#seventeenth installment

[missfay49]

Five years of war relief

A speech of welcome to Mr. Wendell L. Willkie upon his visit to Chungking, delivered at a tea party given on October 4, 1942, by Madame Chiang Kai-shek, as honorary chairman of the China Chapter of United China Relief, to Mr. Willkie, honorary chairman of U.C.R.

Our guest today has visited many countries and has seen for himself what they are doing to gain victory for the United Nations. He has also had to listen to many addresses of welcome. Without wishing to disparage those extended elsewhere, I am confident that nowhere has the welcome been more sincere and heartfelt than that which he is receiving in Free China. The reason is not far to seek. Mr. Willkie has not only shown himself to be a great friend of China, but an understanding friend. He knows that, in seeking to fulfill her national aspirations, China does not desire to encroach upon the rights of others. She does not covet their lands or resources and she does not seek to interfere with their way of life. He will realize that, grimly determined as we are that victory for the Allied nations must be won, we have no hatred for our enemies in spite of the terrible barbarities from which we have suffered. Consequently, as Mr. Willkie has so often eloquently told his American compatriots, China is not only a valuable buttress to the United Nations because of her manpower and material resources, but because of the moral and spiritual strength that has held the nation together for over five years despite the disruptive effect of a war which has put a terrible strain upon every man, woman and child in China.

No doubt, while in other lands our guest gained insight into the manner in which our gallant allies are facing the problem of meeting the demands of what is generally called war relief. One of our objects today, besides honoring our very distinguished guest, is to enable him to meet representatives of the various organizations that were our answer to the almost overwhelming demand upon our resources and capabilities that war thrust upon us. The fact that Mr. Willkie is

49

honorary chairman of United China Relief is sufficient proof that he takes a genuine personal interest in that phase of our war effort. As I also am one of the honorary heads of U.C.R., it was thought fitting that I should establish a contact between Mr. Willkie and representatives of those bodies to which U.C.R. has been rendering such signal assistance.

With his wide knowledge of world affairs, Mr. Willkie does not need to be told that since Pearl Harbor and the extension of the war throughout the Pacific region, the difficulties of our war organizations have been greatly increased. This both in positive and negative ways. The positive effects were due to the tens of thousands of refugees which swept into Free China from Hong Kong, the Netherlands Indies, Malaya and Burma and who had to be cared for. The negative side was that these very people who now looked to us for succor, had been one of the financial mainstays of our relief organizations in the previous war years. This is a feature of the position that is, perhaps, not generally noticed.

Mr. Willkie would not, I suspect, be inordinately pleased if he were assailed by an avalanche of statistics. But we would like him to know that war relief alone since 1937 has cost China hundreds of millions of dollars. And this, it has to be remembered, at a time when our Customs revenue was practically entirely cut off, our ports occupied and communication with the outside world rendered tenuous. Our foreign trade almost ceased. Yet, notwithstanding all these heartbreaking disadvantages, our relief work has gone on; industries have been established in these southwestern and southeastern provinces, waterways have been improved, waste lands redeemed and our political and economic machinery adjusted to meet the new conditions. We realize, however, that with new and graver problems cropping up every passing day, we must continue to strain every fiber in pressing forward towards victory which is not to be had for the mere asking.

I am convinced that during his stay with us Mr. Willkie will gain an even clearer insight into the thoughts and aspirations of our Chinese people. He will find that we are wholeheartedly eager to help in creating a better w3orld in which all races and peoples have equal freedom and from which fear of aggression has been banished. China is genuinely appreciative of what America has done for her. The friendly feeling

50

which has always prevailed between our countries has grown stronger, and immeasurably more so in these bitter war years during which the American people, rich and poor, old and young, down almost to the last baby, have spontaneously and eagerly extended a helping hand to our war relief, especially to the "warphans." Although there are, necessarily, many differences between our peoples, Mr. Willkie will find that a sense of justice is common to us both. It was this inherent quality which helped to enable Chinese culture to endure for so many centuries. This quality has always been latent in America and it is now more than ever apparent under the impact of war.

In Mr. Willkie himself we have found the embodiment of that warmth, spontaneity and energy which are also characteristic of the American people. He is indeed a worthy representative of them and of President Roosevelt. If I were to tell you that on this trip wherever Mr. Willkie went sunshine and victories descended upon these lands as in the case of Egypt and Russia, I feel sure that you would agree with me that Mr. Willkie is an augur of good omen, and that his visit to China will not accomplish less than what we all are hoping and working for - the ultimate victory of the United Nations. As a living and dynamic symbol of a new world society of free nations, we welcome you, Mr. Willkie, to our midst.

51

[sbnkalny]

Players briefly encounter the wreckage to Land in the sea after The seventh installment in the punk goes pop vol. 7 is the seventeenth compilation album in the punk goes... series by Kazuo Umezu

[gothhabiba]

For Hobsbawm and Ranger, historicizing tradition means finding the historical means by which a tradition was first invented and then naturalized as tradition. Tradition is sharply distinguished from custom [...]. Custom simply refers to a set of practices that combine flexibility in substance with formal adherence to precedent [...]. Tradition, on the other hand, is a set of rituals and symbolic practices that are fundamentally ideological rather than practical. Tradition, as Hobsbawm uses it, is bad, because it is usually a kind of modern ideological mystification which is installed as a constant by the elites and governments whose real interests are thereby served. To show that traditions are invented is in effect to show that traditions are not true, nor real, not legitimate.

[...] The clearest example of how the "invention of tradition" ploy can go wrong can be seen in the article by Hugh Trevor-Roper, "The Invention of Tradition: The Highland Tradition of Scotland" (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983, 15-41). Trevor-Roper begins by arguing that the kilt, the tartan, "the clan, and even the bagpipe, rather than being signs of great antiquity and cultural distinction, are "in fact largely modern." If these things existed before the Union with England at all, Trevor-Roper asserts, they did so only in "vestigial form," and as signs of "barbarism." Trevor-Roper goes on: "Indeed, the whole concept of a distinct Highland culture and tradition is a retrospective invention. Before the later years of the seventeenth century, the Highlanders of Scotland did not form a distinct people (15)." And so Trevor-Roper proceeds to demonstrate, with convincing historical flair and wit, the recent vintage of Scottish national culture.

The only problem with Trevor-Roper's argument is that while Hobsbawm debunks mystification in general as well as in the particular forms of its manipulation by states, ruling classes, or colonial powers, Trevor-Roper debunks the the necessary claims of Scottish nationalists �� necessary because of the hegemonic terms that became set in the eighteenth century for nationalist or populist political aspirations — that Scotland had its own authentic traditions, epics, and histories. Indeed, Trevor-Roper's argument has a genuine colonial ring to it, for, in recounting the invention of clans and kilts and the forgery of the great epic Ossian, it uses smug notions of authenticity and historical privilege to contest what appear to be absurd claims about Scottish customs and traditions. At the same time, and with similar colonial resonance, Trevor-Roper uses his historical mastery to conceal his own moral position, one that appears to justify, at least to support, the unification claims of the British state. The effort to historicize tradition and custom can thus both expose the mystifications of cultural hegemony, and be appropriated by them. When historical methods are used as if the methods themselves are exempted from historical scrutiny and critique, history becomes a way of deauthenticating everything but its own authority, denigrating difference and displacing the categories and logics of historical discourse.

