#or is it chop water carry wood

[esmesqualor-not-esmecullen]

Just called my representatives and feeling like a rockstar.

Once you get over the anxiety of making a phone call, the dopamine hit is so worth it. Highly recommend.

5calls.org makes it really easy.

[maculategiraffe]

oh good. looks like I'm giving up the medication that makes me functional for lent

[mckitterick]

Just keep unloading the dishwasher

by Jeremy Nguyen

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Weltschmerz is a German word that describes a feeling of sadness, weariness, or hopelessness about the world. It's made up of the words Welt, meaning "world", and Schmerz, meaning "pain".

[Thanks Ellen Geller]

* * * *

Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat.

November 16, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

It was a tough week—on the heels of an even tougher week. A few Democrats are revved up and ready to jump back in the fight. But if my inbox is a reliable indicator, many (most?) people are still reeling from the losses on Election Day. They are bewildered, exhausted, tapped out emotionally and financially, and angry. You wouldn’t be human if you did not feel those emotions in some measure. Hopes were high, and the loss was unexpected. The disappointment was exacerbated by PTSD.

The president-elect has a feral sense that many Democrats are emotionally vulnerable. His cabinet picks are designed to rub salt in our wounds and deepen our sense of bewilderment. We must recognize that the ludicrous nominations over the past week are part of a strategy to dispirit and weaken Democrats—in hopes of reducing their resolve to resist his dark plans.

We cannot give in to the president-elect’s transparent ploy. Although I am not a fan of the Godfather movie franchise (no hate mail, please!), every American knows the line, “‘It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.”

Trump’s bizarre, anti-government nominations are not personal. They are strictly business—to Trump and to us. He is using them as an emotional cudgel against Democrats and a test of loyalty for incredulous Republicans. Our job is to defeat as many of the nominations as possible—thereby demonstrating that Trump is vulnerable and weak after his narrow win.

It is possible that Trump will resort to unilateral recess appointments by forcing an adjournment of Congress for ten days so that he can cram his unqualified, anti-establishment choices on the American people.

Doing so would be a mistake and would overplay Trump's hand. The officers would be branded as illegitimate leaders who could not make it through a Senate confirmation. More importantly, such a move would instantly convert Trump into America’s first (and last) dictator.

No other president has forced an adjournment of Congress, much less for the anti-democratic purpose of evading the Senate’s “advice and consent” role under the Constitution. Although lawsuits would challenge the recess appointments unilaterally engineered by Trump, the bigger point is that the move would drop all pretense of a president bound by the rule of law.

Whatever the Framers thought they were doing with the recess appointments and the adjournment clause, none of them believed those clauses could be manipulated to strip the Senate of its constitutional obligation to review presidential nominations.

If Trump manages to remove the Senate’s advice and consent role from the Constitution, he will sow the seeds of his quick undoing.

As I write, it appears that the nominations of Matt Gaetz, Pete Hegseth, and Robert Kennedy are in trouble—at least if they go through the Senate confirmation process.

We can help keep up the pressure by notifying our Senators and Representatives that we oppose the nominations of Gaetz, Hegseth, Kennedy, and Gabbard. See Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood Carry Water for a word script and link to phone numbers. Chop Wood, Carry Water 11/14.

There are two other themes that deserve mention as we head into the weekend.

The first is the stand-alone injury to women across America who hoped that the 2024 election would be a major step to re-establishing their status as equal citizens under the Constitution. Few opinion writers or journalists have mentioned that the re-election of Trump has dashed those hopes—at least for another four years.

Mother Jones has addressed the issue of the election’s impact on women in its article, Of Misogyny, Musk, and Men by Clara Jeffrey. The article runs under the sub-header “Women are not okay. We’re furious.”  

For all of the punditry analyzing the reason for Democrats’ loss on November 5, almost none of them mention the Trump campaign’s explicit appeal to sexism among young men. Any pundit who purports to analyze the reasons for Kamala Harris’s loss and does not list misogyny among the top three reasons is running cover for Trump—whether they intend to or not.

