#really makes me feel like an ineffectual and a fraud

[kuuchuuburanko]

idk about u but mortis and I have been with the 'multiple medicine sellers' theory for years lol

[asettledsky]

Okay, I have many thoughts.

I'm more convinced that the whole "Tim Burton was offended by the musical" thing is definitely true. Because Astrid's storyline in this movie is just a cut and paste of Lydia's from the musical.

Resents her mother for not being able to see her father's ghost, calls her mom a fraud and a hack because of it.

Parent has a new, ineffectual and kind of an idiot, partner she can't stand.

Gets tricked by a dead guy so he can be alive so she can go into the netherworld and see her dead parent.

Should note, she had romantic feels for the dead guy. Not saying that that isn't a hint at parallels or anything, but like....

Anyway, he made it super obvious.

Beetlejuice's ex wife was just a set piece left over from early sequel scripts. Had nothing to do with anything plot related. She was used to give Beetlejuice a reason to explain his backstory. Also to give the sandworm someone to eat at the end of the movie.

Beetlejuice straight up says he's been lining for Lydia for the last 30 years. It's great.

The wedding sequence at the end was amazing and delightful and really showed Beetlejuice's comic hopeless romantic side. Unfortunately they did not get married and he was banished once more. Sad.

Lydia makes an age gap joke "the 900 year age gap really doesn't do it for me." Which is, I think, a dig at the musical audience? Felt like one imo.

Also, Betelgeuse was a grave robber during a plague in the 1300s when he was alive and that is just hilarious to me. Very in brand for him.

Lydia selling out and being the host of a Maury/Ghost Hunters crossover type talkshow was hilarious. And the reveal that she's been seeing visions of Beetlejuice her entire life because he psychically reaches out to her was just.... *chef's kiss* so great. Exactly what shippers predicted would happen post first movie.

Okay I'm done for now

[snowbellewells]

A Fic-aversary and an Apology

Okay, folks, I really hate to do this (and have tried really hard not to up until now) but I am going to have to skip a week on my CSSNS MC “Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”.  I’ve been really busy with my job, plus lots of crammed weekends running here and there where I didn’t have time to grade or write.  Then, I started feeling like where I was going in chapter ten and on from there needed to deviate from my initial plan, and it just wasn’t going to happen in two days’ time.  I’ve been a couple days late the last two weeks and then it’s even less time to get the next one written, and so on.  So, I really apologize and don’t mean to keep you waiting too long, but it will be next Friday before I have chapter ten for you. What I do have instead is a fic I wrote about a year and a half ago, before I was terribly good at posting on Tumblr that I’m bringing back for a bit of an anniversary. It’s near and dear to my heart, and I would love for more folks to see it.  

Most importantly: It has gorgeous cover art now, which I am just in love with, made for me by @hollyethecurious !!  She really made it more beautiful and eye-catching.  

Anyway, to tide you over until next week (and I hope to also FINALLY update my CSRomCom au again this weekend as well) enjoy “Looking for a Heart (that’s not Walking Away)”!!!

(Liam x Belle multichapter fic, canon divergent from about 5x15/5x16)

(This one was a completely new and different fic attempt for me.  Not only does it go AU from about the middle of 5b, but it changes a lot of what happened with Liam in 5x15, and while some of 5x16 and 5x17 happened, some of it didn’t.  Beyond all that, it’s putting a large focus on characters I haven’t written much before, and one that we really haven’t seen a lot of to characterize in the same way that I can work with say Emma and Killian.  Still, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and finally found that I had to give this a try.  It doesn’t explain how everything happened right away, but events will be filled in as the story progresses.  I feel like this is a bit of a mix between canon divergence and AU.  Slow burn friendship/relationship for Belle and Liam; sideline CS and others.  I definitely don’t own them, just having fun imagining.  I’d love to hear what you think!!)

*I will also attempt to add ff.net links to the rest of the chapters at the end...