– Nicholas Dirks, "Is Vice Versa? Historical Anthropologies and Anthropological Histories." In The Historic Turn in the Human Sciences. Terrence J. McDonald, ed. pp. 17–51. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. pp. 21–2.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Twinkfrump Linkdump

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Welcome to the seventeenth Pluralistic linkdump, a collection of all the miscellany that didn't make it into the week's newsletter, cunningly wrought together in a single edition that ranges from the first ISP to AI nonsense to labor organizing victories to the obituary of a brilliant scientist you should know a lot more about! Here's the other 16 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

If you're reading this (and you are!), it was delivered to you by an internet service provider. Today, the ISP industry is calcified, controlled by a handful of telcos and cable companies. But the idea of an "ISP" didn't come out of a giant telecommunications firm – it was created, in living memory, by excellent nerds who are still around.

Depending on how you reckon, The Little Garden was either the first or the second ISP in America. It was named after a Palo Alto Chinese restaurant frequented by its founders. To get a sense of that founding, read these excellent recollections by Tom Jennings, whose contributions include the seminal zine Homocore, the seminal networking protocol Fidonet, and the seminal third-party PC ROM, whence came Dell, Gateway, Compaq, and every other "PC clone" company.

The first installment describes how an informal co-op to network a few friends turned into a business almost by accident, with thousands of dollars flowing in and out of Jennings' bank account:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/TLG.html

And it describes how that ISP set a standard for neutrality, boldly declaring that "TLGnet exercises no control whatsoever over the content of the information." They introduced an idea of radical transparency, documenting their router configurations and other technical details and making them available to the public. They hired unskilled punk and queer kids from their communities and trained them to operate the network equipment they'd invented, customized or improvised.

In part two, Jennings talks about the evolution of TLG's radical business-plan: to offer unrestricted service, encouraging their customers to resell that service to people in their communities, having no lock-in, unbundling extra services including installation charges – the whole anti-enshittification enchilada:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/

I love Jennings and his work. I even gave him a little cameo in Picks and Shovels, the third Martin Hench novel, which will be out next winter. He's as lyrical a writer about technology as you could ask for, and he's also a brilliant engineer and thinker.

The Little Garden's founders and early power-users have all fleshed out Jennings' account of the birth of ISPs. Writing on his blog, David "DSHR" Rosenthal rounds up other histories from the likes of EFF co-founder John Gilmore and Tim Pozar:

https://blog.dshr.org/2024/04/the-little-garden.html

Rosenthal describes some of the more exotic shenanigans TLG got up to in order to do end-runs around the Bell system's onerous policies, hacking in the purest sense of the word, for example, by daisy-chaining together modems in regions with free local calling and then making "permanent local calls," with the modems staying online 24/7.

Enshittification came to the ISP business early and hit it hard. The cartel that controls your access to the internet today is a billion light-years away from the principled technologists who invented the industry with an ethos of care, access and fairness. Today's ISPs are bitterly opposed to Net Neutrality, the straightforward proposition that if you request some data, your ISP should send it to you as quickly and reliably as it can.

Instead, ISPs want to offer "slow-lanes" where they will relegate the whole internet, except for those companies that bribe the ISP to be delivered at normal speed. ISPs have a laughably transparent way of describing this: they say that they're allowing services to pay for "fast lanes" with priority access. This is the same as the giant grocery store that charges you extra unless you surrender your privacy with a "loyalty card" – and then says that they're offering a "discount" for loyal customers, rather than charging a premium to customers who don't want to be spied on.

The American business lobby loves this arrangement, and hates Net Neutrality. Having monopolized every sector of our economy, they are extremely fond of "winner take all" dynamics, and that's what a non-neutral ISP delivers: the biggest services with the deepest pockets get the most reliable delivery, which means that smaller services don't just have to be better than the big guys, they also have to be able to outbid them for "priority carriage."

If everything you get from your ISP is slow and janky, except for the dominant services, then the dominant services can skimp on quality and pocket the difference. That's the goal of every monopolist – not just to be too big to fail, but also too big to care.

Under the Trump administration, FCC chair Ajit Pai dismantled the Net Neutrality rule, colluding with American big business to rig the process. They accepted millions of obviously fake anti-Net Neutrality comments (one million identical comments from @pornhub.com addresses, comments from dead people, comments from sitting US Senators who support Net Neutrality) and declared open season on American internet users:

https://ag.ny.gov/press-release/2021/attorney-general-james-issues-report-detailing-millions-fake-comments-revealing

Now, Biden's FCC is set to reinstate Net Neutrality – but with a "compromise" that will make mobile internet (which nearly all of use sometimes, and the poorest of us are reliant on) a swamp of anticompetitive practices:

https://cyberlaw.stanford.edu/blog/2024/04/harmful-5g-fast-lanes-are-coming-fcc-needs-stop-them

Under the proposed rule, mobile carriers will be able to put traffic to and from apps in the slow lane, and then extort bribes from preferred apps for normal speed and delivery. They'll rely on parts of the 5G standard to pull off this trick.

The ISP cartel and the FCC insist that this is fine because web traffic won't be degraded, but of course, every service is hellbent on pushing you into using apps instead of the web. That's because the web is an open platform, which means you can install ad- and privacy-blockers. More than half of web users have installed a blocker, making it the largest boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But reverse-engineering and modding an app is a legal minefield. Just removing the encryption from an app can trigger criminal penalties under Section 1201 of the DMCA, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP that it's a felony to mod it.

Apps are enshittification's vanguard, and the fact that the FCC has found a way to make them even worse is perversely impressive. They're voting on this on April 25, and they have until April 24 to fix this. They should. They really should:

https://docs.fcc.gov/public/attachments/DOC-401676A1.pdf

In a just world, cheating ripoff ISPs would the top tech policy story. The operational practices of ISPs effect every single one us. We literally can't talk about tech policy without ISPs in the middle. But Net Neutrality is an also-ran in tech policy discourse, while AI – ugh ugh ugh – is the thing none of us can shut up about.

This, despite the fact that the most consequential AI applications sum up to serving as a kind of moral crumple-zone for shitty business practices. The point of AI isn't to replace customer service and other low-paid workers who have taken to demanding higher wages and better conditions – it's to fire those workers and replace them with chatbots that can't do their jobs. An AI salesdroid can't sell your boss a bot that can replace you, but they don't need to. They only have to convince your boss that the bot can do your job, even if it can't.

SF writer Karl Schroeder is one of the rare sf practitioners who grapples seriously with the future, a "strategic foresight" guy who somehow skirts the bullshit that is the field's hallmark:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

Writing on his blog, Schroeder describes the AI debates roiling the Association of Professional Futurists, and how it's sucking him into being an unwilling participant in the AI hype cycle:

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/dragged-into-the-ai-hype-cycle

Schroeder's piece is a thoughtful meditation on the relationship of SF's thought-experiments and parables about AI to the promises of AI hucksters, who promise that a) "general artificial intelligence" is just around the corner and that b) it will be worth trillions of dollars.

Schroeder – like other sf writers including Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross (and me) – comes to the conclusion that AI panic isn't about AI, it's about power. The artificial life-form devouring the planet and murdering our species is the limited liability corporation, and its substrate isn't silicon, it's us, human bodies:

What’s lying underneath all our anxieties about AGI is an anxiety that has nothing to do with Artificial Intelligence. Instead, it’s a manifestation of our growing awareness that our world is being stolen from under us. Last year’s estimate put the amount of wealth currently being transferred from the people who made it to an idle billionaire class at $5.2 trillion. Artificial General Intelligence whose environment is the server farms and sweatshops of this class is frightening only because of its capacity to accelerate this greatest of all heists.