The second issue is the unrelenting tidal wave of pundit analyses that seek to assign blame for the Democratic loss. Spoiler alert: The reason is (allegedly) that Democrats are “liberal elitists” who ignored the working class.

The above analysis is both wrong and lazy. But even if it were accurate, it beggars belief that journalists and pundits are wasting their time assigning blame at the very moment that Trump “is slouching toward Bethlehem” in the manner of the “rough beast” in The Second Coming.1

If the above metaphor is too obscure for a Saturday morning, here is another: Imagine that we are on an oil drilling platform in the North Sea. A fire has started in the galley and threatens to engulf the entire platform. What is the better course of action? To argue over who is responsible for starting the fire in the galley or to work on extinguishing the fire?

It is appropriate and necessary to understand how and why Democrats fell short in 2024. But to do so at a time when we are stranded on a burning platform is suicidal. Assigning blame may fill column inches but it corrodes unity. The legacy media is failing us.

And yet, readers cannot resist the temptation to forward articles to me with the thesis, “Democrats are liberal elitists who got what they deserved.” I get a dozen such emails a day (often multiple duplicates of the latest from NYT or WaPo). I have received hundreds since November 5.

Amplifying such articles merely compounds the journalistic malpractice of the legacy media. We should not give them oxygen. They invite disputation and discord. They are inimical to our prime objective: Resist the efforts of the Trump administration to erode the rule of law.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[victusinveritas]

[blorboresidue]

february is the worst possible reward I can think of for having made it through january

[like-adog]

[zombetty666]

Give it time to take root. 🌲🌳

Dig deeper. Everything starts with a seed.

[geometricfractal]

She just posted her end-of-week Celebrate This! newsletter that's a big ol' list of all the good things that happened over the past week. Judicial wins, protests, grants, strikes, any little thing that shows that it is worth the effort and that good things are happening. Take a look! It's wonderfully encouraging.

[rosielindy]

Love her energy 💗💗💗

[asapstarkey]

It's Complicated — Rafe Cameron

Chapter One: Here we go again

Introduction

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader

Summary: Rafe can’t resist you and tensions boil over at a party on the beach.

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, implied smut, swearing, death of parents

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Here we go! Chapter One. I can’t say I’m super pleased with this but I wanted to set the tone. Please please please let me know what you think! The series title is an A Day To Remember song for all my emos. And the title of this chapter is the first words of the song. Lmao. Just a fun fact for you.

“Y’all have a good one! Be safe out there!” you called as you waved off the boat you just gassed up. 

You put the nozzle back in its place and wiped your hands on your shorts as you stood upright. You stared out at the coastline where the sun was setting and sighed softly. 

“Yo!” A voice called from above and you turned to find your brother standing at the door of the surf shop. “That’s it for the day. Let’s wrap it up.” 

You nodded, bending down to grab your water bottle and head up to help them count the money. 

“Chop, chop! We’re gonna miss them starting the bonfire!” 

“I’m coming John B!” You shouted back at him then muttered, “Jesus Christ.” You climbed the steps and entered your little bait and surf shop. 

Sarah was sitting on the stool counting the drawer while Kiara sat on the counter and counted the lock box. You busied yourself helping Pope put away products people decided not to buy and reorganize the shelves, two key members of your group clearly missing. 

“Where’d JJ and Cleo go?” you questioned, looking over your shoulder at your younger brother for answers. 

“To get the keg,” Sarah replied. She was counting the same stack of five dollar bills for the third time with a furrowed brow. 

“What? Why would they go get it? I’m the only one here of legal age,” you said with a laugh. 

You knew the Pogues had acquired fake ID’s over the years and never had trouble buying alcohol before. It just made more sense for you to be the one to go get it without the hassle. The clerks at the gas stations and liquor stores charged extra for knowing they had fakes but letting it slide. 

