#literally the british have done enough already to the indians and they did that too.

[karmelarts]

oh my god i forgot they whitewashed khan. benedict cumberbatch you have to pay for your crimes (whitewashing khan, queerbaiting sherlock, being british)

[the-lady-writes-what]

Warning: Long essay below the cut

Real talk about Harry Potter for a second. As a millennial who was into HP when I was younger, I have to honest and say that I did not see the problematic shit the J.K. Rowling put in her books. For a lot of us, growing up as a white kid in the early 2000's, we were not educated enough to see the anti-Semitism, racism, and lukewarm feminism that wasn't really feminism because Rowling made fun of Hermione for it. Watching the spiral of Rowling into TERF territory and aligning herself with people who reference Hitler in their TERF speeches and literal fascism breaks my heart. HP played a huge part in my childhood, as it did for many people. Sadly there are HP adults who continue to enable Rowling to use her platform for evil. Instead of looking back and dissecting the literature that formed our current mindset, there are people who grew up to be nasty people indirectly because HP taught them that anyone who complains about the system is doing progressive social justice wrong. Harry Potter became a wizard cop for the system that helped put Voldemort in a position of power. Hitler didn't rise to power out of the blue. He worked the current system in his favor and won support. He wasn't just some manipulative well spoken mastermind, he was using rhetoric that already existed. The criticism about the politics in the HP universe came far too late. We currently have numerous adults who are now currently voting to repress Black and queer history from schools, LGBTQ+ education, and criminalize being trans and gay in several states in the USA.

Not every adult who read HP became a fascist, not every adult who is fascist read HP. I'm certainly not saying that HP is solely the reason why anti-LGBTQ+ hate crimes are currently on the rise again and legislations are trying to get passed. What I am saying is that this is what happens when you don't think critically what you read. Critical analysis about what books are produced and by whom can help deter or enable the kind of ideas that Rowling associates with. Her brand of "progressiveness" is seen through the lens of an upper middle class and upper class white British woman. She largely benefits from a system that will come to be the shoulder for her to cry on when the internet "bullies" her, i.e when the internet and former fans try to hold her accountable for the inflammatory things she's said and written about trans people, women, Jews, POC, etc. I am not a saint in all of this either. My first book that I wrote which will never see the light of day again contained an Indian servant because I thought about historical "accuracy" which looking on it now was a load of shit. What I should have done in the first place was do critical research and properly acknowledge the racism and discrimination and imperialism of the British Empire. That character should not have existed and I deeply regret writing a story like that, even if my intention was not to further enable a white-washed history of the relationship between the British aristocracy and the people of India. Whether it was my intention or not, the fact that I wrote it was not okay. I am sorry for that. That book is no longer available and the remaining physical copies will stay with me. They aren't going anywhere. Moving forward, I will do better research and listen to the voices of people of color when it comes to writing characters outside of my own race.

Rowling has yet to learn that lesson towards trans people and keeps using the debunked conspiracy theory that "men dressed as women" will sexually assault someone in the ladies' room and take up female-dominated spaces. Transwomen are women. End of story. It seems that the more she is criticized for upholding anti-trans beliefs and conspiracy theories, the deeper she digs her heels in. She doesn't want to be corrected or told she's misinformed. The die hard fans of hers follow suit. Adult fans of HP have gone to assault and abuse transwomen, forgetting the soft-spoken message of the books they claim to love so much, that you should not hate people for who they are. I say soft-spoken because HP's message of anti-bigotry can hardly be called as such. It is spoken through the lens of upper class wealthy white woman's perspective of social justice and feminism. I say soft-spoken, and even limp-wristed, because its anti-bigotry message falls flat when discussing the numerous problematic and racist undertones in her writing. She wrote house elves as sentient creatures who want to be enslaved and made fun of Hermione for fighting for their freedom. She wrote the main characters to be all straight, white, and cis who later become part of the very system they fought against as children. The magical races in the Wizarding World universe are frequently looked down upon as if they're lesser than the human wizards and nothing is done for them. She did little to no research on non-European naming conventions and named the one East Asian character Cho Chang, combining a Korean and Chinese name as if the cultures are synonymous, named a black character Kingsley Shacklebolt, and allowed the Fantastic Beast franchise make Nagini (a South Asian name with cultural and religious significance) an Indonesian woman played by a South Korean actress. As if insult wasn't enough, Nagini is portrayed as a submissive Asian woman (stay classy Rowling!) who later dies at the hands of a white character to move the plot forward.

I wrote this fucking essay because Rowling is hurting so many people. Her kind of rhetoric which is a pandemic of hate towards trans people is hurting those I know. Two of my dearest friends are transwomen and I would fight tooth and nail for them. Hearing the author who wrote the books that got me interested in reading say things that accuse my friends of being men and wanting to assault women hurts them more than me and it infuriates me. She is one of the many reasons why diversity in reading is important so her mistakes don't get repeated and regurgitated. When you're a dumb white kid in the 2000's, you don't see the problematic stuff because you're not personally affected by it. Nobody can be racist against a white kid. And when authors like Rowling get praised in spite of the insensitive stereotypes and problematic shit in their books, it really is no wonder that we have a resurgence of hate crimes and rhetoric against LGBTQ+ folk and POC. The books didn't materialize out of thin air. There were so many editors who have had to go through the books and said, "Yep. That's fine" when she was writing offensive names for POC characters, anti-Semitic goblins, and having the white main characters join the system that put wizard Hitler into power.

It hurts to let something like HP go and die a slow painful death. It was a huge part of my childhood and got me into reading books. I might not be the reader I am today without those books. Because I will never be affected by the system in which people of color, trans folk, and the Jewish community are oppressed and I admit to being very privileged, I did not recognize the numerous red flags in J.K. Rowling's body of work until it was too late. For that I am sorry. The damage is done, but I'm trying to do better by listening and protecting my friends, trans or otherwise. J. K. Rowling can go fuck herself.

[rosy-night-sky]

Of Treasure and Adventure

Genre: Treasure Hunter/Indiana Jones AU

Pairing: Ot7 x reader

Summary: Your grandmother gave you a gift that she won in a game, so naturally you are curious as to the origins of it. A decision was then made that you should seek the answers to your questions. However, you never expected your decision to lead you on a treasure hunting quest.

Tag List: @sevenincubistolemyheart @xxqueenwxtchxx

Chapter 3

The mechanical hum of the plane you were in resonated throughout the cabin as you looked out the window, admiring the beautiful Indian sky, which had shifted into a pale blue ever since you and the rest of the team had taken off. Wisps of cloud fluttered by your window like tufts of cotton. As you glanced to the earth below, you noticed the forested terrain had turned more rugged and hilly, and small villages dotted the land here and there.

You and the team had been traveling for nearly two weeks at this point. Apparently while you had been unconscious, Namjoon and Jin had taken the time to study your tapestry, and they determined that the next step in the plan was to make their way toward the mountain ranges in the Bengal and Assam regions. Ever the one to be prepared, Jin had previously purchased an airliner with a capacity of anywhere from nine to seventeen passengers and a needed crew of three. Once you all had your supplies packed, you were off.

The plan was to land in Darjeeling and then take a vehicle up through the mountains. You were hoping that the time it would take to get there would fly by -- both figuratively and literally -- but with having to stop every five hundred kilometers or so for fuel, it grew more and more wearisome.

Most days you spent reading up on the history surrounding the tapestry, although you also attempted to make light conversation with the others every once in a while. It wasn’t that you disliked the boys, but rather you just couldn’t find anything to talk about other than the expedition. You formed all sorts of conversation starters in your mind, but when they would begin talking to you, your mind would go completely blank.

Your daydreaming is interrupted when you see Yoongi wandering toward you from the cockpit, fiddling with something in his hands. He stopped in front of you and, without a word, handed you what you realized to be a camera. You turned it over in your hands before raising your eyebrow in an unspoken question.

“Jin wanted me to give you this after I was done tinkering with it,” he explained as you inspected its leathery and sleek appearance. He folded his arms. “Don’t break it. I already have enough stuff to fix as it is.”

You smiled, remembering when Namjoon accidentally broke one of the armrests, causing Yoongi to go off on a rant about how if he had known Namjoon was such a hazard, he would never have taken this job.

“Thank you. I’ll try not to be as clumsy as the others,” you replied, carefully placing the camera to the side. Your mind was at a blank again. Shit, what should you say? Should you ask about the maintenance of the plane? Should you ask something more personal? “Um, so, what’s your favorite food?” You mentally cringed at your words. Why the hell did you ask that?

Yoongi quirked an eyebrow. “I guess anything with meat in it. Can’t resist a good steak.” He then grinned. “What, are you planning on cooking our next meal?”

You took a moment to ponder that. “There’s only so much rations I can take. Maybe I will cook. I’ve been craving bangers and mash,” you suggested. “Or perhaps bubble ‘n squeak?”

Yoongi’s face wrinkled in slight disgust. “I forget you British people have no sense of taste,” he remarked, leaning against one of the seats with his arms still crossed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment. “My American colleagues would agree with you, but I can assure you that my shepherd’s pie is anything but disgusting,” you mentioned.

“Pie? Who’s making pie?” Taehyung suddenly butted in, tampering with some mechanism in one hand. You and Yoongi noticed a stick of dynamite sticking out of the contraption and flew from your spots to the farthest corner from where Taehyung stood.

“What the hell?!” Yoongi shouted angrily, pressing you close to the wall and holding an arm out in front of you for protection. “Are you trying to kill us all?!”