After all, the business-case for AI is so very thin that the industry can only survive on a torrent of hype and nonsense – like claims that Amazon's "Grab and Go" stores used "AI" to monitor shoppers and automatically bill them for their purchases. In reality, the stores used thousands of low-paid Indian workers to monitor cameras and manually charge your card. This happens so often that Indian technologists joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Isn't it funny how all the really promising AI applications are in domains that most of us aren't qualified to assess? Like the claim that Google's AI was producing millions of novel materials that will shortly revolutionize all forms of production, from construction to electronics to medical implants:

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

That's what Google's press-release claimed, anyway. But when two groups of experts actually pulled a representative sample of these "new materials" from the Deep Mind database, they found that none of these materials qualified as "credible, useful and novel":

https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/acs.chemmater.4c00643

Writing about the researchers' findings for 404 Media, Jason Koebler cites Berkeley researchers who concluded that "no new materials have been discovered":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

The researchers say that AI data-mining for new materials is promising, but falls well short of Google's claim to be so transformative that it constitutes the "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge" and "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity."

AI hype keeps the bubble inflating, and for so long as it keeps blowing up, all those investors who've sunk their money into AI can tell themselves that they're rich. This is the essence of "a bezzle": "The magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Among the best debezzlers of AI are the Princeton Center for Information Technology Policy's Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor, who edit the "AI Snake Oil" blog. Now, they've sold a book with the same title:

https://www.aisnakeoil.com/p/ai-snake-oil-is-now-available-to

Obviously, books move a lot more slowly than blogs, and so Narayanan and Kapoor say their book will focus on the timeless elements of identifying and understanding AI snake oil:

In the book, we explain the crucial differences between types of AI, why people, companies, and governments are falling for AI snake oil, why AI can’t fix social media, and why we should be far more worried about what people will do with AI than about anything AI will do on its own. While generative AI is what drives press, predictive AI used in criminal justice, finance, healthcare, and other domains remains far more consequential in people’s lives. We discuss in depth how predictive AI can go wrong. We also warn of the dangers of a world where AI continues to be controlled by largely unaccountable big tech companies.

The book's out in September and it's up for pre-order now:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/ai-snake-oil-what-artificial-intelligence-can-do-what-it-can-t-and-how-to-tell-the-difference-arvind-narayanan/21324674

One of the weirder and worst side-effects of the AI hype bubble is that it has revived the belief that it's somehow possible for giant platforms to monitor all their users' speech and remove "harmful" speech. We've tried this for years, and when humans do it, it always ends with disfavored groups being censored, while dedicated trolls, harassers and monsters evade punishment:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

AI hype has led policy-makers to believe that we can deputize online services to spy on all their customers and block the bad ones without falling into this trap. Canada is on the verge of adopting Bill C-63, a "harmful content" regulation modeled on examples from the UK and Australia.

Writing on his blog, Canadian lawyer/activist/journalist Dimitri Lascaris describes the dire speech implications for C-63:

https://dimitrilascaris.org/2024/04/08/trudeaus-online-harms-bill-threatens-free-speech/

It's an excellent legal breakdown of the bill's provisions, but also a excellent analysis of how those provisions are likely to play out in the lives of Canadians, especially those advocating against genocide and taking other positions the that oppose the agenda of the government of the day.

Even if you like the Trudeau government and its policies, these powers will accrue to every Canadian government, including the presumptive (and inevitably, totally unhinged) near-future Conservative majority government of Pierre Poilievre.

It's been ten years since Martin Gilens and Benjamin I Page published their paper that concluded that governments make policies that are popular among elites, no matter how unpopular they are among the public:

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

Now, this is obviously depressing, but when you see it in action, it's kind of wild. The Biden administration has declared war on junk fees, from "resort fees" charged by hotels to the dozens of line-items added to your plane ticket, rental car, or even your rent check. In response, Republican politicians are climbing to their rear haunches and, using their actual human mouths, defending junk fees:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-12-republicans-objectively-pro-junk-fee/

Congressional Republicans are hell-bent on destroying the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's $8 cap on credit-card late-fees. Trump's presumptive running-mate Tim Scott is making this a campaign plank: "Vote for me and I will protect your credit-card company's right to screw you on fees!" He boasts about the lobbyists who asked him to take this position: champions of the public interest from the Consumer Bankers Association to the US Chamber of Commerce.

Banks stand to lose $10b/year from this rule (which means Americans stand to gain $10b/year from this rule). What's more, Scott's attempt to kill the rule is doomed to fail – there's just no procedural way it will fly. As David Dayen writes, "Not only does this vote put Republicans on the spot over junk fees, it’s a doomed vote, completely initiated by their own possible VP nominee."

This is an hilarious own-goal, one that only brings attention to a largely ignored – but extremely good – aspect of the Biden administration. As Adam Green of Bold Progressives told Dayen, "What’s been missing is opponents smoking themselves out and raising the volume of this fight so the public knows who is on their side."

The CFPB is a major bright spot in the Biden administration's record. They're doing all kind of innovative things, like making it easy for you to figure out which bank will give you the best deal and then letting you transfer your account and all its associated data, records and payments with a single click:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

And now, CFPB chair Rohit Chopra has given a speech laying out the agency's plan to outlaw data-brokers:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/prepared-remarks-of-cfpb-director-rohit-chopra-at-the-white-house-on-data-protection-and-national-security/

Yes, this is some good news! There is, in fact, good news in the world, bright spots amidst all the misery and terror. One of those bright spots? Labor.

Unions are back, baby. Not only do the vast majority of Americans favor unions, not only are new shops being unionized at rates not seen in generations, but also the largest unions are undergoing revolutions, with control being wrestled away from corrupt union bosses and given to the rank-and-file.

Many of us have heard about the high-profile victories to take back the UAW and Teamsters, but I hadn't heard about the internal struggles at the United Food and Commercial Workers, not until I read Hamilton Nolan's gripping account for In These Times:

https://inthesetimes.com/article/revolt-aisle-5-ufcw-grocery-workers-union

Nolan profiles Faye Guenther, president of UFCW Local 3000 and her successful and effective fight to bring a militant spirit back to the union, which represents a million grocery workers. Nolan describes the fight as "every bit as dramatic as any episode of Game of Thrones," and he's not wrong. This is an inspiring tale of working people taking power away from scumbag monopoly bosses and sellout fatcat leaders – and, in so doing, creating a institution that gets better wages, better working conditions, and a better economy, by helping to block giant grocery mergers like Kroger/Albertsons.

I like to end these linkdumps on an up note, so it feels weird to be closing out with an obituary, but I'd argue that any celebration of the long life and many accomplishments of my friend and mentor Anne Innis Dagg is an "up note."

I last wrote about Anne in 2020, on the release of a documentary about her work, "The Woman Who Loved Giraffes":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/#annedagg

As you might have guessed from the title of that doc, Anne was a biologist. She was the first woman scientist to do field-work on giraffes, and that work was so brilliant and fascinating that it kicked off the modern field of giraffology, which remains a woman-dominated specialty thanks to her tireless mentoring and support for the scientists that followed her.

Anne was also the world's most fearsome slayer of junk-science "evolutionary psychology," in which "scientists" invent unfalsifiable just-so stories that prove that some odious human characteristic is actually "natural" because it can be found somewhere in the animal kingdom (i.e., "Darling, please, it's not my fault that I'm fucking my grad students, it's the bonobos!").