“New corner store just opened up a couple blocks away. You could show them an ID with a picture of Abraham Lincoln on it and they’ll still sell to you,” Pope answered. “Those guys are either dumb or don’t give a shit.” 

You hummed in response, hanging one last fishing lure on a hook then heading for the door. Sarah and Kiara were taking too long counting the money and you wanted to rinse off the sweat and oil from filling gas all day. John B could handle locking up for the night. 

You were exhausted. The beginning of Summer is always the busiest with the most tourists coming into the OBX to vacation. You almost considered heading straight for your bed and staying in for the night. But this was the first big party of the season, and you deserved to have some fun. So you hopped in the shower and relaxed under the warm water. 

There were dozens of people already on the beach by the time you arrived. Chatter and laughter filled the air as you slid the side door of the Twinkie open. Your eyes scanned the crowd, seeing Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons alike. They were still stacking wood in the rock circle where the bonfire would soon be lit, cutting the cool breeze coming off of the ocean despite the humid Summer’s night air. 

“Just in time,” Sarah sighed happily while climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Kiara handed you a couple of bags of red solo cups, her carrying a few more as well as the rig for the keg. 

“You boys got this right?” Cleo asked with a smirk as the four of you girls started towards the beach, leaving the men to lug the heavy keg through the sand. Grumbling could be heard from behind as you giggled and skipped towards the crowd. 

The beers started flowing quickly and flames soon illuminated the faces around you. You kept your red solo cup in hand as you weaved through the crowd and welcomed the warmth from the fire. The first few beers went down easily, your mind already fuzzy and buzzing from the alcohol. 

You caught up with old friends from school who were back from the Summer. A lot of them were fortunate enough to get off of Kildare Island and build a better life for themselves. Some were married, and some already had kids. The more you talked to them the worse you started to feel. 

You and John B weren’t so fortunate. Yes, the treasure hunting and gold helped you start a business, but you still struggled. It was the only source of income for you and six other mouths to feed. You rarely had much left over after paying the bills and buying supplies. Not enough to get you onto the mainland and into college. 

You made your way to the edge of the crowd, closer to the waves crashing on the shore. You stood alone and scanned the crowd that had grown much larger than when you first arrived. Your gaze landed on the Kooks, standing in their own group away from the rest. They looked at anyone who passed with their noses turned up, acting like they were better than everyone else like always. You couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed your face. 

That’s when your eyes locked with Rafe’s. He smirked as he raised his cup to his lips and took a drink, staring over the rim. Sophia hung off of his arm like a trophy, completely oblivious to the silent interaction you and the man beside her were having. His new flavor of the month you supposed, or year maybe. They’d been together since February, even though Rafe refused to call her his girlfriend. She was a Pogue yet hid it well. Somehow weaseling her way into the group of spoiled rich kids as if she belonged. Somehow gaining the attention of the King Kook himself and getting him to stick around. Well, kind of. 

You wandered off at some point. You needed to clear your head and rid yourself of thoughts of how much of a failure you felt. As well as the man who contributed to it. 

The voices from the party grew quieter and the waves grew louder. The beer in your hand was lukewarm now, but you fought through a sip anyway. You came to a stop, bare toes wiggling in the sand as you stared out at the reflection of the moon on the water. Just as your head started to clear and the silence settled in, a voice ruined it. 

“Done with the party already?” 

You sighed and your eyes fell closed for a moment before fluttering back open. 

“Just needed a breather,” you replied. The footsteps grew closer until you could see his board shorts in the corner of your eye and he stopped. “What do you want, Rafe?” 

You turned to look at him as he was lighting a joint pinched tightly between his lips. The smoke started floating off the end as he inhaled and his eyes flickered up to meet yours. 

“Just came to check on my favorite Pogue,” he retorted stiffly with a sideways smile, holding the smoke in his lungs for another second before exhaling. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, looking back out at the water without saying anything in return. If you entertained him you knew what would happen. But Rafe seemed determined. 