Taehyung stared at you both in bewilderment for a few seconds before glancing down at the mechanism in his hand. Realization dawned upon him as his mouth formed around a silent “oh.” “Geez, calm down, you two. It’s defective. I wouldn’t just walk around with an explosive in hand in a flying plane,” he laughed, removing the stick and twirling it between his fingers.

Yoongi relaxed a bit and shook his head in disbelief, finally moving away from the wall. The smell of oil and metal left with him. “Y’know, these days, I'm not so sure,” he sighed, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s going on in here?” Jin asked as he walked in. His eyes, too, landed upon Taehyung and the stick of dynamite. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. When the dots finally connected after a few seconds of stunned silence, his eyebrows shot up as he flung himself back and screamed at the top of his lungs, fear etched into every part of his face.

You had never seen a man so scared in your entire life.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Jin! It’s defective!”

He seemed to calm down a bit at those words, but fear and paranoia remained imprinted in his features. His eyes were glued to the explosive. “Well, get rid of it then!” he snapped, recomposing himself from such an embarrassing ordeal.

“Can everyone please stop yelling?” Jimin shouted from his seat in the cockpit. “It’s a little hard to concentrate with all that commotion back there!”

Jungkook poked his head out from the cockpit, slight concern growing on his face. “What’s wrong-”

“Before you start screaming,” Taehyung interrupted, jabbing the dynamite at a now surprised Jungkook, “it’s defective.” He then brushed past everyone and unceremoniously tossed the stick into a cardboard box labeled in black marker ‘defective’. You all flinched when it landed in the box but relaxed after a few seconds of anxious silence.

Jin sighed, his broad shoulders sagging. “Tae, what have we said about messing with the explosives?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Don’t touch them unless absolutely necessary. But you know who made that rule?” Taehyung pointed at himself. “Me. I’m the expert here, and I say it’s absolutely necessary to check every once in a while to separate the defects from the working explosives.”

“Just do it away from us so we don’t go into cardiac arrest,” you said, crossing your arms.

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders before leaving the group, probably to go check on the supplies once more. Jin collapsed in a nearby chair, his hand resting on his chest. Yoongi shuffled away, mumbling something about fixing whatever recent thing Namjoon had broken. This left you alone with the millionaire and the muscle.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck before turning to Jin. “Hyung, would you like a drink?” he suggested, knowing fully well the guy needed it.

Jin nodded, “Get me a soju.”

Jungkook went over to one of the nearby boxes and pulled out a green bottle. Looking up to you, he asked “Would you like anything, too, y/n?”

You considered the offer for a few moments, wondering if now was a good time to be drinking. However, after that scare with the dynamite, a drink sounded amazing. “Sure, I guess I’ll also have a soju.” You then smirked. “As long as it isn’t drugged.”

The bodyguard chuckled at your comment as he took the green bottle and three shot glasses. He popped off the cap using one of the nearby armrests and poured the clear liquid into the shot glasses. “Have you ever had soju?” he questioned as he handed you your drink.

You shook your head. “No, but I can’t think of a better time to rectify that.”

“It tastes like watered down vodka, in case you’re wondering,” Jin described to you as he received his glass from the younger man.

You held the glass out and observed it for a few seconds, taking a moment to watch the liquid swirl around. “Vodka, huh? I expected you to be more of a wine guy,” you commented, bringing your drink back down.

“I am,” Jin replied, looking out the window at the cloudy, blue sky for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to you, “but this situation calls for something a little stronger.” He then lifted his glass up in the air for a toast. “Geon bae.”

You also lifted up your glass. “Geon bae,” you cheered, causing Jungkook to chuckle at your attempt to replicate Jin’s pronunciation. You all threw the shot back, and you felt the liquid burn in your throat as you swallowed it down. Ah, you could feel its warmth pooling in your stomach, and you released a sigh you felt had been trapped in your chest for a long time. “It does taste like watered down vodka.”

“This is from Jimin’s stash,” Jungkook confessed. He lifted a finger to his lips and smirked at you, narrowing his eyes in a conspiratory manner. “Let’s keep this a secret between us.” You weren’t sure if your cheeks were heating up because of the look in his eyes or because of the alcohol.

You grinned back at him, trying to ignore your flustered state. “Just as long as you don’t tell him I took some of his rations,” you bargained, surprised at your own banter. It had to be the alcohol, right?

His smirk was replaced with a mirthful smile as he laughed at your comment. “It’s a deal then,” he concluded, still laughing to himself.

“Then I guess I might as well admit that I used some of Jimin’s cologne when he wasn’t looking?” Jin added, clinking his fingers against his glass sheepishly.

“Everyone probably uses Jimin’s stuff when he isn’t looking,” you noted casually, remembering the time when Jimin was looking for his comb when Taehyung had secretly swiped it.

“Gentlemen and... gentlewoman... we are now arriving at our destination. Please buckle yourselves as we descend into Darjeeling. Thank you for flying Jimin Airlines!” The pilot in question announced over the overhead speakers.

Jungkook chuckled to himself as he took yours and Jin’s glasses and placed them back in the crate he pulled them from. “What a dork...” He seated himself in the chair next to Jin, and buckled himself in with a resounding ‘click’.

Namjoon soon entered the cabin, nose deep in his book which, from the looks of it, was written in Bengali. He gave you a polite greeting before he took a seat in front of Jin. You decided to sit next to him, since you haven’t had the chance to talk to the archeologist yet. As you buckled yourself in, you peeked at Namjoon’s book again. You admired the beautiful artwork that adorned one of the pages he was currently reading.

“How’s the book?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Namjoon turned his gaze to you, unsure if you were talking to him at first. “Oh, um, it’s good,” he answered, setting the book in his lap. “It’s all about the history of the Bengali and Assam regions. I thought I’d refresh my memory, since our expedition is taking us here.”

You nodded in understanding, finding his research to be both fascinating and impressive. “So, what’s this about then?” you inquired, pointing at a page.

Namjoon glanced down at where you pointed, his dark eyes wandering over the page. “It’s just talking about how the Pala Empire formed under Gopala I,” he explained. “Both regions were a part of the empire until the Hindu Sena dynasty dethroned the Pala Empire in the 12th century.”

You were impressed that Namjoon didn’t simply read the page verbatim, instead summarizing based on his own memory and understanding. You knew he was incredibly intelligent the moment he dated your tapestry, but he continued to impress you. Before this had all began, when you were still arranging a meeting with him about your tapestry, you had done some research of your own on the man, which had led to an impressive list of books all written by the historian. Of course, you hadn't done enough research to find out he wasn’t actually an active professor like he had led you to believe.

“Y/n!” you heard your name being called in a cheerful tone. Hoseok bounded into your view and sat down in the flight seat in front of you, smiling brightly at you. “You almost forgot your camera in the back seats.” He held out the leather encased camera, and you mentally chastised yourself as you took it out of his hands. “You’re lucky it was me who found it and not Yoongi.”

You imagined the scowl and rant you would have received from the mechanic and were extremely thankful to the doctor. “Yeah, thanks for saving my neck, Hoseok,” you chuckled, tightening your grip on the case.

He laughed. “Well, I am the doctor. It’s what I do,” he smiled his infectious smile. “Oh, and please, call me Hobi. The others already call me that anyway. You might as well too at this point.”

“Dr. Hobi,” you tested the name on your tongue. “Sounds like a character from the cartoons in the papers.”

“Oooh! I like the sound of that! Dr. Hobi to the rescue!”

—————————————

Just as planned, you landed in Darjeeling and were currently helping the other boys bring the supplies to the motel rooms Jin had booked for the night. You placed all of the crates you could manage onto your flat and started pushing it past the other boys. Big mistake on your part. Why? Because it was currently thirty degree celsius and very humid, and the boys were doing manual work, which meant, yes, they were indeed sweating.

Most of them had their sleeves rolled up and their shirts unbuttoned as sweat rolled down their faces. You could see Jungkook’s muscles flex as he carried heavy equipment to his flat and Namjoon’s sculpted calves clench as he lifted his share of the crates. You felt the blood rush to your already warm cheeks, and you willed yourself not to look at them.

Get a grip, woman, you scolded yourself internally.

You had to remind yourself that they were your teammates, not men you could fantasize about. This was all strictly professional, and you intended to keep it that way.

“Need a hand, boys?” you asked, wiping the sweat from your brow as you tried your very best not to notice the way Jimin’s shirt was currently very see through.

Taehyung grinned at you mirthfully and sauntered over. Dear Lord, he was wearing a tank top. “Could I add something to your flat?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded. “Yep! Just put it right here!” You pointed at an open area.

“Thanks, y/n.” He then stretched himself out on the flat and wrapped his arms behind his head. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued to grin cheekily. “Alright, darling, take us over.”

You gaped at him. “You cheeky monkey!” you scolded, smacking him on the shoulder, rousing a chorus of laughter from him and the rest of the team. “Get up!”

Yoongi looked wistfully at Taehyung. “Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” he wondered out loud to himself.

You shook the flat hoping it would cause the demolition expert to flop off, but he stubbornly stuck to his spot. Exasperation flood over your being as you threw your head back. Wasn’t this man supposed to be an adult? Then why was he acting like a child? “Taehyung, get off!” you chided, giving the flat another good shake. However, your efforts bore no fruit.

Taehyung pouted slightly. “Why? I get a nice view of you from down here,” he bluntly remarked, his pout forming into a bold grin.

You sputtered for a few seconds, your mind at a complete loss for words. Did he just…? No, that can’t be right. You must’ve heard wrong. Maybe he was talking about the nice view of the sky? Yes, that had to be it.