Anne wrote a classic – and sadly out of print – book about this that I absolutely adore, not least for having one of the best titles I've ever encountered: "Love of Shopping" Is Not a Gene:

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/11/04/love-of-shopping-is-not-a-gene-exposing-junk-science-and-ideology-in-darwinian-psychology/

Anne was my advisor at the University of Waterloo, an institution that denied her tenure for fifty years, despite a brilliant academic career that rivaled that of her storied father, Harold Innis ("the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan"). The fact that Waterloo never recognized Anne is doubly shameful when you consider that she was awarded the Order of Canada:

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/queen-of-giraffes-among-new-order-of-canada-recipients-with-global-influence

Anne lived a brilliant live, struggling through adversity, never compromising on her principles, inspiring a vast number of students and colleagues. She lived to ninety one, and died earlier this month. Her ashes will be spread "on the breeding grounds of her beloved giraffes" in South Africa this summer:

https://obituaries.therecord.com/obituary/anne-innis-dagg-1089534658

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/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Image: Valeva1010 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hungarian_Goulash_Recipe.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[blackhistorystoryteller]

Black Americans should visit Ghana

To know more about black slave trade in Ghana

Monuments of shame

Cape Coast Castle - now a World Heritage Site - is one of about forty forts in Ghana where slaves from as far away as Burkina Faso and Niger were imprisoned. This former slave fortress could hold about 1,500 slaves at a time before they were loaded onto ships and sold into slavery in the New World in the Americas and the Caribbean.

Male captives who revolted or were deemed insubordinate ended up in the condemned cells - a pitch-black room where slaves were left to die in the oppressive heat without water, food or daylight.Rebellious women were beaten and chained to cannon balls in the courtyard

Built in 1482, Elmina Castle on Ghana's Cape coast is the earliest European structure erected in sub-Saharan Africa. Originally Portugese, it was later captured by the Dutch, who used it as a base for the Dutch slave trade with Brazil and the Caribbean. Under the flag of the Dutch West Indies Company, around 30,000 slaves a year passed through Elmina until 1814 when the Dutch abolished slavery.

The Portuguese position on the Gold Coast remained secure for almost a century. During that time, Lisbon leased the right to establish trading posts to individuals or companies that sought to align themselves with the local chiefs and to exchange trade goods both for rights to conduct commerce and for slaves whom the chiefs could provide. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, adventurers--first Dutch, and later English, Danish, and Swedish-- were granted licenses by their governments to trade overseas. On the Gold Coast, these European competitors built fortified trading stations and challenged the Portuguese. Sometimes they were also drawn into conflicts with local inhabitants as Europeans developed commercial alliances with local chiefs.

The principal early struggle was between the Dutch and the Portuguese. With the loss of Elmina in 1642 to the Dutch, the Portuguese left the Gold Coast permanently. The next 150 years saw kaleidoscopic change and uncertainty, marked by local conflicts and diplomatic maneuvers, during which various European powers struggled to establish or to maintain a position of dominance in the profitable trade of the Gold Coast littoral. Forts were built, abandoned, attacked, captured, sold, and exchanged, and many sites were selected at one time or another for fortified positions by contending European nations.

Both the Dutch and the British formed companies to advance their African ventures and to protect their coastal establishments. The Dutch West India Company operated throughout most of the eighteenth century. The British African Company of Merchants, founded in 1750, was the successor to several earlier organizations of this type. These enterprises built and manned new installations as the companies pursued their trading activities and defended their respective jurisdictions with varying degrees of government backing. There were short-lived ventures by the Swedes and the Prussians. The Danes remained until 1850, when they withdrew from the Gold Coast. The British gained possession of all Dutch coastal forts by the last quarter of the nineteenth century, thus making them the dominant European power on the Gold Coast.

During the heyday of early European competition, slavery was an accepted social institution, and the slave trade overshadowed all other commercial activities on the West African coast. To be sure, slavery and slave trading were already firmly entrenched in many African societies before their contact with Europe. In most situations, men as well as women captured in local warfare became slaves. In general, however, slaves in African communities were often treated as junior members of the society with specific rights, and many were ultimately absorbed into their masters' families as full members. Given traditional methods of agricultural production in Africa, slavery in Africa was quite different from that which existed in the commercial plantation environments of the New World.

Another aspect of the impact of the trans-Atlantic slave trade on Africa concerns the role of African chiefs, Muslim traders, and merchant princes in the trade. Although there is no doubt that local rulers in West Africa engaged in slaving and received certain advantages from it, some scholars have challenged the premise that traditional chiefs in the vicinity of the Gold Coast engaged in wars of expansion for the sole purpose of acquiring slaves for the export market. In the case of Asante, for example, rulers of that kingdom are known to have supplied slaves to both Muslim traders in the north and to Europeans on the coast. Even so, the Asante waged war for purposes other than simply to secure slaves. They also fought to pacify territories that in theory were under Asante control, to exact tribute payments from subordinate kingdoms, and to secure access to trade routes--particularly those that connected the interior with the coast.

It is important to mention, however, that the supply of slaves to the Gold Coast was entirely in African hands. Although powerful traditional chiefs, such as the rulers of Asante, Fante, and Ahanta, were known to have engaged in the slave trade, individual African merchants such as John Kabes, John Konny, Thomas Ewusi, and a broker known only as Noi commanded large bands of armed men, many of them slaves, and engaged in various forms of commercial activities with the Europeans on the coast.

The volume of the slave trade in West Africa grew rapidly from its inception around 1500 to its peak in the eighteenth century. Philip Curtin, a leading authority on the African slave trade, estimates that roughly 6.3 million slaves were shipped from West Africa to North America and South America, about 4.5 million of that number between 1701 and 1810. Perhaps 5,000 a year were shipped from the Gold Coast alone. The demographic impact of the slave trade on West Africa was probably substantially greater than the number actually enslaved because a significant number of Africans perished during slaving raids or while in captivity awaiting transshipment. All nations with an interest in West Africa participated in the slave trade. Relations between the Europeans and the local populations were often strained, and distrust led to frequent clashes. Disease caused high losses among the Europeans engaged in the slave trade, but the profits realized from the trade continued to attract them.

The growth of anti-slavery sentiment among Europeans made slow progress against vested African and European interests that were reaping profits from the traffic. Although individual clergymen condemned the slave trade as early as the seventeenth century, major Christian denominations did little to further early efforts at abolition. The Quakers, however, publicly declared themselves against slavery as early as 1727. Later in the century, the Danes stopped trading in slaves; Sweden and the Netherlands soon followed.

The importation of slaves into the United States was outlawed in 1807. In the same year, Britain used its naval power and its diplomatic muscle to outlaw trade in slaves by its citizens and to begin a campaign to stop the international trade in slaves. These efforts, however, were not successful until the 1860s because of the continued demand for plantation labor in the New World.

Because it took decades to end the trade in slaves, some historians doubt that the humanitarian impulse inspired the abolitionist movement. According to historian Walter Rodney, for example, Europe abolished the trans-Atlantic slave trade only because its profitability was undermined by the Industrial Revolution. Rodney argues that mass unemployment caused by the new industrial machinery, the need for new raw materials, and European competition for markets for finished goods are the real factors that brought an end to the trade in human cargo and the beginning of competition for colonial territories in Africa. Other scholars, however, disagree with Rodney, arguing that humanitarian concerns as well as social and economic factors were instrumental in ending the African slave trade.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET FOUR - ROUND ONE - MATCH ONE

“There Will Be No Miracles Here” (2007-09 - Nathan Coley) / "Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace" (1979 - Evgeny Sedukhin)

THERE WILL BE NO MIRACLES HERE: This one’s a popular one. I’ve seen a lot of different pictures of it floating around online—these are just two of my favorites. It never fails to hit, though.