“Want a hit?” He asked, slowly inching closer until he was standing beside you. The sleeve of his open button-up shirt brushed your bare shoulder, blowing in the wind around his toned abdomen. 

You ignored him. You shook your head and took another drink from your red solo cup. 

“Come on, (Y/N). You know you want to,” Rafe teased, moving to stand in front of you. He took the cup from your hand and took a drink, holding the joint out between you in your direction. 

You didn’t meet his eye, staring down at the rolled green that was slowly starting to go out in front of you. “Fine,” you sighed, going to take it from his fingers. But he pulled it away. You dropped your hand against your side and huffed. You knew what he wanted. He bit his bottom lip and brought the joint up to your mouth himself, watching your lips wrap around the end as you inhaled. 

“Atta girl,” he whispered with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and snatched your cup back, swallowing down half of it in two gulps. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nervous around Rafe. One, because of his unpredictable attitude and behavior. Two, because of the undeniable tension between the two of you being in such close proximity. No matter how many times this happened, you were always nervous. 

Rafe’s hand came up, brushing your hair over your shoulder before toying with the bikini strap tied around your neck. Rafe placed the joint between his lips and held it there, around it he suggested, “Why don’t you and I go have a little fun?” 

You looked up at him incredulously. “What?!” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged, eyes flickering from your lips down to your bikini top. His fingers trailed the seam of the bikini, over your collarbone, and atop your breast. Goosebumps were left in the wake of his touch, your body betraying you even though you tried to fight it. “We always have so much fun at these parties.” 

“Rafe..��� you breathed as he dropped the joint into the sand and he bent down, lips brushing your jaw causing your breath to hitch. Your voice trembled slightly, “What about Sophia?” 

Rafe hummed, no remorse at all for what you were about to do. He kissed your neck once below your ear. The sound of your cup being dropped was drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears. His breath was hot on your neck as he spoke softly, “She doesn’t make me feel the way you do. No one makes me feel the way you do.” 

Your hand came up to grip his biceps, eyes fluttering closed as his lips worked over your sensitive skin. His hands found your hips and pulled you closer until you were nearly chest to chest. You would never admit it out loud, but you felt the same way. No man had ever come close to making you feel the way that Rafe did. And you weren’t sure anyone ever could. 

Your hands slid over the muscles of his arms until your fingers found his hair. He raised his head, pupils blown as you finally met his eyes. Your bottom lip shook from the look of pure desire on his face. You glanced at his lips, unable to ignore how badly you wanted them on every inch of your body.

You caved. 

“Make it quick. I’ve already been away for too long.” 

Rafe smirked wide before he pulled you into a heated kiss. He pulled away only to say, “You won’t have to worry about that. I’ve been waiting all night to get you out of this damn bikini.” And then he was kissing you again, backing you into the trees to sneak you around to his Jeep. 

As you climbed out of the backseat of the black Jeep, it was clear that post-nut clarity hit Rafe, and the buzz from the beer and weed had worn off significantly. He wouldn’t even look at you as he fixed his swim trunks and ran his fingers through the hair your fingers had just been gripping like your life depended on it. You sheepishly fixed your bikini top in the reflection of the passenger window and swiped at the smudged mascara under your eyes. 

The sound of the back door slamming made you jump. Rafe didn’t say a word as he walked around the vehicle and back towards the party, leaving you behind to collect yourself and come up with some excuse as to why you disappeared. 

You scurried around the Jeep and towards the Twinkie, faking like you had been in the old van the whole time in case anyone saw you. As you rounded the front, you saw Rafe back with his group of friends acting as if nothing had just happened. His arm was back around Sophia’s shoulders and you uncomfortably witnessed the moment he lifted her chin for a sloppy kiss. 

I wonder if you know I just came from his mouth twice in the back of the car he brought you in, you thought to yourself. 