Jimin giggled at your bothered state, crouching down slightly so his arms rested on his thighs. “Aw, look how flustered you made her, Tae~” he cooed, tilting his head amusedly. “Looks like someone isn’t used to getting complimented.”

Your cheeks were inflamed at this point, and you were fairly sure everyone could see how embarrassed you were. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to being complimented, but rather the boys were taking it a step further than complimenting. It was on the border of flirting. “Of course I’m used to being complimented!” you refuted, trying to recompose yourself. “It’s just that-! I-!”

“Liar!” Hoseok interjected, wrapping an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. “You’re sooo not used to getting complimented.I think we should fix that, don’t you agree?” He looked at Yoongi for answer.

The mechanic shrugged his shoulders. “If we fix it, then we won’t get to see her all embarrassed again,” he mentioned, looking at the other’s for their opinion.

Hoseok let out a noise of agreement before adding, “You’re right! She looks so cute when she’s shy!”

You panicked once more. Cute? You can’t remember the last time someone called you cute. All your friends squealed about how cute your cat was, but never had anyone recently called you cute. You placed a hand on your cheek to feel if it was indeed inflamed, and you were fairly certain your cheeks were never this hot before. “Okay, okay!” you cried out, throwing your hand at your side. “You can stop with the bloody teasing!”

“We’re not teasing,” Jungkook rebutted, leaning against his flat with an amused twinkle in his eye. “If we were teasing, we’d talk about how you look like a deer caught in headlights.”

“Or a schoolgirl when a boy flirts with her,” Jimin added, running his fingers through his raven hair. Damn, he shouldn’t be doing that when you’re already so flustered.

“I wish I could use your camera and take a picture of you right now,” Jin teased playfully, gesturing to the camera that hung from your neck. “The pictures would be hilarious!”

“If you do,” Namjoon butted in, a coltish grin spreading from ear to ear, “give me a few. I’d like to have something to look back on and laugh.” He then snickered seeing the gaped look you were giving him. When did these boys get so cheeky with you?

“Alright! That’s it! Enough of that!” The boys laughed wildly at your now provoked expression, knowing fully well that they managed to get under your skin. You just had enough of their silly teasing! Anymore and you would’ve imploded.

“Huh, she gets angry when we either compliment her or when we tease her,” Yoongi remarked, folding his arms as a disappointed look crept onto his features. “You’re a mean girl, y/n.” The way he said ‘mean girl’ made your body feel things you know fully well you shouldn’t be feeling.

“Hmmm, I do seem to recall that you like to tease us a lot, too, y/n,” Namjoon referred to, rousing up remarks of agreement from the other boys. “That’s a bit unfair.”

“Ooooh~ does that mean we get to tease her more then?” Jimin inquired, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Hoseok lit up at Jimin’s suggestion, his eyes flickering with a spark of excitement. You could practically see the many plans of future teasing running through his thoughts. “I like that idea! Perhaps we could tease her about how she talks in her sleep? I mean, last night she was mumbling about wanting to interview a farmer in charge of an ostrich farm so badly!” The other boys squealed in laughter, imaging you eagerly wanting to meet the ostrich farmer in your dreams. Some of them were laughing so hard they used the crates as support.

You couldn’t believe where this was going. “No! No! Don’t team up against me!” you protested, jabbing a finger at all of them. “All I want is get him off!” You gestured dramatically at the man who was still lying on your flat.

Taehyung stopped laughing and pouted once more, his behavior resembling one of a child who was told no. Lord help you with these boys. “But I’m so tired!” he whined, clinging to the flat.

After a few seconds of chastising Taehyung to no avail, you managed to convince Jungkook to carry the demolition expert off so you could continue on with your job of moving crates and avoiding the sight of sweaty, attractive men who wanted nothing more than to embarrass you.

You pushed your flat onward, glancing at the slip of paper given to you by Jin that had the directions to the motel written in rather professional looking handwriting. The town you and the boys had landed in was rather run down looking. You saw a few kids playing in the streets and could hear loud, cheery voices coming from the pubs, but other than that the town looked dead. You assumed that it was because of how late it had gotten.

You admired how the sky had turned into a beautiful mix of red, orange, and pink as the sun had begun to set, and if it hadn’t been so bloody hot, you might have decided to go for a walk after you had dropped off the supplies at the motel room. The temptation to just go off on your own little brief adventure was very strong indeed, but, again, the humid weather manage to convince you otherwise.

You managed to find the motel after a few minutes of pushing and shoving, and the sweat that clung stickily to your body and clothes made you desperate for a cold shower. Perhaps instead of that walk you were contemplating, you would take a shower.

You found the room no problem, and, after a few minutes of moving the crates, you had successfully stored the supplies in your room. Luckily, you convinced Jin to book you a room all by yourself, not wanting to have to change or shower knowing the boys were right there. Your room wasn’t amazing, but it was certainly better than other motel rooms you’ve stayed at. You didn’t spot any cockroaches right away thankfully. The only thing that probably revealed its mediocrity was the discolored ceiling and walls. Other than that, it seemed to be in rather good condition.

When you realized just how sweaty you were, the bathroom began to call to you with the promise of a heavenly cold shower, but you knew that you had to, unfortunately, take the flat back to the airport. Ugh, you really didn’t want to have to deal with the boys possibly teasing you once more, but you knew that you didn’t have much of a choice… again. Sighing to yourself, you trudged back to the hallway outside the motel room.

When you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was the strong stench of alcohol that filled the air, accompanied by the sight of a pair of shoes and pants that didn’t belong to any of your teammates. Fear slowly washed over you as your fight or flight instincts screamed at you to get away as soon as possible. Your eyes slowly dragged themselves up, hoping that your instincts were wrong, only to find yourself face to face with a man you didn’t know.

A man who was holding a knife directed threateningly at you.

[pagalaurat]

"But why did she have to wash dirty linen in public?"

"But why did she have to wash dirty linen in public?" It's not even funny how many people used this same exact idiom to pitch themselves on the "No, what Kangana did was too much" side. First of all, well done remembering language from that article you read - brownie points for reusing it in the same conversation but in different groups. Second, do you really want to use *that* idiom to justify your lack of strength to support a woman who has the courage to go bare all after repeated public humiliation? Really? Oh no. Please, no! I'm not a "supporter". Please count me out of "oh, so which side are you on?" and for a change, try not putting me in a bucket just because I have a thought to share. Going back to my thought - well, in a country where we are so accustomed to seeing fellow citizens poop, pee, fight, harass and abuse in public, literally and figuratively, I think this is quite a British way to word our opinion "as an "Indian". Washing dirty linen in public, in fact, should be a comparatively pleasant sight, right? Wrong. After all, it's not everyday we get such a meaty topic to form our cultivated, chauvinist, self-validating opinions on. I mean, let's all agree - Nobody really cares about "information". People are just waiting for an opportunity to judge. And if somebody from audience tries to escape taking sides, others make sure you get annoyed enough to take a side. Clearly our newspapers are a reflection of what we like to consume. Supply comes from demand, I bet. So without any further ado, let me take you through the top 3 points I've to participate in this amazing national shindig of a debate: - Oversharing or not, you have to give it to her for taking bullies head on - be it press or people. With too many women already not speaking up for themselves we need some mad influential women like her to lead the pack and set example of taking them by the throat. Of confronting them, embarrassing them and not giving them the satisfaction of your silence. - Also, I don't really care about her oversharing, bro! I didn't hear you initiating such enriching arguments when the other party went overboard sharing personal conversations publicly, which anyways stripped her off naked to zero privacy. So why now? Is it because it's not expected of a "dignified, educated Indian woman" or because it's way more entertaining and convenient for you to participate in these random opinion-sharing fests without actually putting in 1% of your brain and actually thinking about it. Hmmmm. Sounds like "TME", I know. - And the third/most important point - man, it's her life, her information, her interview, her movie, her promotion, her "publicity stunt", her linen, her laundry. *She* is selling it, if she is selling it at all. You are the buyer. :) Consumption is optional, my friend! You don't want to watch the movie, don't watch the movie. You don't want to talk about this, don't talk about this. I hope you realize many people have successfully dodged GoT as well. "Toh ye kis khet ki mooli hain?" Abhi thoda chill kare? #sorrynotsorry

[seaboundbysunrise]

Well to be honest, I’ve neglected this blog, and I probably would have continued if one of the new cadets who joined last month mentioned that they’d actually read it (cheers Andy!) so I decided that I should probably give it an update now I’ve got some free time. So, without banging on too much, what’s going on now?

Well I finished my sea time. I paid off my final ship yesterday after a long five and a half month stint. In a strange way I wouldn’t say that it’s any worse than doing four months – at that point, you’re committed to the ship life, so you just take it day by day. I’ll talk about that more in a future post, for now let’s talk about my second sea trip.

I finished college one week into August and a week later I was joining the Anvil Point in Marchwood. Being one of Foreland’s point class vessel I knew what to expect so I wasn’t too apprehensive. Upon arrival I was told that we were heading out to Duqm (Oman) via Duress (Albania) as part of the Saif Sereea exercise after a short stay in Devonport, Plymouth. So, what is Saif Sereea 3? Here’s a heavily condensed explanation taken from the Royal Navy website:

“Saif Sereea is a joint British-Omani military exercise intend to reinforce the relationships between Britain and Oman. The overall aim of the exercise was to test the UK’s expeditionary warfare strategy and maintain strategic relationships with our allies in the Persian Gulf. Involved in the operation was the HMS Albion, HMS Dragon, HMS Blyth, HMS Ledbury, RFA Cardigan Bay, RFA Lyme Bay and us, the MV Anvil Point.” Duqm (despite essentially being a carpark in the desert) is an important place to hold as it is a fantastic loading/offloading port, offers growing dry dock facilities and is situation in a prime spot for any action involving the red sea, the gulf of oman or the suez canal.