“Looking for a Heart that’s Not Walking Away”

chapter one: like ships in the night

          In the wee, cold hours of the morning, anyone walking Storybrooke’s town square would have seen only peaceful, vacant storefronts and the dim stillness of a little hamlet still fast asleep; or they would until they reached the library and found one solitary light burning stubbornly in the back of the building.  Most residents and visitors knew the building and the sweet, brunette librarian who kept the place with pride, but even without the whole story, they also knew she had not been the same since her return from the Underworld with the rest of the heroes.  The light burning in the middle of the night, and the large, dark circles under the clearly sleepless woman’s eyes when one saw her in Granny’s Diner the next morning picking listlessly at her pancakes and syrup, were only outward signs of her inner turmoil and pain.  

          This particular night turned earliest bit of morning, Belle Gold sat at the circulation desk, a cup of lavender tea, which she had hoped would soothe her and induce sleep, long gone cold at her elbow, and a large, gilt-edged book open before her.  In her insomnolent state, she had returned to this once-favorite story for help, but instead she found herself wishing to violently rip the pages from its spine, more troubled than ever as she huddled on the high stool pulled up to the counter to perch on as she read and wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself against the now-familiar questions swirling in her mind: ‘What did I ever see in this story?’ ‘How stupid could I have been?’ ‘What ever made me think I could influence anyone or be a hero?’ ‘Every attempt I’ve ever made went wrong and only made things worse…’

          Shivering against the drafts of a still-chilly April night and the cold certainty that she was nothing but a fraud; so naively convinced of her pretty ideals but completely ineffectual at doing anything with them when the moment of truth had come, Belle knew rest and peace were far from coming.  A tear ran silently down her pale cheek as she thought of all that had happened – the tangled, progressively darker events which made up her own story – and she sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep it from turning into the wrenching full-bodied sob she felt rising within her.  Though she had fought so valiantly hard, it would seem her tale could not possibly end in happily ever after now.  All her efforts at love and bravery – at goodness – had turned to dust in her hands, crumbling like the shriveled brown flower Hades had used to taunt her after Gaston’s fall into the River of Lost Souls.  

          The only thing keeping her from falling apart completely, she thought ruefully as one small, graceful hand lowered to rest protectively on her slightly protruding belly was the tiny being she had wished for so long.  This baby should have been a lovely, innocent symbol of her and Rumple’s love, a living hope and second chance – for her husband, and for herself – and now Rumple would never even know his second born child.  Though Belle was not sure what she had left to give this unborn babe, her hope and belief nearly dried up and vanished forever, its growth inside her was what kept her from lying down on the floor of her precious library and never rising again.  All of her gumption, her resolve, her joy, were gone, deserting her as completely as they had ever filled her before, and the fact that her child would need her was all to which she could truly cling.

          Eventually, just as the dark night turned early morning and lightened to grey, and the faintest traces of sunrise began to streak the sky, Belle’s head lowered, the side of her face coming to rest on the printed page of the book she had so loved once upon a time, her impossible, idealized version of a hero pressed to the soft, pale skin of her cheek as she slumped over the counter in a restless sleep…

          As she dreams, she is once more in the Underworld, brought by the man she has tried so hard to win back from the Beast within – the pressing roar in his ear of magic and power – the man who, despite it all, she has never ceased loving, to the very throne of the Lord of the Dead. Rumple’s hand clenches her forearm so tightly it hurts, and she realizes with stark clarity that even the Dark One is no match for a deity.  Rumple is sorely afraid, though he doesn’t let his outward appearance show it.

          From there, the moments progress like an inexorable nightmare.  So soon after her inadvertent actions against Gaston, things already seem hazy and unreal; she can barely comprehend the showdown forming between her husband and Hades. Fire and light shoot back and forth, crashing against one another in the middle and neither attack striking its intended target.

          Winded, panting, nearly falling to his knees with exhaustion, Rumple finally raises a hand in surrender, as she runs to support him and help him back up, seeing the drained former spinner without his precious might and the upper hand.  Putting a bracing hand beneath his elbow, she steadies Rumple as he stands once more and intends to do so as he moves forward, until he turns to her, bringing them to a halt.