And that’s when the anger set in. How dare he use you like that and go back to her like you were nothing? How dare he treat either of you this way. As much as you couldn’t stand Sophia and how fake she was, she didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this. 

Your eyes pricked with hot tears of fury. You made a break for it from the Twinkie, beelining for JJ who was at the keg because he was the only person from your group you could see at the moment. But there was only one route to him. Too many people on the beach to weave through. And it led you right into a trap. 

“(Y/N)! Care for a beer?” Kelce offered as you tried to get past the group of Kooks, a smirk plastered across his smug face. 

“I’m good. Thanks,” you replied dryly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. 

The sniffle gave you away. And like vultures, they couldn’t wait to rip you apart.

“What’s got the Queen in such a rush?” Ruthie stepped in front of you to block your way. That stupid nickname made your blood boil even more. Queen Pogue. They called you that like everyone called Rafe the King Kook. As if there was some kind of hierarchy amongst the already divided groups on the island. “Stay awhile!”

You looked past her, praying that JJ would look up and see what was happening. He was too busy talking to younger Pogues. You could tell he was also already wasted by the squint of his eyes and the sway of his body. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Ruthie teased again, trying her hardest to get under your skin. 

“Fuck off and get out of my way,” you warned. Your hands were in white knuckle fists at your side. You were trying your hardest to keep your anger at bay. Anger with Rafe that everyone around was about to get the wrath of.

The Kooks laughed and gasped in feigned fear. Your jaw clenched and you closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing. If Ruthie didn’t move you were going to move her yourself. Which she would be sure to press charges on you for and that’s the last thing you needed right now. 

“Just let her go, Ruth,” Rafe spoke up from behind you. For a second, you thought he was coming to your defense for once. Urging his group of ‘friends’ to just leave you alone. But then he opened his mouth again, “No point in wasting your breath on trash like her. She’s not worth the trouble.”

White hot rage spread through your veins and for a second, you blacked out. You ripped the full cup of beer out of Kelce’s hands and threw the whole thing in Rafe’s face. Commotion. Suddenly there were bodies and shouting all around you. You lunged at him as he stood there in shock but someone grabbed you. You were screaming obscenities and flailing in Topper’s arms, swinging at Rafe despite knowing you wouldn’t land a single punch. 

“Fuck you, Rafe! Are you fucking kidding me?!” you wailed. “Let me go!”

JJ was there in an instant, grabbing your arms so you didn’t hit him. “Hey. Hey!” he tried to calm you down. “Topper let her go, man!” 

“(Y/N), what happened?” John B was there now too, grabbing the sides of your head and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Calm down. What did they do?” 

“We didn’t do shit man, just offered her a beer.” 

“Bullshit!” JJ snarled, knowing you wouldn’t get so worked up over nothing.

Your bottom lip trembled, eyes flickeirng to Rafe who was soaking wet and looking at you in disbelief. Sophia was using her own tank top to wipe the beer off of his cheek and neck. He scoffed and snatched the shirt from her, storming off down the beach and towards the ocean to rinse himself off. She trailed after him like a lost puppy. 

“Just take me home, please. I want to go home.” 

A/N: Add yourself to my tag list for this series if you’d like! As always, feedback is appreciated and I’ll see you soon with Chapter 2!

Tag list: @itsmattiesworld @escapismlourve @mattyskies @persiar9 @bellstwd @f4ll-for-you @oatmealisweird @FAMEFUCKERS @famefuckers @enthusiastms @lilleesthings @koibleufish @ravenroyale @reidshearts @probablyreadingsmutlol @rafelovergirl @angvl3tears @bilssturns @babygirlwilly

[alatismeni-theitsa]

"Women only started working very recently so a woman's place is the house-" shut up and feast your eyes at old photos of women from around the world doing physical labor only for them to return home and solely care for 5-10 children and the elderly parents of their husband.

Greek women represent:

These photos show Greek women doing the type of physical labor they would perform more often than not. At the luckiest working conditions for rural women (aka most of the country) they would start working the fields as children and when they got older they would work the same fields with their own babies on their backs.