The trip started normal enough – the obligatory few rough days across the Bay of Biscay followed by an easy sail passed Gibralta and into the Mediterranean. Our first port of call, Durres, is one of the largest cities in Albania. The berth was situated right in the city centre meaning that you could go from cabin to cold beer in under three minutes – not bad at all!

Duress is what I’d call a developing city – it’s going through a period of redevelopment following the economies collapse in the late 90’s and a short period of literal anarchy in ’97. As such, you can go from well developed touristy area to less developed areas including half finished buildings and squats within a street or two. The conversion rate was definitely in our favour – you could enjoy a three course meal plus a few beers in some of Trip Advisors top ranking restaurants for under twenty quid which was great. Every other store seemed to be either a coffee shop or an ice cream stand (costing around 80p and £1.40 each) with both being really high quality. All in all, if you enjoy your food and you’re in the area already (it probably isn’t worth a trip alone) then it’s worth a visit! The amphitheater, one of the oldest in Europe, is well worth the £1.50 entrance fee, if only to soak in the surrealness of standing in a building originally built during the second century AD whilst simultaneously being surrounded by housing. Luckily the Albanian government are looking into treating it as the area of historical importance that it deserves to be but I can’t see anything happening soon. Meanwhile, sadly, it slowly falls into disrepair.

After hurrying across the med with a storm on our stern we moor up at Port Said for the night. Port Said is the entrance to the Suez Canal – as soon as day starts to break we pick up anchor and begin to lead the convoy through.The Suez Canal is a sea level waterway opened in 1869, providing a direct route between the North Atlantic and the North Indian oceans via the Mediterranean. It is of great convenience to seafarers, removing the need to sail around the horn of Africa and brave the South Atlantic and shaving over four days off of most middle east to europe journeys. An average of 47 ships traverse the 120 mile canal every day. The Suez itself will take about 10 hours to transit, but still requires three separate pilots. On one side you have Egypt – for the most part desert, occasionally broken up by military bases and statues – and on the other, Israel, a combination of more desert, 80% finished but completely derelict cities, small towns and the occasional expensive looking resort.One of the most notable sights is the Mubarak Peace Bridge. Despite only being opened in 2001, today this 2.4 mile bridge is unused, becoming little more than a photo opportunity and an entry into numerous ship’s log books. It’s an exciting transit the first time you do it, but by the third time it loses it’s appeal.

Around a week later we arrived in Duqm – visually, it looks like a cross between a car park, a DIY military base and a very isometric scrap metal yard. Over the next few days the rest of the task force arrived, filling the port with grey ships. Over the next few weeks we would spend our time delivering equipment to the task force, conducting maintenance alongside, sitting at anchor and occasionally taking part in exercises (although this rarely extended beyond slowly sailing around a designated square whilst the liaison officer took part via comms). One big issue we had was the lack of any real speed – eventually we began to run out of fresh water (we can only generate our own when sailing at over 8 knots), requiring us to take on fresh water from the quay side. It was drinkable but it wasn’t the clearest or freshest I’ve ever tried, and it certainly had a tint by the time we got back to the UK.

One perk from our time in Duqm (aside from the tan) was getting to visit the RFA Cardigan Bay (thanks to my classmate Rich who was also taking part) and the minesweeper Ledbury. Both offered very different seafaring experiences – the Bay felt very much like a hive city whilst the Ledbury was very old fashioned and claustrophobic (well, it is almost forty years old). We also made it over to Container Town – a rough town operated out of… well, check the pictures, containers – that only really opens when there’s enough ships in to make it viable. With over 5 military ships and us around... it was definitely worth opening the bar. We stayed for a couple, rinsed the wifi and got a pizza from the pizza hut container (yes, they even had a franchised pizza hut guy!) before heading back to the ship. It’s no London but after three weeks of Duqm heat it was a great change of pace.

The journey back was uneventful. And there’s a hard truth in that – back home, everyone will assume that each trip will contain some great story, but this is a job, like any other job and some trips are just…uneventful.

Now, my company will do it’s best to pay it’s trainee’s off in Marchwood. It’s simple (being a uk port) and cheaper (as they don’t have to buy international plane tickets) so it’s a bit of a no brainer. In all honesty, it works for me – I can be home within 2 to 3 hours so it isn’t actually a bad home port. However, this time I was to sail with the Anvil to Gibralta, enjoy a night on the town, and fly back the next day. Seeing as I’d only flown once in my life at this point, that was quite exciting.

I can see why sailors get excited when a Gib stop is planned. It’s so convenient! The port is only ten minutes walk from the town, everything is in pounds, home from home mobile internet access and the place in general feels like a mixture of Spain and England. We moored up at midday and by one we’d finished unloading our miniscule amount of cargo, leaving us with time to explore! I broke off from the group and decided to climb the rock myself – I didn’t make it to the top but I did stumble across Jew’s Gate Cemetery where I called it a day and wandered back into town.

One boozy night later (sensibly I decided to skip the casino) and I’m ready to fly back home. With a chronic lack of flat ground in Gibralta, their airport is built along their border with spain and the runway essentially leads to the ocean. It’s quite a surreal feeling, watching the plane speeding towards the water before pulling up. In terms of training, this was a bit of a strange trip – we actually did very little consistent sailing or cargo work, but the amount of time spent alongside or at anchor gave me a lot of time to learn on the hands on element of the third mates job. It is easy to become complacent when things are quiet for a while so I’d advise making a list of what TRB tasks you can be finished in any time period and being proactive in finding (or creating) opportunities to do so. I probably could have been more forthcoming with what I needed to complete and returned with a fuller TRB, which would have made the new trip easier, but due to the nature of this run there were some parts which just weren’t going to get done. Still, that’s easy to be said in hindsight – the trip certainly felt full on at the time!

My next post will probably be split into two and a 5 ½ month trip is a bit too large for one blog post before I reflect on dissertations, finishing your TRB and making the most of the time you’ve got.

Until next time,

Stay lucky.

[midnightiscoming-kasabian]

New/Old interview with Ian (November 2016) _______________

Mike Dolbear DRUMS | Interview with Ian Matthews - Kasabian

“Rock compares to jazz like killing someone with a baseball bat vs. putting a pillow over their mouth”. Ian Matthews has both ways down like few others.

Coming from a jazz background he swapped the thin sticks for some proper wood and has been the power house behind British Indie Rock band Kasabian for the last 13 years.

2015 has also seen Ian seeking out new adventures joining a team surrounding master drum builder Keith Keough launching the brand new British Drum Company.

I caught up with Ian after his performance at the London Drum Show to chat about his musical upbringing, Kasabian and his new venture into the drum building business.

[x]

You started at the age of four after your babysitter taught you your first beats?

Yes, my babysitter (now passed away) was one of my dads mates and a long standing friend of the family. He would come to babysit me and bring me drum sticks when I was about two. I still remember ‘Mama - Dada - Mama - Dada’. His dad had an amazing red sparkle drum kit which I always loved. I think that’s where the seeds were sown.

My dad being a pianist wanted me to play the piano too but he realised that I wasn’t interested. So when I was four he tried to find a teacher who would teach somebody so young. There was a guy who lived just around the corner in Bristol called Mike Holmwood who was playing as a session player at the time for a band called The Brotherhood of Men. He had me come round the house, stick on some Cowboys and Indians or whatever was on the telly on a Saturday morning, gave me some milk and biscuits; take me up to the drum room for ten minutes to teach me some stuff; then back down for some more Cowboys and Indians; then back up for another ten minutes and so on... He did that for several years and taught me how to play brushes, jazz independence, how to read and all that. He got me to a point where when I was seven years old my dad turned around to me as he was packing his organ in the back of the car and went: ''Son, you’re coming with me''. The drummer for his social club gig was ill so I filled in. I went to do the gig with him and got £5. From that point I was hooked.

This guy Mike used to tell me about playing with confidence and feel. It was something I didn’t quite understand then but he sowed those seeds in my head. I’m making music for the sake of how I’m doing it as opposed to what I’m doing and I’ve got on as a drummer from the age of 19/20 as a drummer by going into from that direction.

Was it a conscious decision for you to make drumming your career or did it just happen?

I went through school still doing all these gigs with my dad and then joined a Bristol drum corps called The Troopers when I was ten. I don’t think we were a very good drum corp; we rehearsed twice a week and we also came last in the championships, but it taught me how to play with others and we used to race each other on rudiments trying to become the lead drummer.

I also did some school orchestras and in the band of the Avon and Somerset fire brigade learning to play with a wind band, playing military type stuff and lots of reading. I also did wedding gigs and jazz gigs, so I was always involved with music through school.

Even my drum teacher at the time, Eddy Clayton, used to dep me out for his gigs so I was playing in the pubs of Bristol when I was 13. Props to all these middle aged jazzers letting a 13 year old boy sit in and count them in.

I left school and had some crappy jobs which all weren’t really well paid and I just realised I could make nearly enough doing a couple of function gigs on the weekend. So I decided I would like to just sit at home and have to do nothing else but just play the drums and see if I can live of that. So I did.

You once made this beautiful comparison between rock and jazz being like “killing someone with a baseball bat vs. putting a pillow over their mouth”.