          Meeting Belle’s eyes in that moment, Rumplestiltskin’s gaze shows pain and infinite regret; only somewhere beneath those emotions is the love lingering for her, love that she had always wanted to believe would triumph over the Dark One’s lies.  “I am so sorry, Belle.  For so many things…” he whispers brokenly, the back of his hand stroking her cheek as lightly as the mere brush of air in a breath, as if hesitant to hurt her more than he has already. “I have put you through more pain than any love should have to bear…only to have it all come to this in the end.”

          Pulling his gaze away from her face, Belle sees her husband’s eyes slide back to meet the god’s controlled, implacable stare and subtly shifts forward to stand in front of her, partially shielding her from Hades’ view.  Her heart is swept up in pride for him at this moment of real, selfless bravery, even as it then breaks when his next words sink in. “Very well, Hades,” Rumplestiltskin hisses, sounding as reptilian and menacing as Killian has always insisted, his sharp eyes flashing even as he concedes.  “You know that I cannot best you, but with the powers of the Dark One and its immortality, you cannot end me either.  Let Belle and our child go, and I will serve you by finding you a replacement soul, one that will prove much more satisfactory than a mere infant.”

          The silent air crackles around them, and Belle opens her mouth to cry out, “Rumple, no!” and pull him back, both terrified at what the Lord of the Underworld might do, and horrified anew that Rumple could once more offer up another person’s soul as if it were his to barter, even as she had thought for once he was making a heroic sacrifice.  But she feels his fingers curl around her even more firmly, and a tingle runs up her whole arm, holding her in place, words bottled in her throat no matter how she tries to force them out, until she realizes that Rumple is using his magic to hold her back and keep her silent.  Emotions rise in a confusing swirl, and Belle is not sure if she is moved by his desperate bid to protect her or impotently furious at his overriding her free will.

          Hades tilts his head to the side, coming closer as he studies his nemesis calculatingly.  “Let me see,” he mused, wearing a face that gives the sense of bored unconcern, even Belle with no magic or powers beyond human intuition knows the god is toying with his prey – if pressed, she has seen much the same look on Rumple’s face too many times as the Dark One.  “An intriguing proposition,” he drawls out the words slowly, as if tasting the flavor of some delicacy on his tongue, “…but do I believe you?”

          “You would do well to take me seriously,” Rumple vows, iron in his voice and threat on his tongue.  “I may not win, but you will be battling me until the judgment day, neither of us able either to triumph or to pass on.”  He steps forward as well, standing taller with a hint of the malice that shows at the heights of his power, limp nearly unnoticeable as he meets Hades and reaches out his hand.  “You want to take this deal, trust me,” Rumplestiltskin asserts, nearly baring his teeth as he does so.  “I will be your right hand, Hades – if you spare my wife and my unborn child, never to trouble them again.”

          Hades tilts his head, studying the Dark One with amused curiosity as if he is some new species the deity has never seen before. “I’d be a fool to trust you for even a moment,” he replies coolly, “and I know you will only serve me as long as it takes you to find an escape.  Yet…” he takes a moment to muse as if there is no trouble or threat at all, Belle resenting all the while that he can balance all their lives in his hands while appearing not to have a care in the world.  Finally, he gives a quick, decisive nod, his pondering resolved. “If I’ve already gotten what I need from you by then, why shouldn’t I be free of your tiresome, disloyal presence?”

          Belle is sure there is some horrible drawback, some hideous fine print somewhere which has been missed – added to the fact that Rumple is bartering someone else’s soul for their safety – and she hates being forced to stand idly by, no one paying her any mind.  Her husband moves to shake the god’s hand, and she begs silently, regardless of whether either of them can hear, “No, Rumple, please don’t do this!  There must be a better way!”