On the way home from the fields, sometimes the women would carry the wood and the mule would carry the man so he could rest.

Of course, we can talk about the manual labor that is rubbing cloth and metal for hours on end, chopping and carrying wood to light a fire for a large cauldron your size, and stirring it for hours.

But we can also talk about how it wasn't for them to break and carry rocks in baskets for the making of new roads. They would gather salt, olives, and grapes and carry them on large baskets filled to the brim. For salt they carried thirty kilos each trip, doing fifty trips each, stepping shoeless on the grains of salt.

Carrying water was also their job, often moving large barrels with all the water a house of 10 needed upon hills that horses and mules had trouble ascending.

(more photos for salt mining and carrying here)

It's no hyperbole to say these women carried their incomes and households on their backs. "The good she-housekeeper is a slave and a lady" the old Greek saying goes. A "good woman" was a woman who could be strong and work at home and in the field, often described with the qualities of a mule. Men took their wives out in the fields so much that some who were a bit more educated had to make their husbands sign that they wouldn't ask them to work alongside them in the fields! (source in Greek)

Some of these photos are also from 1970. I'm missing a photo from Leukada showing women carrying baskets of the stones they broke, and I'll add it here when I find it.

Basically, women were out of the house forever. A woman who got to stay home and never perform any labor had some type of privilege (wealth, status etc). Same as the many privileged men around the world who didn't perform any labor at all.

===================================

If my posts have helped you in any way consider buying me a ko-fi 💖

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[derangedanomaly]

Bad Sanses x Princess! S/O perhaps? (That one bride and her ugly ass groom meme lol)

YES!

MASTERLIST

BAD SANSES X PRINCESS S/O

NIGHTMARE:

Nightmare is a royal himself (or so he addresses himself as one), so having someone be on the same power position as him, makes him respect you.

I mean, he is an asshole to everyone, but you.

He makes sure that you're treated with the utmost respect by the others too.

You truly overall get more advantages, being Nightmare 'princess friend'.

Now the next thing I'm gonna say, is gonna be shocking.... He's kind to you.

Yes, that's right. I'd say you're lucky. Being treated like a treasure by the king of negativity himself, is a huge achievement.

He even listens to you when you command him something.

"Night! Stop traumatizing this poor man!" "Yes, of course, anything for you, love."

He's determined to make Killer lay on the puddles of water, just so you can come across it.

A sugar daddy Nightmare??

He buys you literally anything you want. Anything your heart desires, you already posses.

You know that one song from Lana Del Rey? That's the kind of relationship going on with you two.

"Would you ever kill for me, one day?" Him immediately without thinking about it, replying; "Yes, of course I will my darling."

KILLER/BLADE:

When I say that this man's HOOKED. Then I mean he's hooked.

He would try to woo you somehow. Gives you flowers, flirts.

But Nightmare doesn't really let him, since he thinks that Blade is too much of a commoner to even attempt at wooing you.

He's devastated fr.

Ya know Romeo and Juliet? That's what's going on. He's gonna sneak himself through your window, while you're giggling at his silly behavior.

You'd probably think he was cute. (And he was lmao)

He's be interested in all the royal stuff, and definitely asks you about it more than once.

He likes your dresses. He wants to try them too! (And he probably did once)

You're like two high schoolers hiding from their parents (Nightmare) while giggling through it.

He'd get in a lot of situations, that you'll have to get him out of, but they're probably all done just for you.

Like, he saw this thing that you so desperately want, and he'd steal it. That kind of thing.

Y'all give me major Flynn Rider and Rapunzel vibes.

DUST/ACE:

Ace would be nervous at approaching you. He probably thinks that the worst possible thing happens.

He's gonna prepare for a conversation with you, a MONTH before talking to you.

You'd think he was cute or something, so you'd just look at him doe eyes. (That made him more nervous)

He wants to hear you talk all the time. Loves your voice, even more when you're explaining things.

