history entirely. Tell the government officials that represent you in House and Senate that this is wrong, and ask them what they plan on doing about it.

[violetsystems]

#personal

When your birthday falls on a weekend, you always have to wait until the next to be sure it’s really over.  I don’t have Facebook anymore but my birthday is visible on my reactivated twitter.  Nobody follows that account other than a few diehard people.  Most of the people who reached out were from this platform which speaks to me a lot more in some ways.  How people you barely even know care about you enough to reach out on a day like that is strange when you compare it to the reality.  People straight up forgot in real life.  I got a callI on the train home from a delayed flight the day before Valentine’s day.  It was work.  I scribbled the number on a paper crunched with my messenger bag and handled it as I speeded back home.  Then spent the rest of the weekend incognito playing games and rearranging my finances.  The trip to New York wasn’t as great as I would have hoped it to be.  But it was useful in a lot of respects.  I came back to my cat waiting patiently on the bed.  She sleeps with me at night now.  The auto feeder worked perfectly.  I was telling someone at work how I use three litters now.  They have three cats and one litter.  I told them my cat likes her litter a particular way.  About an inch thick.  She wants options.  My apartment is big enough and I live alone.  I spent two nights away. I probably could have spent three.  My mom offered to stop by to feed her wet food but we decided it was a quick enough trip.  So that is an option for the future.  But really the idea that I just take off to New York and disappear for a few days has reached its zenith.  At least in the way I used to approach it.  The hotel that I stayed at again ended up waiving their small fee. I found a new hotel in Chinatown that is very nice and has my favorite coffee.  So I may stay a night there and a night midtown next time.  I didn’t end up shopping very much but I did order some shoes from the DSMNY eshop last night.  Have to have those delivered to work.  Still having issues with packages.  Ran into my neighbor from downstairs who now is also having the same problems.  I tend to keep to myself on the property but I have lived here for over a decade.  My downstairs neighbor situation is like a room mate in some ways.  I pay the utilities but I’m not trying to be anyone’s friend.  I think that understanding is much more apparent these days to people around where I live.  The rest of the city can be a little less respectful of your privacy.  Everybody is always up in your business but not enough to remember your birthday.  I don’t drink anymore.  I’ve spent the last three years assessing and working through my baggage.  This includes physical and emotional hangups as well as financial ones.  I didn’t end up spending much money this time around.  I paid my flight and hotel months before.  My debit card got denied at the Nintendo store so I left without a switch.  I spent all last year budgeting this trip into a comfortable spending pattern.  When I get lonely or isolated I always have the option of planning a trip.  This time I think I’m going to wait until May.  I have way less bills to pay this year.  Way less frivolous spending habits as well.  I’m also one year older which to everybody here is ancient history.  If you ask me how it feels, it feels weird.  But then again it’s also weird the only place I feel understood is typing out sentences to people I’ve never met.  In that I’m kind of thankful.  Which is why I share my feelings and not my actual age.  Here’s a hint.  I’m almost dead in dog years.  If I were Anubis.