          Without deviating from his original intent, Rumplestiltskin leans even more toward the Lord of the Dead, not allowing himself so much as a glance at her, solely focusing on Hades, alert for any move or threat from his dangerous adversary.  Their hands meet in between, as if to shake on the arrangement, and a burst of magical power so ground shaking shoots out sparks, tossing both Hades and Rumple apart. It topples Belle to the ground, momentarily blinded by the white hot flash and breathless from the impact, her awareness shattered.  For a time, she knows no more, and when she comes back to herself, she is lying on the moving floor of the library elevator they had taken down to Hades’ inner sanctum, and the door is sliding open to reveal the Underworld’s version of her beloved haunt.  As the lift reaches the top and halts, Belle sees that she is also utterly alone…

          A few scratching sounds and a thump against the outer door of the Storybrooke Library, followed by the sound of something metal picking at the lock, the doorknob rattling, and an accented male voice calling her name hopefully, before the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking free, awakens her just a couple of hours later, still early morning, but light now.  She hears the sound of more than one pair of booted feet striding toward her as she blinks dazedly and surfaces from the flashback-dream and her tormented rest. Shooting upright quickly, hoping they haven’t seen her pathetically asleep where she fell, Belle nearly loses her balance and topples off the stool she’d been perched on.  Wincing at the pain in her lower back from sleeping in such an awkward position, Belle tiredly rubs her eyes and tries to focus on her early visitors.

          Only a second later, she registers Killian Jones’ voice jovially greeting her as he walks toward her across the open entryway and also hears the low, warm chuckle behind him from Liam, his revived older brother.  She had been introduced to him as they were all working together to leave the Underworld, but she has not had much occasion to be around him since, and so she is surprised by his seemingly easy good humor, and the sparkle in his eyes that much resembles the one she’s often seen in Killian as they’ve researched some Big Bad threatening the town or discussed favorite books over lunch.

          Startled, she lets hesitant brown eyes come to meet his friendly, open gaze and gives what she hopes is a welcoming smile as she teases Killian in hopes of keeping his usual perceptiveness from picking up on her disheveled, unhappy state.  “What brings the Jones brothers to my library at the crack of dawn?”

          Killian flashes her a devious wink, before nodding his head to her briefly in a playfully slight bow, “Ah, but wouldn’t you like to know, Lass?” he teases.  His voice is bright and jovial, and there is a happy twinkle in his ocean-blue gaze that has been absent in many instances where she has seen him appear dazed or haunted since his return to life and the world above.  She simply has to return the mischievous grin – happy for this former enemy who has become a true friend, proud of him (though it may not be her place) that he has found the strength Rumple never quite mustered to change for the better, make right the wrongs within his power to mend, and became the man he was always meant to be.

          Tilting her head to study both of the men before her with friendly curiosity, she begins checking in the small stack of books Killian has carried in with him to return.  Liam meets her eyes but doesn’t speak, his smile warm and friendly, but his general bearing more restrained than his younger brother’s.  They certainly resemble each other – well-formed, strong features, straight noses and piercing eyes – but Liam is a bit taller, slightly broader of shoulder, and with fairer hair beginning to grow out enough to show curls that Killian’s straight, dark, shaggy locks don’t possess.

          Deciding to get to know the intriguing man before her a bit better, Belle chooses to ignore Killian’s baiting and glances at his older brother from beneath lowered lashes.  “And what about you?” she asks softly, “Do you enjoy reading as much as Killian does?” For some reason she has to fight a tremor in her voice as the words leave her mouth, and a thrill of nervous awareness racing up her spine as Liam Jones’ lips angle up into a fuller smile.

          “Aye, Mrs. Gold, I do indeed,” he replies, with a succinct, definite nod of his head as he steps closer, right up to the counter of the circulation desk between them, while Killian wanders away into the stacks to look for new volumes.  “We share our love of the written word, ever since I first taught him to read when we were boys, though Killian has always tended more toward daring adventure tales, epic fantasy and the like.  I’m a bit of a history buff myself – love learning how kingdoms rise and fall and how leaders are formed.  There is much to garner from such real events that have come before.”