[laughs] Yes, this was kind of a half joke between me and a friend of mine who’s a jazz violinist. I’ve done jazz gigs with him and it’s so different than going on stage for a hundred thousand people driving a drum kit through the stage. That’s why we came up with that. To me, brewing on a ride cymbal at mid- to up- tempo, or even a slow brush thing, the inner me is trying to bring as much intensity to that musical moment of a whisper as I would at a yell.

You’re left-handed but you set up your drum kit right-handed?

I had this question a lot during my time as a teacher. You find people have left/right issues with their bodies. For me, I’m left-handed writing but my natural instinct is to kick a ball with my right foot, so my right foot was always gonna be my kick drum foot. Also, I was just put on a traditional drum set by my first teacher. I can’t even remember if he made me play like this or if I just naturally did it because I as a kid I watched all these drummers on our little black and white TV making their drums shake, guys with massive bangs of hair and huge sideburns. Maybe that’s where it came from. I’m not against playing lefty but it’s just the way it rolled. The right foot thing though was important for me.

Let’s talk about Kasabian.

I had a teacher who indicated to me that if I wanna get on the scene I needed to make sure to make friends and connect to as many engineers as possible. That’s where you meet the musicians who are doing stuff and where you get a call of people who need a drummer. These are the guys who are active, not the getting stoned in a bedsit dreaming about being a rock star.

I had red light fever and every time the recording button got pressed I would jam up. I tried getting as much training as possible, whether it was paid or not.

Mat, a friend of a friend, ran a studio called Big Bonk and I used to go there and record for free on his projects and in return he would throw me some work. Sometimes there was 50 or 100 quid in it. Kasabian from Leicester were coming down. They got some development money from their manager to spend on a drummer and Mat recommended me.

The day before the recording I fell down the stairs, sprained my right ankle badly and was inches from picking up the phone to cancel because I couldn’t walk. I still did it. I limped down to his basement, the boys looked at me and I went: ''I’m your drummer for the day''. That’s when I first met them. I did the session in pain you wouldn’t believe, they were blown away it seems and I did a couple of sessions with them after that.

They got signed the year after in 2002 but I couldn’t really get involved because I was doing enough stuff already. I was working with a guy signed to Virgin, another artist signed to Real World and was going to Paris a lot doing some African crossover stuff replacing Manu Katche in a band.

During that time the guys were sharing a farm up in Leicester working on their record. We lost contact a little through 2003 and later that year they started getting on the road playing the Dog & Duck here, the Dog & Duck there, driving up and down the motorways in a Mini Metro and an Austin Maestro.

In 2004 the manager called me in a panic saying they needed a drummer next week and they wanted me. It was Easter holidays so I went in and we tore it up for two weeks. After that the manager said: “Do you want to come and work with us? I can hire you and we have enough money to replace your teaching and feed your family. Come with us for 18 months.” I went for it and it was amazing. In fact they made me a band member in 2005 - so it’s kind of a gradient in membership. I wasn’t just parachuted into a famous band. I proved myself, we proved ourselves and together we made it all possible. I met them 15 years ago and it’s all been developing ever since.

There’s a bit of a time off for the band at the moment?

Yes, we last seriously toured in 2014 when we headlined Glastonbury. That was a big gig. That whole year was really dense.

Then 2015 we just did about 15 or 20 festivals mostly in eastern Europe, we also went to Brazil and did the Lollapalooza tour of Latin America taking in Chile, Peru, Colombia and Argentina. Then come the end of August we decided we’re on our sixth album, we need to give us some time off. We also wanted to give the public some time off and not just bring out another album and go back out on tour.

This coincided with Keith inviting me to become partner in the British Drum Company.

2016 was quiet apart from May where Leicester, Kasabians favourite team, won the Premiership in the most dramatic way ever and we played their victory parade in front of 150,000 people in Victoria Park. In my down time I did some jazz gigs, some funk gigs, a little bit of session work here and there, the drum company and my family. I’m not pursuing a project because by the time it gets going Kasabian will be back out.

Let’s talk about the British Drum Company for a bit.

So Keith is a guy I met a few years ago at the Scottish Drum Fare and we got on like a house on fire straight away, it’s like Bro-Love. We stayed in contact every since and every time I was in Manchester we met up for a drink, some food or he came to see a gig - we just became mates and we would trade on each other on our perspectives on drum maker vs. drum player. I always knew I wanted to work with but he was with Premier and I was with DW so we just didn’t have the situation.

It came to that he left Premier and Al Murray convinced him to keep on building drums, so the two of them started collecting partners. Stu Warmington does our marching devision, Alan Kitching is our product designer and there is me, which is flippin’ amazing. Keith literally just turned around to me at V-Fest, the last gig of our tour and went: “You’re up for this then mate?”. And I just went: Wow! Fuck yeah!

It must be something like a little boys dream to be involved in building your own kits. Is there any limit to what you can do or can you just try anything?

Mate, it’s incredible! Keith is the genius and what the rest of us do around Keith is to steer his genius in the right way. We’re like a band. We’re flying very quickly, we’ve only just gone a year and already everybody is going: oh yeah, British Drum Company. People are intrigued still  but we all came together because we’re all senior in what we do somehow. We’re not ‘having a go’ or just investing in a business and try go get people in to run it who are not that emotionally into it. We’re five partners who came together to create something magic that we’re proud of and I think it’s working.

I think it has taking people by a bit of a shock that a little Manchester workshop can create a drum kit which sounds f**king unreal.

I had that moment when I left DW, who I was very loyal to, and turned up to London Drum Show last year [the official launch of British Drum Company]. I got up in the lift, got to the booth, drums all over the floor, the boys all red-eyed because they’d been up all night to finish the last drum kit and you could still smell the solvent. Keith gave me a drum key, put me on this 24” kick drum kit and told me to tune it up. I took a deep breath: Right, this is the moment, let’s see what I’ve done. I hit the drum and I tell you now: the adrenaline that went through me when I realised I’d done the right thing was incredible. We set the whole thing up, I played it and my first words when I turned to Keith were: ''I’ll take this kit on a stadium tour tomorrow. I’ll never forget that moment''.

I’m catching you just after your masterclass in the Mike Dolbear room here at the London Drum Show. How does this compare to being on stage with a band?

Well, I’m coming here to a full room of people and I have Ash Soan, Karl Brazil, Mark Richardson, Cherisse Osei and Tina from Zildjian out there who all came to see me. Bloody hell! I’m nervous of those situations but it’s not the playing, it’s the talking. Am I actually gonna manage to entertain these people and give them something?

When it comes to playing music I’ve been doing it long enough. The intense acceleration of Kasabians career happened in the mid noughties - especially when Fire came out. Suddenly we started headlining all these festivals. I remember being at T in the Park and looking at this enormous stage, there was Channel 4, T4 cameras everywhere, celebrities hanging about and 60,000 people out the front and I shit myself! I had my moment of ‘Wow’ and had to talk myself down of it. I told myself: I’m only here because the boys want me here and the way I play. I can’t change the way I play that’s just the way it is. We are only here because the people out there want us there. We can’t change the way we play, that’s the way we do it. So if we only go on stage and play the way we play and not be scared of that, then happy days surely! We spent hours together in dressing rooms and tour buses talking about these issues, Tom just always went: ''You have nothing to prove''.

So I think those other drummers can think what they like, we’re all mates. I could have a bad one today and wouldn’t give a sh*t. I’m only human.

I know that I’ve made 100,000 people jump at the same time in a field so there is something about my humble basic beats that works. That’s me being arrogant of course but if we get into the psychology of it... and maybe there are some readers out there who might have to read that. It’s like sports psychology.

Finally, what’s next?

The company is keeping me busy pretty good. We’re doing most of it via social media so my phone is just going ‘bing’ all the bloody time.

In the meantime, the weather is changing for Kasabian, we’re gonna be brewing up. The new record is in completion I think and for all you Kasabian fan readers, there’s gonna be something special coming your way.

That’s the good thing though: if I do go out back on tour with Kasabian this year, I’ll still be helping to manage the company.

I feel very lucky at the moment.

Thanks a lot for your time Ian!

Interview -Tobias Miorin

Photos - Francesco DesMaele

www.mikedolbear.co.uk

[ozma914]