Being old and being me is fucked up.  Both aren’t really linked to any regret.  I find that I know better.  I also find nobody listens or pays attention to me most of the time.  So I don’t really talk much anymore unless it’s to do my job.  I did get a free month of Hulu for my birthday.  The way brands express how they care about your date of birth can be bizarre.  The videos I watch about surveillance capitalism don’t add any fuzzy feelings to it.  But I have been watching High Fidelity.  I’ve been pretty into it.  It reminds me that there are people out there like myself.  The main character has all sorts of problems connecting to a real relationship.  She hasn’t had sex in a year.  I would say personally that’s rough but I’m definitely way beyond that threshold into second virginity.  Conversely I think I had the best Valentine’s day I’ve had in years.  I always complain my birthday falls after it.  One year I delivered an ice sculpture to a girl I liked low key.  Left this frozen led unicorn in her back yard and ghosted.  She posted on Facebook how it was the most amazing thing anyone had ever done for her.  The very next day on my birthday when I called her to see if she wanted to hang out she said she was busy.  She immediately started dating another guy.  I don’t know how many years ago that was at this point.  It was definitely after dating my ex so it’s recent enough.  I don’t really talk about my personal life anymore with anyone.  It’s been more beneficial to live and enjoy what I feel in private.  But me being depressed about anything has nothing to do with love.  Love is complicated if it’s worth something.  And I’m a complicated person in theory except that I’m so easy to get along with I’m invisible.  So valued by people but always so alone.  I must shut myself out.  And as you get older you start to realize that being everybody’s friend is empty with no return.  You can prove your worth that way for as long as you can stomach it.  But for me I’ve always felt I’m worth more.  I deserve to be treated like I matter.  And the real sting is that I don’t matter to a lot of people.  Which isn’t the same for Tumblr for some reason.  Which is why it’s sort of bizarre to know what’s working and what isn’t.  The real news is that this year is the same as last year really.  Except I’m less fearful of the outcome.  I know what I have to do.  I get better at doing it.  I look better than I have.  I carry myself more confidently.  I also have my shit more together.  No one seems to recognize that.  Mostly because you end up understanding people aren’t as together as you are.  They don’t put in the time.  They don’t confront the truth about things.  They’d rather avoid the painful realities.  I face them.  It is definitely not easy.  But the reward is being yourself instead of what people want you to be.  And I think we all are trying to justify our own identities.  We don’t always respect the ecosystem around that that makes it possible.  Which is why America lately as well as Chicago has left me a little drained.  Particularly with the politics and the spectacle.  The reality that I live is a different beast completely.  And that ends up being my own shit at the end of the day.  Which is to say I’m still alive and still me regardless of what shit anyone tries to pull.  

The truth is I don’t have much interest in being anything else.  And sometimes the boring realization is that the best course of action is staying it.  I do find people feel comfortable being around me.  Sometimes that gets taken advantage of.  Sometimes it’s far more complex than I’d even care to imagine.  So I stay out of it.  People that can’t be bothered to remember your birthday are a dime a dozen.  Most of the time it’s a bunch of people sitting around you negging you.  An excuse to get drunk and take pot shots at a vulnerable person.  I’d rather just smoke pot by myself.  That’s nobody’s business but mine.  And even then people feel some type of way about how I choose to live my private life.  I could complain like I did for years here.  And then I can just move forward with it all the way I have.  Minding my own business and finding my own future.  I still Iive here.  My life still intersects with the general public.  I have to play detective every time I walk out the door for my own safety.  People have begun to realize just how long I’ve been dealing with it all and keep their distance.  Some people don’t.  Being an adult is navigating that hazy landscape and standing your ground.  My ground happens to be three houses from the train platform.  I get to work in twenty minutes.  I can walk home on a good day.  I spent most of New York walking.  Twenty miles one day.  I know the streets better by foot.  I connect things in my mind.  I explore.  I discover hidden secrets.  Different ways to say what I’m trying to say.  And people approach me thinking they know something they don’t.  And I often correct them in public in the most cryptic response.  If my life is cryptic it’s not like I don’t live it out in the open.  I just don’t trust people with the intimate details of my dreams.  It’s for me to live and love.  And honestly I feel more connected emotionally in some ways because of it.  People always want you to share yourself.  They give you the impression it’s for the greater good.  That we’re all in this together.  And then they forget your fucking birthday.  And then you just know better.  They want you to share so they have something to hold over you.  Bring you down to their level with negative comments and discouraging advice.  My results always come from my own deep thoughts.  You have to act on them.  You can’t just think things will be better.  I spend a lot of time making reminders for myself and logging what I’ve achieved.  Maybe it’s three workouts a week.  Maybe I spend less on groceries this week.  Maybe I stay home on my birthday and organize my closet.  Maybe I look ten times more together than I have.  I know the work that goes into being that.  And I know that when I try to share it people tune out.  I don’t have the same lifestyle as a lot of people.  And I don’t have the fear of missing out when I know the rewards that come from letting it all pass you by.  Being older doesn’t really make me sad.  I just feel more like big brother.  A bigger brother than most.  I’m always watching.  Ever vigilant.  And I’m always going to have another birthday.  But really I just wanted to wish you happy Valentine’s day wherever you are.  That was the best birthday present ever.  <3 Tim