          Belle bobs her head in an excited nod, warming to the topic as she leans over the counter, absorbed by his words in spite of herself and forgetting the pain and confusion of the dream vision to a more pleasant topic.  “I know exactly what you mean!  There are so many good records, biographies, accounts of battles, journeys, and expeditions – it’s amazing to learn what that must have been like, to imagine traveling alongside such great adventurers when such momentous enterprises were being undertaken.”  She pauses to draw in a breath, having begun to speak quickly in her excitement. Amusement shines in the look Liam Jones levels at her across the desk, but understanding and a sort of relief that intrigues her glows from his expression to warm her as well.

          Belle makes an impulsive decision in that moment, wanting to share something she still loves and finds joy in with someone else who has weathered and survived much and clearly loves it too.  Moving to stand quickly, with the intent to take Killian’s brother to their nonfiction section and show him some of her favorite tomes, Belle forgets for a moment how much her subtly widening stomach throws her off balance and pitches forward as she slips off the stool, then cries out softly as overcorrecting to catch herself pulls at her back painfully.

          Liam is around the counter and at her side in an instant, one hand on her arm to steady her, the other coming to rest at her waist.  “Steady on, Lass.  Easy there,” he murmurs with soothing concern.

          Killian darts back out from where he’d ventured, good arm full of novels and brows pinched together with worry.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asks.

          Belle shakes her head, offering Liam a grateful smile, even as she blushes in embarrassment and also feels warmth flood her at his contact with her body.  She tries to calm both of them – conscientious, old-fashioned, chivalrous gentleman through and through – and step away.  “N-nothing.  I’m fine. Just lost my balance is all. …Th-thank you though, Captain Jones,” she adds sincerely to Liam.  Unthinkingly, she raises her hand to her neck which feels cramped and stiff as well, wincing slightly before she even realizes.

          Killian, observant as ever and an especially intuitive friend when it comes to her, notices her moving gingerly and guesses at her sleeplessness, speaking gently as he touches his metal appendage to her shoulder and impels her to look back up at him simultaneously.  “Still not resting, Love?” he asks, already seeming assured of the answer.  “You’ve been sitting at that counter all night, haven’t you?”

          Sheepishly, the tiny brunette dips her chin to her chest in the slightest of nods, feeling even smaller under the concerned scrutiny of these two tall, strong former naval officers.  It isn’t worth denying the fact; Killian already knows the truth. She had confided in him long ago, even before their trip to Camelot, her sleeplessness from a broken heart.  He is certainly astute enough to realize that the organ is now only more broken.

          What startles her however, is his proper older brother’s reaction.  In interactions, Liam has always been friendly but reserved; now, he ushers her forward, an arm coming around her waist to guide her toward the reading lounge she has set up by the windows and into an overstuffed, comfortable chair. “Milady Belle, sit, please. You’re with child.  You must take care of yourself.”

          She doesn’t fight him, letting him lead her to the seat and settling into it with an actual sigh of relief.  And he surprises her again by kneeling before her and grasping her delicate hand in his much larger one, enveloping it completely. There is an open, earnest look on his face that both soothes and puzzles her as he gazes up into her face and asks her if there is aught else they can do or fetch for her.

          Liam himself doesn’t understand what has come over him as he looks up into the weary, hurting face of this lovely but lonely young woman.  All he is certain of – and he knows he will speak to Killian about why she isn’t sleeping, what she has been through – is the concern for her he feels.  He wants to find out why she is so sad, and to find a way to make it better.  His resolve is firm, even if not fully understood, and he senses the beginning of a new mission, a new adventure.