How The First World War Led To American Independence

I originally wrote this six years ago, but few people read it because it's about history. Ironically, it was one of the last pieces I wrote before my newspaper column became history. As I said in the opening to our book "Hoosier Hysterical", history would be a lot more fun if it was made ... well ... fun. So I had fun with this. (It's been changed slightly because I'm six years older.)           Ever since Christopher Columbus first landed in the New World and hid all the Viking artifacts, America has been a land of opportunity, independence, and smallpox.           Eventually the British colonists decided to go off and form their own country. (Except for Canadians, who were just too polite to leave.) Since our schools don’t teach enough history these days--there’s so much more of it now--I thought I’d give you a quick timeline of how we, the people, went from tea to coffee:            1756: The French and Indian War           This was probably the first World War. No, seriously: Over here we just mention the French and Indians, but the rest of the world called it the Seven Years War. It spread all over the globe, like a viral YouTube video, but with more cannon fire and disease. Nations involved included Austria, England, France, Great Britain, Prussia, and Sweden. Oh, and the Indians, who had their own list of nations.            (Later on Prussia, not wanting to be confused with Russia, changed their name to Germany.)           Why does this involve American Independence, which came decades later? Because it cost the British government so much to defeat their enemies (and the Indians) that they began taxing the colonists to help pay for it. And yet they didn’t allow the colonies to raise their own armies, plus there was that whole taxation without representation thing.           Oh, and one more thing: The whole world war began (well, mostly) because a young Virginia militia leader ambushed a French scouting party in the far west wilderness … near Pittsburgh. In later years, George Washington would be more careful to start battles after war was declared.            1770: The Boston Massacre:           No, it wasn’t a sporting event. It started when a group of colonists began throwing snowballs at a squad of British soldiers (In Boston. Sheesh.). That’s not so bad, is it? Then the colonists starting tossing sticks and stones, which, contrary to popular belief, can indeed break bones.           This is a perfect example of why you shouldn’t throw stuff at people with guns. Five colonists died and the soldiers were arrested, but they were mostly acquitted thanks to the crafty defense by a young lawyer names John Adams.            1773: The Boston Tea Party           Tired of high taxes, an unresponsive government, and Earl Gray, colonists (In Boston—sheesh) dressed up as Indians, sneaked aboard ships (In the harbor—sheesh), and tossed 342 chests of tea into the water. In today’s dollars, they turned Boston harbor into the world’s biggest cup, with $750,000 worth of tea. They were led, of course, by the famous Boston patriot Folger “Starbuck” Maxwell.            But why blame the Indians? They didn’t even drink tea.            1774: The First Continental Congress            They didn’t get much done. But in their defense, they were a Congress.            1775: Patrick Henry stirs the pot           With the grievances of the colonists ignored by a remote government—sort of like today, only without Facebook—a radical named Patrick Henry, upset because he had two first names and no last one, began making fiery speeches and resolutions.           The truth is, Henry was kind of a deadbeat. Worse, a lawyer. But man, he sure could talk good, and his actions helped ignite the American Revolution. You’ve probably heard the last line of his big speech, which was “Give me liberty or give me death!” Luckily, he got liberty.            1775: The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.            He rode through the countryside yelling, “The British are coming!”            Sleepy residents yelled back, “Shut up, you fool! We are the British!”           Then he got arrested, probably for violating the noise ordinance, and the ride was completed by William Dawes. Unfortunately for Dawes, the name “Paul Revere” sounded better in poetry.            Also 1775 (busy year, there): The Battle of Lexington and Concord           Revere had discovered the British were marching by sea, which slowed them down considerably because the horses didn’t swim well. That gave the Minutemen almost a full two minutes. It was plenty of time to gather in Lexington, to protect stores of arms and gunpowder, and Concord, to protect the grapes.            1775 (saw that coming, didn’t you?): The Second Continental Congress            Didn’t get much done. They made up for it in 1776, though.            1775 or so: The Battle of Bunker Hill            It was actually fought on Breeds Hill.            177—wait for it—5: Patriots occupy Montreal, Canada           Things were looking up, up there. And that’s the last time things looked up for the Revolutionaries in the north, who discovered Canadian hospitality didn’t extend to invasion.

I wrote about both the American Revolution and Canadian hospitality in Hoosier Hysterical. Did you know Indiana was the location of the westernmost naval battle of the Revolution? You didn't? It's in the book--I'll go sulk, now.            1776 (finally!) Egged on by the British, Cherokee Indians attack along the entire  frontier           They were still upset about the whole Tea Party fraud. Also, they were mad about getting named for a country on the other side of the world.           June 7, 1776: Richard Henry Lee points out to the Continental Congress that they’ve been rebelling against the British for more than a year, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to actually declare themselves to be rebelling?           June 11: Five Congressmen are appointed to draft a Declaration of Independence. The other four talk Thomas Jefferson into doing the writing, pointing out that he’s the only one who’s invented a portable desk to use.            June 12-27: Jefferson writes a rough draft, only to receive a rejection letter from the committee. July 1-4: The entire Congress rips apart the Declaration. (Not literally. Sheesh.) Jefferson quits writing and goes into politics. July 2: Congress declares independence, just as the British fleet and army arrive to invade New York. Talk about timing. John Adams declares that July 2 will forever be celebrated as Independence Day. July 4: Having already declared independence, Congress now adopts the Declaration of Independence, declaring something they’ve already declared. John Adams’ head explodes. July 9: George Washington has the Declaration read before the American army. The soldiers nod politely and ask when they’re going to get paid. There was much more to it, of course. In fact, you could say the American Revolution went on until the US Constitution was adopted in 1788, or even until we fought the second Revolutionary war in 1812, which might also be related to the real second World War. Now, that’s a funny story. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- What's that, you ask? Why yes, of course you can celebrate July 4th, or any date, by buying Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All: http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

[mychristopherstokes66world]

The government has become the enemy of the people. No one can deny that they are colluding with social media to censor everyone on the internet. Both parties are calling for unconstitutional gun control measures from bump stocks to silencers to Red Flag Laws. How long are we going to pretend that our government serves the people? Or that the people really have any say? I for one will not abide tyrants and have every intention in engaging in open rebellion against Jews, pedos and traitors.  They are clamping down hard on free speech, gun rights, going after "hate crimes" and pushing the idea that whites are domestic terrorists. Day of the Rope draws nigh.  http://bit.ly/2JWUqOh You can call for violence and revolution as much as you want with ZERO legal culpability in the US. http://bit.ly/1B8OCb1 What this means: Unless your speech directly inspires some one to commit a violent crime in your immediate vicinity immediately after expressing your speech AND this was your intent, you are 100% protected. Here, let's try it out: You can even directly threaten some one online: Don't be afraid of being put on a 'list'. We are all on the list already. See: mass surveillance. They are just trying to intimidate you. Look at the legal precedents and firmly exercise your rights. Who are our symbols or important figures? I've made a small list but we should add more. We need to develop a year-round schedule of events and people to remind the public of what we are fighting for. Ted Kaczynski Brenton Tarrant Seth Rich Aaron Swartz Reddit founder Marvin Heemeyer The Killdozer Julian Assange Gary Webb We must win the infowar before we can fight the race war. A fuckton of people have woken up the the Jewish agenda but we still need more to reach that oh-so-essential critical mass. We also need to start getting organized IRL in "friend groups" that meet and train and discuss tactics. Don't openly call yourselves militias or white nationalists but work towards those ends regardless. Symbols: Tricorn hat Revolutionary Figures New Figures: Ted Kaczynski Brenton Tarrant Seth Rich Aaron Swartz Reddit founder Marvin Heemeyer The Killdozer Juliana Assange Gary Webb Terry A. Davis Symbolic events Waco Ruby Ridge POSSIBLE ALLIES: Amish Japanese Hindu Indians Mormons Ethnic Europeans THE ENEMY: Jews Pedos Traitors Muslims Jews Chinese Socialists Should Terry A Davis be considered? I believe he holds a special place in this Pantheon. He is the most Chaotic of the bunch.

the revolution you speak of is already underway - there is no putting it back into the box - there are tens of millions of people that have “nothing left to lose” they’re fukin pissed and ready to kill - they’re not rednecks but 18 - 35 yr old’s who have lost hope - they work at wal mart and ready lubes and starbucks who spend 1/2 their income to degenerate hypocrite boomer landlords who will feel the full wrath of their anger - sonif yer legit pray for a carrington event - it will make it much easier with the comm system down...

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with these war-like preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free2 if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending2if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? hall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitableand let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God!  I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death! The truth and violence, but it MUST be in that order.  Most importantly though, whites need to start viewing each other as blood-brothers and allies. (((Individualism))) has poisoned out society and eroded community bonds. This damage must be healed but I'm not exactly sure how other than pointing at a common enemy. We need to start organizing into small, unofficial militia groups with similar agendas.  Jews are so powerful today because they ENJOY working together to cause mayhem and to further their own wealth and power. Jews almost never betray each other and seem to have evolved to mob together to get what they want collectively. It's literally instinct for them. We must emulate this to an extent but with waging an actual war rather than the soft-power games that kikes excel at.  Also, JOIN THE MILITARY. We need lot's of allies embedded within the armed forces, because without their help we will never win.

I think you doth glow too much. But just in case you don't, you need to be realistic. The few hundred people here and the 'tards with their own militias are way too small to accomplish anything before getting mowed down by the national guard. You can't do it like this. You have to start with a militia, start in small towns where people see this kiked bullshit and grow yourself a movement. How did the revolution succeed? With wide support, like over 60%. You have like 0.6% and want to take down a heavily funded and well oiled machine. You can't. Build an "SJW" like movement and then we can talk.

We are going to take this seriously and go step by step. Create a list of grievances, a list of enemies, and discuss ways to move forward in ending Tyranny in the United States. We need a calendar of events to draw peoples attention and give us reason to make noise constantly. Ebba Aukerlund Waco Ruby Ridge Seth Rich Otoya Yamaguchi

We need the minds before the power goes out. That's why we need to start propaganda now. Detail who the problem is, what crimes they have committed, start a public discussion and demand change. We need another name for this besides Open Insurrection... so we can talk about it on other forums Organize and train in your local community. But don't just prepare for the day of the rope. If you bunker up with MRE's and guns you will be called a cult and the swat team will descend upon you. The proper course of action is to nominally engage with society as it is, while changing the communities you occupy. This doesn't mean riots or protests, it means starting projects to improve neighborhoods, and following through on them. The ONLY way to avoid being false flagged is to present yourselves consistently as above reproach. But the only way to cause bigger reverbrations is to be seen as better men. This means you and your lads must relentlessly pursue intellectual and physical supremacy. To be /fit/ and /lit/, one and all. By happy coincidence, lifting together and deb8ing each other will foster comeraderie, trust, and solidarity.  THE WAY TO TAKE BACK OUR LAND IS INCH BY FUCKING INCH. This is my whitepill, and I hope it's yours as well, anons\\ word from the editor  the only way to do this is to red pill as many as we can.. once people know what is going on no one will stand for it and they will all stand up... we have the right to take our country back remember that we can do this with out fighting or anyone getting hurt.. why destroy all we built  https://thedevilman666.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/groups/qanonreports https://twitter.com/CIACLOWN1 https://www.bitchute.com/channel/ciaclown16661/

[infinitetao]

From the Somme to the Blind Side Blitz

As a small boy of two years old my mother's dad, or 'Dada' as she called him, came over from Ireland to stay with us. He had worked at Cork Railway Station for many years. His main past times were reading the racing section of the Derby Telegraph, drinking Guinness from the bottle, and watching the racing in the afternoon, which for some reason used to get him 'giving out' to the tv. This was where our wills crossed, and I wasn't to be messed with. He would want to watch the 12:00pm at Doncaster and I wanted to watch 'Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men' or 'Spotty Dog' on 'Watch with Mother' , which perversely was scheduled always at the same time. Unluckily for me he had a few tricks up his sleeve. ..