There will be no Miracles Here was (and possibly still is? I’m not sure if it’s still standing) a work of art that quoted, according to the National Galleries website, “a seventeenth-century royal proclamation made in a French town believed to have been the frequent site of miracles.” The site further says, “Coley’s practice is based in an interest in public space, and how systems of personal, social, religious and political belief structure our towns and cities, and thereby ourselves.”

It definitely makes me examine my social and political belief structure. Every time I see it I have to say the words slowly, feel them in my mouth: “There will be no miracles here.” It’s become, oddly enough, a litany for me. It’s a reminder, for me, that the only way out is through; that when I think I have no one else, I have myself. No one can save me but me. With every challenge I overcome, I say it to myself again: “There will be no miracles here.” It makes me feel scared and alone and proud to be alive, where I am. I’m here, in spite of the miracles, in spite of the lack of them. (@sherlockwatson)

SYMPHONY OF THE SIXTH BLAST FURNACE: The composition of the industrial machinery and the rays of artificial sun beaming through billowing steam set a glorious backdrop to the miniscule figures set in silhouette on the catwalks. Its as if this was painted just to remind you how small you are, set against the vastness of industry, and how beautiful it can be. (@lupinus-bicolor)

("There Will Be No Miracles Here" is an outdoor light installation by Scottish artist Nathan Coley. It is 6 m high and is on display at Scottish National Gallery Of Modern Art (Modern Two).

"Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace" is an oil on canvas painting by Soviet artist Evgeny Sedukhin.)

[reinerispretty]

astronomically.

satoru gojo x f! reader. sequel to best of luck. and pause technique. third installment of the heart beats series!

masterlist

ok, this one is my favorite hehe. also wrote this back in 2022. please enjoy!

SUMMARY:

You get very, very drunk. Thankfully Gojo's there.

tws: throw up (for drunk reasons)

Nanami Kento is too good at drinking. One might not think it just by looking at him—he seems very reserved and orderly, the type that sticks to a strict routine to keep himself at optimal performance. And those things are all true, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from tossing back shots like nobody’s business. 

You, however, are not very good at drinking, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. When Nanami orders another shot, you order one too, because you don’t want him doing it alone. You’ve never liked the burn going down your throat, but they get you drunk fast , especially at the pace you’re going. Nanami probably doesn’t feel much, what with science and tallness and muscle mass and all that, but you’re hammered. Stumbling over words and feet type hammered. 

Gojo Satoru doesn’t really drink, and for good reason. He’d tell anyone who asks that he’s a massive lightweight, since he never developed much of a tolerance, what with being the strongest sorcerer and all. And that’s true, sure, but the larger reason is you. You, who is so adamant about keeping up with your friends and proving yourself that you’re willing to be your own downfall. 

You don’t need to keep up with Nanami, god knows he doesn’t expect you to, but you’ve always had a sort of…inferiority complex. You want to prove to other people that you’re strong before they have the chance to doubt you, even if you’ve known said people for over a decade. You’ve gotten better since you’ve grown up (you used to be an aggressive little thing), but at times like these when emotions run rampant due to alcohol content, you start to fall back into old habits. 

Tonight’s your birthday, and it’s probably the only day of the year you’ll allow yourself to act like this, so carefree and unbidden. You’re sipping on your cocktail which is arguably more juice than liquor, thanks to a quick exchange between Nanami and the bartender. You’ve got one hand propping up your head, and you’re looking between Gojo and Nanami as they talk. 

From behind dark glasses, Gojo’s eyes flash to meet yours. He gives you a wink that has you blushing before he turns back to your friend, and his large hand rests comfortably on your knee. Your fingers wrap around his, and you hum along with the song playing through the speakers. 

Gojo likes you like this. He likes you all the time, but drunk you is a favorite of his. You’re a lot less careful about what comes out of your mouth, so you’re far more likely to compliment him. Mostly though, you seem relaxed, and he knows it’s because he’s there. You don’t worry about anything because you know he’ll take care of you, and it makes his heart swell that you put so much trust in him. He wants to soak in every moment, so Gojo always offers himself up as the designated driver. 

“I like your tie,” You interrupt their conversation to tell Nanami for the seventeenth time that night. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, sending a relaxed smile your way and saying, “Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate it.” You grin so widely at him your eyes squint, then return to your people-watching. 

The bar is crowded, has been since you all arrived, and you aren’t normally someone who enjoys crowds but you’d insisted on coming. You like drinking with your friends. It reminds you of a time when everything wasn’t so complicated and serious. It was a long time ago. 

You know you’ve reached the bottom of your drink when your sips become loud, the straw bringing up absolutely nothing. You pout, and turn to Gojo to ask him to order you another drink, when suddenly his face is inches from yours. 

“How’s a burger sound?” He asks, and your eyes sparkle at the prospect of food. You don’t even realize it’s being used as a distraction.

“Okay!” You nod eagerly, and you turn toward Nanami. “Are you comin’ with us?” 

“I think it’s best if I head home,” He tells you, and your bottom lip wobbles just slightly. 

“But Nanamin,” You say, and they know you’re absolutely wasted if you’re using his nickname. “Ish my birthday .” Sober you would respect your friend’s wishes, but drunk you just wants to spend time with him! Nanami is a busy person who keeps to his routine, leaving little room for the two of you to actually hang out. If it isn’t scheduled in advance, he won’t be there. (Ironically, if it is scheduled, it’s unlikely Gojo will show up. It’s a good thing your birthday is so important to them.) 

“I’ll walk with you,” He offers. “But once you arrive, I’m going home.” Nanami checks his watch. “It’s already past one. I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

“I think he’s calling us old,” Gojo whispers loudly to you, and you gasp. 

“Nanamin! Don’ disrespect your elders!” 

Gojo pays the tab and the three of you leave the bar, which is still thrumming with the vibrancy of night life. Your hand firmly holds Gojo’s, swinging it back and forth as you pour your heart out to Nanami. 

“I’m really thankful you came tonight, Nanamin,” You say. “I mish you a lot. We used ta spend soooo much time together, ‘member?” If a representation of your heart was inaccurately drawn by Gojo, ninety-five percent of it would belong to him while the other five percent would go to Nanami. Although you’d met Gojo first, you’d been actual friends with Nanami for longer. (These timelines blur and coalesce depending on who’s telling them.) 

Nanami hums. “Yes, back when we attended the same school and didn’t have full time jobs.” 

You groan. “I think we should jus’ quit an’ make Gojo take care of us!” 

“Gladly,” He says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Nanami would never allow it and neither would sober you, but he’d spend all of his money on you if he could. 

You lean into his touch completely, something you would normally only do in the privacy of your home. You’re very reserved when it comes to intimacy, which Gojo respects, but he also lives for these moments. 

You’re talking animatedly to Nanami but Gojo isn’t listening. He’s too focused on how the neon lights shine against your hair and how small but right your hand feels in his. How your laugh rises above the noise of the city but still sounds more melodic than any song he’s ever heard before. 

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. What did his students call it? Down bad? (Astronomically, Kugisaki would add later.) 

They finally reach the burger place and Nanami departs, but not before you give him a bone-crushing hug. Gojo laughs as he sees the surprise on his friend’s face. He hadn’t been expecting your strength. 

Before you can get too sad over Nanami’s departure, Gojo steers you inside. There’s a bit of a line, since other drunk people also had the same idea, but he doesn’t mind. Just means more time with you. 

“What d’you want?” He asks. You hum, finger tapping against your chin as you think. 

“Cheeseburger, large fry, an’ a milkshake, please.” 