He's such a good listener, I swear to god.

Ace would like the fact you two are completely different, when it comes to a position. He's not a royal, or anything like that, so he feels like it's really romantic.

Ace can't stop talking about you, whenever you're not near him.

"So then that happened." "Yeah, that's cool, but did you know Y/N-"

HORROR/TED:

Literally thinks you're the prettiest thing to have ever graced his eye.

He wants to treasure you, and make sure you're safe at all times.

He's gonna be like your personal guard. He's gonna carry you over puddles... Anything!

He's not really talkative though, so he'd probably just watch you intently while you're out here talking his nonexistent ears off.

Please, show him some dresses! He wants to see you in them!

Horror likes the nature, so there's gonna be a lot of walks through the woods or something.

He also likes chopping wood. So he's gonna be out there breaking a brick of wood only with his hands, and you're gonna be drooling over how strong he is. (Me too girlie. Me too)

[alovelyfrenchworld]

Your Neigborly Orc Part 1

Meeting an orc was not something that anyone from your village ever expected. Even with your village being the closest human civilization near the river orc territories, it was still considered strange.

Half-orcs were proof of the interracial relations, but they were rare in your part of the country. A half-orc hadn't been spotted for around 50 years. You never thought you would be one to compete with the discourse of your people.

You met your warlord lover perchance after hunting one day. THe border between the orc territory and the human territory was divided by a small river in the forest. Few ever ventured that close.

There was knowledge that other orc territories had blurred with the humans in other regions, but yours had yet to do so. The overall interactions with orcs had increased across the lands and it was becoming a small shadow in the thoughts of the human civilizations of what these interactions could mean.

Regardless of their opinions, you tried to stay near to your homestead you had established in the blissful wood. You decided a change of pace to create a space for yourself was beneficial. You lived close to the river that divided the territories as it gave you a water source, but when hunting and foraging, you tried to stay as close as possible. If one was not paying attention, it was easy to cross the borders between territories. Even in your land did the borders begin to blur.

You had begun to make a living from selling animals meats and forage herbs in your village. Living in the wood gave you access to many resources and a source for profit. Living solitarily was not as lonely as many thought.

**********

The winter was growing harsher as the weeks went by, making it all the more pertinent to stay stocked on supplies. Primarily, that meant firewood was in constant need.

After enjoying a humble breakfast and attending to your minimal, but helpful, livestock, you set out into the nearby wood to refill your kindling.

Supplied with your rucksack, simple ace, and rope for bundling, you set out for the day. The weather had killed off many of the berry bushes and herbs you often used, so meat and wood had become the primary subjects of your searches.

After finding a decent spot, you chopped away at some smaller trees that would be easier for you to carry. Carrying everything by hand was not your usual method, but your wagon was not properly equipped for travelling in the snow, so you you could only bring home what you could carry. That fateful day, you were not the only one who decided to go out deeper into the woods.

Some distance away, across the river, was a big, burly, orc chopping away at a large log. Methodically and skillfully, he was chopping the wood and bundling it together.

You were mesmerized. You had never seen an orc in person before. He fascinated you.

Having noticed your staring, you went back to chopping wood. The noise must have alerted the orc, who then took his turn to take note of you when you were looking away.

You, unknowingly being watched in return, bundled the bits of ash tree you had chopped and readied yourself to go back home.

"It won't be enough," spoke a gravelly voice.

You turned to see the orc standing closer to the river, his kindling hanging from one arm.

"I'm sorry?" you hadn't expected him to speak to you.

"A few more bits of wood will help you. It's an awfully freezing winter." He was right, but you wouldn't admit that to a stranger.

"I appreciate your input, but I can handle my own. Have a good day, sir." At that, you turned around to head back home.

Regardless of whether or not the orc was right, you wanted to be self-sufficient. You had all you could carry and that was more that what many could do, so either way, you were proud.