My mam loved a good shop, and would get the 32 bus from the Cavendish just outside our house into the town to the market place most days. She took the opportunity of my grandad being around to pop about unencumbered by her smallest blue eyed boy, so with a 'Mind the boy' she was off and the games began. I was a precocious child and would quickly turn the channel over before my grandad could launch his folded newspaper at my head. After a short bout of this he would then use trick one; to banish me to the kitchen. He would shoo me out using the newspaper and close the door which was stiff and I couldn't open. Then things would escalate. I would use all the power in my lungs to drown out the commentator naming horses and their placement at ten to the dozen. My grandad was hard of hearing, something to do with all the artillery shelling he'd endured, so the tv would always be at full blast, but that was nothing compared to me! Later in life I was trained as a singer and my powerful lungs came in quite handy. This is when he used trick two, which sounds terrible today but most parents were happy to use back then, though he was a little more forthright than most, giving me Guinness. He would pass out a bottle of the dark heavy stout, and I would gladly gulp it down. My mam would often find me sleepy and grizzling in the kitchen on her return, I'm sure curious as to why I wasn't in the garden playing as usual...

I remember my first day at school vividly. I was so desperate for learning that somehow we actually arrived a day early and I was placed in a class with the year above me. I seemed to cope so they left me there for the next two years! I was pretty sad when my friends left and I had to stay another year. Normanton Infants School had been a Victorian village school in Old Normanton, and still had the separate entrances for boys and girls and a totally un-child friendly workhouse air about it. Unbeknownst to me at this time the Northern Ireland Conflict had just begun. The first effect it had on me was that soon after I had started school an older boy had for some reason dragged me across the playground laughing while scraping away all the skin from my right elbow. At this time I had a strong Irish accent and this seemed to upset some people, including teachers. I had to visit a clinic to have it checked every week and couldn't use my right arm for a few months, so I started to write with my left hand. Strangely enough this seemed to be the start of my ambidextrous quest; I began doing everything on both sides purposefully and in later life this really helped me in my endeavours.

I was a natural leader and soon had a little gang of guys who would follow me around the playground. The posher Sunny Hill kids stayed well away. I was a rough kid, though I didn't know it, and scared the bejeezus out of them even though I was smaller and scruffier. My compadres came from the same part of Normanton towards the town centre and had more of an affinity for my rough and tumble ways.

I would run home, yes five year olds would make their own way to and from school back then, and recount my adventures to my grandad. He was in his way a nice old man. He never hit me or raised his voice, in fact he was very quiet and didn't talk much. I think it was to do with his experiences in the First World War at the Somme. The Battle of the Somme was one of the bloodiest battles in history. By it's end the Allies and Central Powers had lost 1.5 million men. It was a miracle he survived, this fact was probably due to being captured and becoming a prisoner of war, but he never talked about it, though he would let me play with his medals. It was ironic that after everything he had done his grandchild was being bullied by British kids...

I mentioned to grandad that I had Indian friends at my school. We had a 'reverse Columbus scenario' happening. Columbus mistook the indigenous Americans for Indians, reasoning that he was in India so they must be Indians. Why that was never corrected I'll never know! Grandad had watched a lot of cowboy movies and assumed I meant Comanches and was just fantasising. So he would say 'Did ya foight the Comanches today?' and I would assure him I had. This was when I took to jumping of walls on to my Indian friends as if in battle with a knife in my teeth; this was the best way to deal with Comanches Grandad said. I often ended up banished to the verandah, which was the worst punishment for a boy with too much energy, only allowed to watch the other kids play. Eventually my older sister Yvonne worked out what was going on and put grandad straight telling him to stop inciting me to fight the Indian kids!

When I was eight I arrived at Normanton Junior School and things really kicked off. The troubles in Ireland had expanded to England and anti-Irish sentiment was high. I would have teachers calling me a 'little Irish bastard' and was attacked by the older boys. I remember being pushed down some icy concrete banks and being knocked out, then coming too with them kicking my bag around. Big mistake! I was from a large Irish family and fighting for survival with my older brothers was second nature. This is when I developed the 'Blitz'. I decided my best course of action was to get as close as I could and hit them so fast and so often that they wouldn't be able to defend themselves. It worked, and those Sunny Hill boys didn't know what hit them and they made a bee line for a teacher and I got detention.

The Blitz worked really well. Even after I started martial arts this was my go to strategy for winning a fight. I would naturally end up on their right hand side, little did I know that later in life Grandmaster Cheung would teach me how to get to the blind side and properly control it! I started incorporating knees in to my routine and when I was at Comprehensive school I began to get a name for myself as a tough fighter around Derby. It's a fact that sometimes I would fight with someone and ten minutes later we would be best friends, I'm not sure what that is but I suppose with literally hundreds of kids around you shouting 'fight' you have managed to come through the ordeal and it's a shared experience that you are glad is over!

The last time I use the Blitz was when I was sixteen. I was a prefect as now I was an older boy and we had duties and responsibilities around the school to stop kids running in corridors, making sure they went into class, and also to move kids out of areas they shouldn't be in... very Hogwartien! Myself, Trevor Cherry and Ronnie Stanley who were both well over six feet tall and who were the guards in my basketball team, me being the ball handler, were sent into the toilets to move out some Jamaican kids who were smoking. Trevor and Ronnie weren't to be messed with and easily pushed them out and on to class, they were also from Jamaica and were giving it full 'patois' as they went. I was warned by the kids as they left that I was in trouble but didn't think much about it.

I was sitting in the lower sixth rec room, which was part of what used to be the Colonel of the Sherwood Foresters house, brown brick and long tall ornate chimneys, when there was a bang on the window coming from the stable yard. Outside was a boy called Winston, I say boy but he was about six feet tall and heavily built. He had recently arrived from Jamaica and was probably a couple of years older than me. He called me out 'Ryan, come outside!' I went outside and said 'What are you doing here? This place is off limits'. I noticed Mr Ludlum the form head peering out from his office through a gap in the curtains, looking a bit unnerved. 'I'm going to teach you a lesson!' In a way I felt sorry for him as he was new and I told him 'Those guys aren't your friends they're just using you to do their dirty work, so just go now while you can'. I had a flair for the dramatic even then! He was standing with his legs astride and arms behind his back. Suddenly he swung at me with a long heavy pole that he had hidden behind him. I can't actual remember what happened then, even immediately after the fight. I was so incensed that he would use a weapon, which just wasn't done then, that I lost it. When I came to my senses I had the pole in my hand and he was lying on the floor. Apparently I had Blitzed his ass then taken the pole and finished him off then chased his 'mates' around the stable yard! This was the last time I would use the Blitz strategy.

Mr Ludlam was I think secretly impressed. He didn't report what happened but somehow word got out to the deputy head, the dreaded Mr Done, and I was summoned to his office. Mr Done taught me English. He could dissect Shakespeare with aplomb. I'm pretty sure he could also dissect people just as easily. I once saw him hammer fist a wooden desk and split it in two. He once ushered us back into class while smacking the head of a claw hammer repetitively into his hand with a strange look in his eye... Winston was already there. Whoever tended to his wounds liked to watch Tom and Jerry as he had criss cross band aids stuck all over. After hearing the full story Mr Done told us to 'shake hands boys' and let us leave. Winston whispered on his way out 'You're Kung Fu was no good!' I went home, being distantly followed by Winston...

This following continued for about a week. His follow team grew larger and larger until it eventually became a few hundred people. I would stand in my front garden as they would traipse by down Derby Lane hoping to see some action. Winston had by this time removed the band aids and perhaps this helped him forget what had happened as he eventually stopped in front of my house and again called me out. 'Ryan! Ryan! You're Kung Fu was no good!' To have hundreds of people outside your house is pretty intimidating, but I'd been used to having large crowds watch me fight in tournaments by now. My younger brother Declan was so worried he ran out with an ornamental Scottish Claymore, I told him to bring it back inside! I was told by one guy 'Ryan, why don't you just go home?' I told him 'I am home!' Something had to be done and I was the one to do it. I walked over to Winston and the crowd roared. Again Winston said 'Ryan, you're Kung Fu is no good' this time I said, and I quote 'You want Kung Fu, I'll show you Kung Fu!' and cracked him in the temple with a spinning axe kick. He was out on his feet, but he was a big strong lad and didn't fall, his mates helped him away. The crowd went wild but sadly no video exists, no mobile phones back then. My big sis Deirdra came out I ushered her back in as she was going to try and chase him and give him a slapping for attacking her little brother!