“Got it, but I feel like I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re lactose intolerant.” 

“Ish my birthday ,” You grumble up at him, but you rest your head against his arm. “If I wanna shit my brains out later, I should be able to.” 

He snorts. “You know technically, it’s not your birthday anymore. We passed midnight a long time ago.” 

You look up at him, eyebrows drawing together. “We celebrated your birthday for a whole week!” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s me.” You scoff at him but he catches the smile on your face, and presses a kiss to your rounded cheek. 

He orders (and pays) for you, and the two of you claim a booth as you wait for your food. He takes advantage of your lack of inhibitions and sits on the same side as you, enjoying the way your thighs touch against his. Such a simple thing, and yet when it comes to you, it’s everything. 

Gojo can feel eyes on him, hear friends whispering to each other about how hot he is (a fact, not a personal opinion), but he’s only looking at you. You, who’s decided that now is a good time to type out a thank you message to everyone who made your special day so special. 

The bar was more of a close friends event, but the guest list for dinner had been much broader. Shoko and Mei Mei were in attendance, and somehow you all wound up at the same restaurant as the students. It might’ve been a smidge inappropriate, but you’d looked so happy to see everyone there that Gojo didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t planned. 

Utahime was there as well. She’d shot him a death glare which immediately faded into a bright smile as soon as her eyes landed on you. The two of you had always had a grumpy girl club thing going on that he’d never understood. Aside from himself and Nanami, Utahime is your other best friend. He has to admit it makes him a bit jealous, especially because he’s certain she’s trying to steal you away to Kyoto. 

“How do you spell ‘extracurricular?’’ You ask him. 

“What are you even writing?” He snatches your phone out of your grasp. His eyes skim the message to find that it’s entirely incoherent and riddled with spelling errors that you’d be mortified to find in the morning. He deletes it all and slips your phone into his pocket. “You’ll thank me for that tomorrow.” 

You roll your eyes but don’t object, which is a win in Gojo’s book. After a moment, you speak again. “Do ya think people had fun tonight?” Your voice is soft and he can tell you’re a little lost in your thoughts. 

“Doesn’t matter if anyone else had fun. All that matters is whether or not you did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you?” 

“Did you ?” You tap your fingernails against the table. “I know I’m not…” You deflate, some sort of criticism of yourself lost on your lips, and Gojo needs to rectify this. 

He slots his fingers between yours. “Of course I’m having fun! Wouldn’t be here with you if I wasn’t.” You smile because you know he means it. He’s not the sort of person to waste his time. 

“Order eighty three!” The cashier calls out, and Gojo’s hand slips from yours as he stands to get your food. 

The girl at the counter’s face goes pink as he approaches. She hands him the paper bag and asks, “Need anything else?” 

“A few napkins, please.” You’re a messy eater when you’re drunk. 

The girl pulls napkins out from under the counter, but before she slides them over, she takes out a pen and scrawls a phone number on one of them. Gojo’s used to this sort of thing. He flashes the girl a smile as he takes the napkins and heads back to you. He has no intention of calling her. 

Still, all it takes is one look at your face and he knows that you’ve seen the whole exchange. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and you stare angrily up at him. He ignores you as he pulls the food out of the bag. 

When he’s sitting back down again, your hand snakes behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss. It’s loose tongues and bumping teeth and perhaps a little inappropriate for such an establishment, but it invigorates him. Electricity rumbles through his veins, setting his body alight. He’d known kissing you was going to be dangerous—even pressing his lips to your cheek or forehead fogs his mind for a few seconds, but it’s a drug that only gets better and better. 

You pull away first. The kiss couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but he can see the flush on your face and how swollen your lips look from his teeth nipping against them. He grins. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous!” You protest, shoving french fries into your mouth. “Ish just annoying, you know? How hard is it to make the educated assumption that a man an’ woman sitting together in a burger place at almost two in the morning are dating?” 

Drunk you is far more outward with her jealousy, and he loves it. Thrives off it, in fact. 

You bite into your burger. “Wish we had rings,” You say, more to yourself than him. “That way everybody’d know.” 

He stiffens. Is this something you’ve been thinking about? The two of you had only been officially dating for a few months, but he’d considered himself yours for years. The thought of marrying you crosses his mind at least once a day, but he’d kept quiet for fear of spooking you. You’re someone who works through things in their own time. See the last thirteen years as an example. 

Gojo ignores what you’ve just said, more for your sake than his, but he files it away. The two of you will come back to that later. Preferably when he’s had time to stop by a jeweler. 

Faces stuffed and bellies full, you leave the burger place and head back down the street to Gojo’s car. He’s got a hand wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling as you walk. You’ve become rather quiet, drifting into that sleepy drunk phase now that you’ve eaten. The night is drawing to a close. 

Gojo helps you into his car, buckling you in because your hands keep fumbling. As he slides into the driver seat he asks, “Your place or mine?” 

Your answer surprises him. “Can we go to your house, please?” You slump in your seat so you can lean into him. “Your pillows smell like you.” 

“Anything for the birthday girl,” He says as he pulls onto the street, and you give a tired cheer. 

You don’t come over to Gojo’s house very often. Not because you don’t like it, but because he’s never there. He’s usually at Jujutsu High or traveling, so he only really sees his place when he’s going to sleep. And since you got together, he’s been choosing to do that at yours. 

Although it’s smaller than his, he likes your place a lot more. It’s lived-in, curated with care, and it feels so wholeheartedly like you that even before you admitted your feelings for him, it felt more like home than his own. 

You’re nearly asleep by the time he pulls up to the building. He helps you inside, greeting the late-night doorman with a nod before guiding you into the elevator. “Seventeenth floor,” You say, proud of yourself for remembering, and he smiles at you. 

“You stalking me or something?” You giggle as his arms encircle your waist, his fingers playfully tickling your sides. 

Gojo’s home is a penthouse apartment, so the elevator opens directly into it. It’s private, which means that even though the rest of his building is filled with wealthy elites, his floor can only be accessed by a single elevator with a passcode. It fills you with pride that you’re one of only two people that know it. 

You slip off your shoes and toss your coat on the rack like you own the place, but before you can make your way towards the bed, Gojo drags you into the kitchen. He fills a glass of water for you and takes a bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet. 

“Drink,” He orders as he presses it to your lips. You try to take the cup but he won’t let you, so you’re stuck staring up at him as he force-hydrates you. Once you’re finished, he fills it up again and makes you take the painkillers. 

You’re onto the bathroom next. “‘M not letting you give me a bath,” You tell him. 

“Of course not,” He scoffs. “That’s a tomorrow activity.” And despite your glare, there’s still a hint of a smile on your face. 

He opens a cabinet and pulls out makeup wipes, and you spot a multitude of other feminine products. They’ve likely been left here over time, or he purchased them to make sure his guests were more comfortable. It doesn’t send off warning bells to see it. Instead it just carves a little into the darkest part of your heart, where the regret of not doing any of this sooner lives. 

“Did it make you sad, too?” You ask as he gently wipes the makeup from your face. He raises an eyebrow. “When I’d sleep with people who weren’t you.” 

Gojo’s always had a bit of a reputation for being a manwhore, and it had always confused you how he could declare his undying love for you and then bring random hookups back to his house. It wasn’t until you accepted your feelings for him that you realized he was doing the same thing you were: searching for each other in the embrace of strangers. You can’t even count how many times you’ve had to hold your tongue to avoid calling out his name when sleeping with people you pretended were him. 