Link to Chapter Two: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/2/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Three:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/3/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Four: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/4/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Five: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/5/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Six: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/6/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Seven: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/7/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Eight: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/8/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Nine: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/9/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Ten (Epilogue): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/10/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Tagging a few who may enjoy (sorry if not, or if you’ve already read it, but thought even previous readers might want to see its new art! ;) : @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @effulgentcolors @aloha-4-ever @winterbythesea @hollyethecurious @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @ohmakemeahercules @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @spartanguard @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @vvbooklady1256 @xemmaloveskillianx 

[mischiefreagent-blog]

"your loss, not mine."

HE LIKES THE GALLOWS HUMOR.

    “Not sold on the assertion, friend.”

    Naturally, Loki supposed it could have come off as jarring, and really, it was--up until this point it was as if Hoxton had him on a string, all to come to a screaming halt with an ineffectual “No.” on Loki’s part, tone not dissimilar to the one you’d use when declining a salesman at the door.

    Behind his eyes and seeming look of utter ambivalence, Loki was smirking. Almost as if that was the intended effect.

   “Your plan is noble, if we’re talking honor among thieves,” Loki added, “But it’ll go nowhere. These entities hold their cards far too closely to their chest to let something as basic as fraud come to pass. It won’t make them come out any quicker, either.”

    It did flatter him that for all his crowing skepticism and doubt for Loki being, indeed, the real Loki, the Loki you read about in highschool libraries’ mythology aisles and elsewhere, that he nevertheless thought of coming to him for this plan. Maybe Hoxton did believe after all--or maybe, and this was likelier still, he’s bored and desperate. Loki could empathize with the feeling.

    “If we’re going to push boundaries to get, as you mortals would say, the men in black out, you need to think bigger than embezzlement of a currency we scarcely understand. Much bigger. Until then, I’m afraid I won’t help you. I do like you, though.” Loki tilted his head. “You’re at least thinking. That’s more than what I can say on account of many people I’ve met on this holed raft beside the sea.”

    Tapping the side of his cheek, he waved him off. “Unless you have something else to complain to me about?”

[theliterateape]

Correcting the Orwellian Doublespeak for Zoomers

by Don Hall

In 1984, George Orwell took a practice he saw in regular use and labeled it Newspeak and Doublethink. 

Newspeak was a fictional language created to limit free expression and maintain the Party orthodoxy. Orwell explains that Newspeak follows most of the rules of English grammar, yet is a language characterised by a continually diminishing vocabulary; complete thoughts reduced to simple terms of simplistic meaning. 

Doublethink is a process of indoctrination whereby the subject is expected to accept as true that which is clearly false, or to simultaneously accept two mutually contradictory beliefs as correct, often in contravention to one's own memories or sense of reality.

Doublespeak is language that deliberately obscures, disguises, distorts, or reverses the meaning of words. 

The result of all three in combination foments confusion, anger, and ultimately conformity. Most humans simply do not have the energy to mentally combat these practices especially when peer pressure, a desire to be accepted, and a need for inclusion of a social hierarchy sets the stage. When reality won’t conform to our demands, we just change the language to retrofit reality and then hammer it home until the weak-minded follow suit.

This recipe has been most effectively used in marketing of consumer goods.

When jellybeans are marketed as gluten-free and chickens allowed a four foot area outside of a warehouse are marketed as free range, trust in almost anything advertised is eliminated.

Same Product with a Different Logo is “New & Improved” Cherry-Picked Statistics are “Clinically Proven” Nothing Poisonous in Here becomes “Detox Tea” Drink This and Eat Nothing Else is “Weight Loss Shake.”

It’s all designed to use misleading language to sell you shit you don’t need. Marketing thrives on Newspeak and Doublespeak. Fad diets, fertility clinics, and therapists use Doublethink. Put together and most of us don’t have a prayer.

Social media has become both an instrument of this trifecta as well as a self-imposed bubble of discourse that silos thought into camps. Christ, even the term social media is an example of the subtle tailoring of language to advertise a false meaning. Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, etc. are the reverse of ‘social’ as is evidenced by the daily grind of completely anti-social behavior it encourages. Thus, like the Orwellian tropes of “War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength”, Anti-Social is Social.