About four years later I came down from London to visit and was at the house in Derby Lane. There was a ring on the door bell. It was a real bell with a pull device at the front door and it would ring in the living room. Someone had pulled it violently. I went out to answer, opened the door and there was Winston! He'd obviously held a bit of a grudge. He said 'I heard you were back. Since I last saw you I have been training, training hard for four years, every day, in Karate. I have been running and doing conditioning and sparring waiting for this day and...' I said that's nice good for you!' and closed the door. He never rang the door bell again and that was the last time I saw him! Hopefully all that training will have forged him into a better person...

[britishdelirium]

This rap is lyrically one of the best things ever written. Sit back, listen and read these lyrics.

[Verse 1: Akala] Yes, I grew up on the dole in a single parent family Been through a little bit of tragedy Yes I was around drugs and violence before the day that I started secondary And that’s part of it not half of it, get the picture, the rest ain’t necessary Growing up, got a little caught up, but that ain’t even half of my life Also given the knowledge of self That is all we actually need to survive If you saw me aged 9, reading Malcolm just fine Teachers still treated me stupid Students that couldn’t speak English, they put me in groups with And the irony is some of the first man to give me schooling You would call gangsters but I already explained, we know what the truth is They used to say ‘Don’t be like me’ Yeah I got a name and dough on the street Night time comes, I can’t sleep And that’s the part that rappers don’t speak We don’t hit the road cos we are thugs Don’t come out the womb, wanting to sell drugs If we got the right guidance and love Would we fight people just like us? How could I knock the hustle to get by? How do you think I ate as a child? Judge no one, done many things wrong I just don’t boast about it songs But listen to my older bars I was just as confused as you probably are But you grow and you learn, travel and fuck up One too many man you know get cut up One too many man that could’ve been doctors End up spending their whole life boxed up You learn, if you study Its all set out just to make them money No cover, it’s all about getting poor people to fight with one another So its logical that us killing our brothers, dissing our mothers Is right in line with the dominant philosophy of our time But time is a cycle, not a line Comes back around you regain your mind You be ready for the energy I channel in my rhymes Remedy the pedigree, the jeopardy of mine When the world’s this f***ed up, lethargy’s a crime We can all fight with our brothers over crumbs Far harder to fight the one who makes guns We can all talk sh** and get two dollars Far harder to be the one who seeks knowledge If we understood economics We’d know money’s nothin’ Think nothing of it Money is a means to get wealth, not the wealth itself Don’t get confused, I’m far from broke All that you see me do I own But I won’t hang what I make around my neck I know from where that the diamonds came But I do quite literally own a library That definitely costs more than your chain And businesses, and properties Far from starvin’, I eat quite properly And I don’t care, just said it for the kids Who need to know that you’re not broke to listen Don’t know an asset from a liability They’ve never been shown or told the difference So they don’t change situations Richest man in Britain is Asian That’s significant, not coincidence Asian people build businesses Not by flossin/going out shoppin’ Giving out their culture for everyone’s profit Who run’s Bollywood? Indian people Who owns our shit? So we shake our arse and dance As if racism just upped and vanished But has it? No its right on course You’re beaten so bad, you’re trained to ignore Let me not just make sweeping statements Gimme a second, I’ll explain it For small amounts of drug possession there’s more black people in jail in America than there is for rape and armed robbery and murder all put together You can say they’re just locking up thugs Imagine if they locked up every middle class kid that had ever held drugs Oh that’s right, that’d be your kids! Bigger than that what is going on with this Prison in America’s a private business They get paid 50k per year per inmate by the State, just wait… Also legally are allowed to use their prison inmates as slaves Cheap slave labour, big corporations They come out of jail, can’t get a job So when we celebrate going to jail We are LITERALLY CELEBRATING ENSLAVEMENT Add to that, that the hood that you’re livin’ Engineered social condition that breeds crime by design Where do you think you get your nine? You can say that they’re just black But I like to deal with facts In the 1920s you would’ve found in America Black towns Prospering centres of economics and education to make you proud But some people couldn’t bear that the former slaves would not just lie down So the KKK and other hate groups burnt those towns to the ground Killin hundreds If it ain’t understood You think you were always livin’ in the hood? Shit it’s only been sixty years Since they hung blacks and burned em’ And that was so cool They were your pastors’ picnic baskets Even gave kids the day off school To go see a lynching, have a picnic It’s fun to watch the little monkeys die Then people act a little dysfunctional You wanna pretend that you don’t know why If your colour means you can be killed And you’re powerless to get justice about it Is it difficult to figure out how you would then end up feelin’ about it? And that ain’t excuses Just dealing with the roots of abuses that make a reality Where a generation of young men speak of ourselves as dirt casually That’s America This Britain Some things are similar Some different In this country the first enslaved were the working class What’s changed? Worst jobs, worst conditions Worst taxed, look where you’re livin’ You go to the pub, Friday night You will fight with a guy, don’t know what for But won’t fight with a guy, suit and a tie Who sends your kids to die in a war They don’t send the kids of the rich or politicians It’s your kids, the poor British That they send to go die in a foreign land For these wars you don’t understand Yeah they say that you’re British And that lovely patriotism they feed ya But in reality you have more in common with immigrants Than with your leaders I know, both side of my family Black and white are fed ghetto mentality Reality in this system Poor people are dirt regardless of shade But with that said Let’s not pretend that everything is the same When our grandparents came here to Britain If you had a criminal record you couldn’t get in Yet that ain’t protect them from all the stupid, stupid abuses they would be livin’ Kicked in the teeth, stabbed in the street Many times fired bombed our houses Put faeces through our letter box And of course the cops did so much about it(!) Daily, up to the 80s People spittin’ into my pram cos’ I was a coon baby But of course that has had no effect on why today we are crazy And none of this was for any good reason They were just dark and breathing To ease the guilt now for all of this treatment Constant stereotypes are needed So if I celebrate how big that my dick is, bricks that I’m flippin’ Clips that I’m stickin’, chicks that I’m hittin’, I’m playing my position But if I teach a kid to be a mathematician, messin’ with the schism How they gonna fill a prison when materialism is nothing but a religion? What do you think we got now in Britain? Just like America, private prisons Prisons for profit! That mean when your kids go jail people make money off it So keep environments that breed crime Build more jails at the same time Market badness to the kids in the rhymes As long as rich kids ain’t dying its fine! Get em’ to the point where some are so lost They actually believe that if they don’t celebrate killin’ themselves off That it’s because they’re soft Was Malcolm soft? Was Marley soft? Tell me was Marcus Garvey soft? Well? Was Mohammed Ali soft? Nah, Nah I think not! But they want us to think that the road is cool Being on road is all we can do We don’t control the wholesale productions Who benefits from us movin’ the food? Or thinking there’s no way out of road life But Malcolm X used to hustle out on the roadside When Marcus Garvey organised more than 6million people With no Facebook or Twitter Why is this something you cannot equal? Shiiiiit! One of my homeboys did a ten straight in the box in yard Now what’s he doing? Passin’ his doctorate Don’t tell me that it’s too hard! Who trained you to believe that you’re inferior? Sungbo Eredo in Nigeria are the remains of an ancient moat Dug 1000 years ago 20 metres wide, 70 down Round the remains of an ancient town That’s 400 square miles around 400 square miles around Please, please don’t believe me It was a documentary on BBC! But we ain’t studyin’ history Too busy watching MTV And MTV said wear platinum Now everybody wanna go and wear platinum And MTV said pop magnums Now everybody wanna go and pop magnums If MTV said drink prune juice You would start hearing that in tunes soon ‘Hey! Today I wore my Cartier Is it now more important what I got to say?’ Oh and I drive a Mercedes by the way So everybody listen to what I got to say Huh, does that make you all happy? Ahh but shit my head’s still nappy Think for myself, still some mad at me But on the mic ain’t not one bad as me All of this here’s good for the rhymes Put us in the same place at the same time And it’s clear to everybody that I’m out of my mind Some of these guys are runnin’ out of their rhymes Clear to everybody that has got ears I’m the guy that they just might fear They wanna get near but they can’t have a peer Ah dear I’m hard liquor you’re just like beer Front on the kid for another five years Come to my shows and some cry tears It mean that much to em’, it’s a movement! I don’t speak for myself but a unit Black, white, man, woman, anyone that respects truth we put in Dudes are like no dinner with just puddin’ Yeah you’re sweet but no substance puddin’ You could never ever be with a level on Our songs get out played out there in Lebanon We speak for the people properly Not for the old fat guys in offices And the girls love him, it ain’t fair He can’t even be bothered to comb his hair Anyway that’s enough kissin’ my own arse Back to the more important task of being so shower I got half the hood screaming “KNOWLEDGE IS POWER” And I ain’t saying that will change rap But I do know this for a fact Right now there’s a yout’ on your block With his hand on his cock and his face screwed up Swear he don’t care, don’t give a fuck That he won’t let nobody call his bluff But the words go in Open up your chakra Because once that’s happened there’s no going back Once you start to see what is really happening Who the enemy you should be attackin’ is So READ, READ, READ! Stuck on the block, READ, READ! Sittin’ in the box, READ, READ! Don’t let them say what you can achieve Cos when people are enslaved One of the first things they do is stop them reading Cos’ it is well understood that intelligent people will take their freedom Cos’ if we knew our power we would understand that we can’t be held down If we knew our power, we would not elevate not one of these clowns If we knew our power, we wouldn’t get arrogant when we get two pennies If we knew our power, we would see what everybody sees, that we’re rich already! But never mind MCs go run for your mummy I’m hungry, I run for my tummy That’s enough, back to worshipping money I’m off, back to the study!