Gojo’s smile wavers slightly, and he clears his throat as he avoids your gaze. His eyes hold infinity and all of his emotions, and he knows that nobody can read him better than you. “Yeah,” He agrees, his voice just a bit hoarse. “Yeah, it made me sad, too.” 

He lets you finish scrubbing the last of your eye makeup, and stands in the doorway as you wash your face and brush your teeth. He brings you one of his tshirts to wear as pajamas (he is a man, after all), and once you’re all clean he brings you to his bed. It’s not nearly as comfortable as yours, unfortunately, but Gojo enjoys the way you sigh happily once you have his comforter wrapped around you. You’re asleep within seconds. 

He doesn’t go to bed just yet, though. You don’t have any clothes at his house to wear the next day, so he does a bit of online shopping. You’re going to hate him for spending so much money on you. However will he endure it? 

It’s a few hours later and Gojo’s just finished checking out at the third store when you start to stir. He pauses, waiting to see if you’ll fall back asleep, but then you’re standing up and wobbling into his ensuite bathroom. You slam the door shut behind you, and it’s the clicking of the lock that indicates to him that something’s wrong. 

He knocks against the door, calling your name. You’re quiet, but he can hear your sniffles. He imagines that you’re crying over the toilet. “Can I come in?” 

You unlock the door for him and his heart melts at how absolutely pitiful you look. Tears are welling in your eyes and streaking down your cheeks, and you try to wipe them away as he sits down next to you but they just keep coming. “I can’t—” You hiccup, “I feel so sick but it won’t, I don’t want to—” You shake your head. 

“I think you’ve got to force it this time,” Gojo says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. More tears fall at the prospect. You hate throwing up. You don’t like doing it, and if you didn’t feel so horrible right now you’d probably just ride through the nausea until it passed. Sadly, it was so uncomfortable that it woke you. “Do you want me to help you?” 

You frown at him. “I’m not going to ask you to stick a finger down my throat.” 

“I’d do it for you,” And that makes you laugh. He presses a kiss to your temple and gathers your hair in one hand. “Come on, you can do it,” He encourages. “I’m right here.” 

You inhale a deep breath and reach your finger as far back as it’ll go. Your gag reflex triggers and suddenly you’re throwing up into the toilet, and more tears start streaming down your face. You hate this feeling. Hate it hate it hate it. 

But Gojo’s there, as promised, and his large hands smooth over your shoulders to soothe you as he keeps your hair out of your face. “Let it out. You’ll feel so much better once it’s over.” 

You stay there for a while, and once you’re certain there’s nothing left in your stomach, Gojo helps you clean up. You’re tired and still a bit drunk, so you cry as you apologize to him. He shushes you and wipes your face with a damp washcloth, and makes you brush your teeth again. 

He doesn’t have to, but he carries you back to bed. He doesn’t let go as he turns off the lights, nor as he settles between the sheets. He holds you firmly to him and you don’t protest. 

“Do you feel better?” He says into the darkness, and you nod against his shoulder. 

--- --- --- --- ---

The next morning, you regret absolutely everything . 

As much as you’d have liked to spend the day sleeping, at precisely six in the morning, Ijichi calls to tell the both of you that you’re needed at Jujutsu High. You let Gojo handle most of the talking, since you can’t be bothered to leave the shroud of blanket you’ve surrounded yourself with. 

“No need to call (Y/N),” Gojo says, “She’s right next to me! I’ll let her know.” With that, he hangs up, and uses a finger to lift the blanket just slightly so he can see you. “Ijichi said we need to go to the school.” 

“I heard,” You say. Gojo had been kind enough to put him on speaker. 

“He said Yaga would like us there in an hour.” 

“I heard .” 

“I told him he didn’t need to call you since you spent the night.” 

You huff, flinging the covers off of you so you can stand up, which only exacerbates your headache more. “If this is your way of annoying me out of bed, you’re doing phenomenally.” You storm off, slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it. You turn on the shower and Gojo’s at the door, knocking. 

“Hey! I thought you were gonna let me give you a bath!” The handle rattles. “I have to get ready too, y’know!” 

“Use the guest bathroom!” You shout back as you step beneath the sweet relief of hot water. 

If you’re with Gojo, you’re going to be late anyway, so the both of you take your time getting ready. His online purchases are carried up by the staff, clean and ready for you to use, and you only snip at him a teensy bit for spending money on you. You’re thankful that you don’t have to greet your peers in last night’s outfit. 

You fix yourself a cup of coffee to drink on the way, but as soon as you and Gojo step outside, the bright, sunny day blinds you. Had you become a vampire in the middle of the night? You scowl, raising your hand to block out the sun’s rays, but it’s no use. 

Gojo maneuvers around you to block out the light, but his teasing grin is just as annoying to look at. “Something wrong?” 

“Shut up,” You grumble. “Why’s it so goddamn bright?” You don’t think you can last another second in this light. 

Gojo snickers. “All these years and you haven’t learned your limits.” 

“I can still kick your ass, hungover or not.” You pull him back into the shadows. “Give me your sunglasses.” He raises an eyebrow from beneath his blindfold. “It’s not like you’re going to use them today, anyway. Let me borrow them.” 

He pulls them from his pocket and you unfold them, placing them onto your face. You exhale as you step back into the light. “Much better!” You toss him a smile over your shoulder. “Ready?” 

Gojo needs approximately five seconds to gather himself. He knows he looks great in his glasses, but he’d vehemently argue that they look even better on you. Seeing you wear his stuff always does something to him, but the sunglasses? 

He thinks of cold showers, grandmothers, and sour foods to keep himself from imagining how you might look wearing his sunglasses and nothing else.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where volunteering sucks. And freshmen are just as bad for your health as energy drinks.

Or the seventeenth installment of the SKZ!pack prequel series.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!Pack prequel series, new, update, skz x you, skz x reader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, fluff, skz fluff

Genre: Fluff

Title: Orientation

“I can’t believe you let hyung talk you into volunteering. Let alone a whole day of giving tours to baby freshmen who have proven to be no smarter than a box of rocks and just as annoying.” Hyunjin scoffs as he catches sight of you, tugging on your ‘Department of Sciences’ hoodie. 

Jisung makes a noise of annoyance in his throat, a nonverbal beratement at Hyunjin to stop moving around so goddamn much, and paints another coat of nail polish across the omega’s nail, his tongue stuck between his lips in concentration. 

You sigh and roll your eyes. “You get a class credit for doing it. It’s an easy A.” 

Hyunjin snorts, but stays still this time, giving you an unconvinced stare from the kitchen table. “Still can’t believe it.” 

“And I still can’t believe that you all took bets on my kinks.” Chan enters the kitchen now on the tail end of the conversation, straightening his unruly curls with his fingers, already sporting his navy ‘Department of Music’ sweatshirt. He gives Hyunjin a sharp stare, only given away by the slightly amused twitch to his lips. “So I guess we’re even.” 

Minho appears in the doorway, looking entirely too sleep rumpled for almost eleven in the morning, and scowls at all of you. 

“What the hell are you all doing in my kitchen?” 

“Hanging out.” Hyunjin offers unhelpfully, as Jisung finishes one of his hands with a flourish and an admonishment to blow carefully on the wet nails. 

“I think the freshmen are cute.” Felix chimes in, sliding into the seat next to Hyunjin and resting his head lightly on the other omega’s shoulder. “They’re precious, all wide eyed and innocent and excited for a new year.” 

Minho looks downright exasperated now. 

“Oh my god, is literally everyone here?” 

Jisung scoffs. “You would. Leave it to Sunshine Angel Baby Felix to think the newest wave of fresh meat is ‘adorable.’” 