Free Market Capitalists Who Are Socially Left = Neo-Liberal I Want White People to Have Guns = Second Amendment Advocate Trickle Down Economics = Tax Breaks for the Wealthy

Racism used to mean the judging of people and discrimination due solely to the identifier of race. When talking about racism, I was taught to never judge someone by the color of their skin. Today the doublespeak posits skin color is the most important aspect of any human and that White is Racist. Which is a racist idea now spun to promote equality for black people. Equality is Power. No longer the old fashioned notion that Equality means that everyone is treated equally under the law or in society but that those who feel marginalized must have power in order to balance the playing field. 

Riots and Looting are now forms of Peaceful Protest. What?!

Writer Vicky Osterweil's book, In Defense of Looting, came out on Tuesday. In an interview on NPR, she says “Looting strikes at the heart of property, of whiteness and of the police. It gets to the very root of the way those three things are interconnected. And also it provides people with an imaginative sense of freedom and pleasure and helps them imagine a world that could be. And I think that’s a part of it that doesn’t really get talked about—that riots and looting are experienced as sort of joyous and liberatory.”

You mean stealing shit from a NIKE store without consequence gives someone a sense of freedom and pleasure? That snatch and grab is joyous and liberatory? How insightful. She qualifies this by stating “When I use the word looting, I mean the mass expropriation of property, mass shoplifting during a moment of upheaval or riot. That’s the thing I’m defending. I’m not defending any situation in which property is stolen by force.”

Do you smell that horseshit through the digital screen?

Kendi states in his book How to Be Anti-Racist that “The opposite of ‘racist’ isn’t ‘not racist’.” What the fuck does that mean? One of his many conclusions is that any disparity in racial make-up is due exclusively to white supremacy without a moment to reflect on the fact that in America the most successful race in almost all categories are Asian. 

Asians, apparently, are white adjacent, yet another example of doublespeak in play.

Trump doublespeaks and distorts in far more obvious ways but it amounts to the same blind conformity among his acolytes. He spins the notion that he ushered in the greatest economic expansion in the history of the country and points to the DOW to prove his point. He claims to have done more for African Americans than any other president and shows us cherry-picked and wholly ineffectual half measures. He outright lies about voter fraud.

His base eats this up as readily as white people in their twenties without jobs and saddled with mountains of student loan debt from their gender studies degrees gobble up DiAngelo’s doublethink ideas on white fragility and a poor understanding of socialism.

If Orwell had seen this new reality, 1984 would’ve been unreadable because while Big Brother proposed that ‘War is Peace’ Angry Brother would be saying “No. War isn’t Peace. Peace is Power.” 

One of the oddest aspects of this Double-doublespeak competition is that both the Far Left Race Activists and Far Right White Supremicists have a lot in common, belief-wise. Both believe that race is the most important signifier of identity. Both believe in a segregation of races. Both believe that employment and benefits should be based in large part to the race of the citizen. And neither side like the Jews or Asians much.

At a time when there are so many things to be distressed about it is this strange and improbable Venn Diagram of ideological similarities that truly gets me down.

Michelle Obama intoned “When they go low, we go high” and we all nodded our collective heads while deciding that High is Low and adopted Trump’s bullying and juvenile namecalling as our own version of taking that high road.

White Silence is Violence. Violence is Peaceful. Words are Violence. Victims are Survivors. Survivors are Warriors. Wage Slaves are Essential. Billionaires are Job Creators. Authoritarians are Anti-Fascist. Revenge is “Holding People Accountable.” Four Deaths in Benghazi are War Crimes. 200,000 Covid deaths are Acceptable. Educate Yourself is Shut Up and Conform. Be an Ally is Shut Up and Conform. Law & Order is Shut Up and Conform. Fake News is Shut Up and Conform.

If Shut Up and Conform is the end result of a disagreement in terminology or values, your ideas aren’t really worth considering.

Beware of doublespeak. It’s the language of extremists and those seeking nothing more than control or to sell you shit you don’t need.