“I hate the freshmen.” Changbin grunts, sliding carefully past Minho in the doorway, headed straight for the fridge, as he tugs open the door and reaches inside to pull out a bottle of orange juice. “They come into the studio spaces and fuck all the equipment up.” 

He lifts the juice to his lips in an annoyed sort of motion and takes a swig right from the jug. 

“Seo Changbin, I know you did not just drink straight out of my carton like some sort of bumbling, disgusting, uncivilized neanderthal.” 

Changbin looks suitably apologetic as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sorry, hyung.” 

“The actual worst thing about freshmen though, is that they don’t know how to keep their stupid hands or thoughts to themselves.” Hyunjin continues with barely concealed annoyance, as Seungmin skirts around the still lurking Minho and tosses Changbin a cup from the cabinet with remarkable ease. 

Minho sighs and scrubs down his face with his hand as if he’s about to commit murder, before he turns and disappears back down the hallway to his room without a word. 

A moment later, a door slams shut.

“Yeah.” Jisung agrees with a vicious nod, digging around in Minho’s pantry and emerging victoriously with a bag of chips in his fisted grip, which he uses to point sternly in Hyunjin’s direction, then your own. “Noona is hella hot-goddamn fine even-and those little cretins are gonna be hitting on her alllllll day.” 

Beside you, Chan makes a sound of betrayal in his throat. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” 

You grin and turn to the put-out alpha standing beside you, patting his cheek a few times, none too gently, with the open palm of your hand. 

“You’re very pretty, Christopher. Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

********

You pop open a much needed can of Monster on your walk across campus, and Chan immediately gives you a judgmental side eye as you lift the energy drink to your lips. 

“Energy drinks are bad for you, you know.” 

You take a long sip, and stare him down boldly. “Funny, cause you know what else is bad for me? Children. And we’re about to spend the whole day with a fuck ton of them.” 

Chan considers you for a moment, dark eyes thoughtful, and then reaches for the can, fingers curling around your own as he steals it and raises it to his own lips for a quick swig. 

“Touche.” 

You walk in silence for several moments, gravel crunching beneath your feet, and then Chan says, glancing sidelong at you once more, “You look cute, you know? In your department sweatshirt.” 

You roll your eyes and hide the smile that’s threatening behind your teeth. 

Instead, you turn to him and raise a brow, keeping your expression serious. 

“I’d look cuter if it were off of me though.” 

Chan chokes on the sip of energy drink he has just stolen, and you laugh as he hands you back the can once more, coughing, desperately trying to scrub off the spilled stain that now marks the front of his hoodie. 

“Shit.” 

You pull him to a stop, turning him to face you as you knock his fumbling hands out of the way and pat at the spilled energy drink with a napkin from the recesses of your backpack. 

You’re aware he’s watching you, but you purposefully keep your gaze downturned, focusing more than is necessary on wiping away the stain from the navy material. 

You finally chance a glance up at him through your lashes. 

“You’re just too easy, baby. I had to.” You give a little laugh and a shrug as you finally release your hold on him, but don’t step away. “Sorry.” 

Something flickers across his gaze at your words, but you don’t catch what it is before it disappears, and then he says quietly, “Say that again.” 

You tilt your head and stare up at him, confused. 

“What? Sorry?” 

He shakes his own head, curls falling into his eyes, and there is a thin ring of gold around his pupils now, bleeding into the caramel of his irises. 

“No. What you called me.” 

Understanding dawns on you, and you swallow, trying to ignore the sudden heavy scent of rain in the surrounding air. 

“What, baby?” 

Chan hums, a contented sort of rumble in his chest, and your wolf practically salivates at the way his pupils dilate in response to your voice, and that word. 

“Interesting.” You muse, smirking now. 

You take a step closer to him. 

Chan lets out a long, controlled breath between barely parted lips, and shakes his head, and when he looks at you again, there’s no sign of the gold, of the alpha, that plagued his eyes, only moments before. 

He offers you the hint of a sheepish smile as you feel your own wolf retreat a bit. 

“Sorry. It’s been awhile.” 

You study him for another long moment, and then put some space in between you once more.

“Changbin calls you ‘babe’ at the studio all the time. He told me.” 

Chan grimaces as you both continue to walk once more.

“Yeah, but that’s not the same, that’s just in joking. Bros being bros.” 

“Is it?” You query, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and you see realization begin to cross his face. 

“Isn’t it?” He repeats back slightly under his breath, brow furrowed. 

You groan and roll your eyes, hurrying your steps so he has to catch up to you, still looking deep in thought. 

“God, the music department is so gay.” 

********

“Okay, any questions?” You clap your hands to get the chattering group of freshmen’s attention, as Chan does his best to round them up into one space outside the campus cafeteria. 

One of the girls-Rheena? Raina?-raises her hand.

You point to her. 

“Yeah.” 

She glances at Chan like he’s put the stars in the sky, her pale pink lips slightly agape as she ogles. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

Chan looks caught off guard, glancing at you with a hooded expression, one brow raised.

You sigh. “Yes.” You glance around the group, ignoring the crestfallen look on the omega girl’s face. “Any other questions?” 

Another freshman raises their hand, this time, a boy. 

You don’t like the cocky look in his eye. 

“How’d you manage to bag another alpha? Isn’t that like, weird or something?” 

You sigh again, longer this time, and mutter beneath your breath, “I meant questions about the tour, god.” 

You force a smile onto your face and stare down the smirking little shit-newly alpha-as you say tightly, “It’s not weird. Perfectly acceptable actually.” 

The boy looks like he’s about to say something else, but luckily, Chan jumps in before he can speak again. 

“Okay!” He claps his hands loudly and grins at the freshman. “Lunch time! You can enter the cafeteria through the doors behind you, use the cards we showed you to pay for your meal plan, and then find somewhere to sit.” He glances down at the watch he wears and then back to the group of kids before you. “You’ve got an hour and a half, and then we need to meet back here for the final leg of the tour, okay? Everybody got that?” 

There are several nods and murmurs of agreement, and then the group of freshmen disperse and disappear into the swinging doors that lead to the cafeteria. 

You blow out the annoyed breath you’ve been holding and subtly flip little alpha man off behind his back as he leaves your sight. 

Beside you, Chan chuckles. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like kids.” You scoff and shoot him a glare. “It’s not that I don’t like kids, okay? I just don’t like that kid.” 

Chan grins, all flashing pointed teeth, and hands you your sack lunch as you both settle onto the cement stairs behind you, a knowing look in his eyes as he watches you dig around for your sandwich. 

“Fair. But you also have to remember-” He takes a bite of his own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “-it sucks to present. He’s probably dealing with a whole slew of hormones from his alpha that he didn’t even have to think about before.” 

You chew sullenly, unwilling to give Chan the point he deserves. 

He takes a sip from his coke and glances at you sidelong, waiting. 

You sigh and crush your own now empty can between your fingers. 

“Fine. I’ll try to give him the benefit of the doubt.” 

Chan grins, tossing his eaten lunch into the nearest trash can, before he leans over and pats your head in an altogether annoying way, which is why it catches you off guard completely when he murmurs in your ear, breath warm on your skin, voice dipping into deep alpha timber. 

“Good girl.” 

You swallow your bite of sandwich, now dry in your mouth, and try not to think about earlier, when he had asked you to repeat what you had said, in that same lilting, deep, commanding tone. 

Say that again. 

You repress a shudder and throw your own half eaten lunch into the same trash can. 

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite nerds.” 

A familiar voice breaks through the tension of the moment, followed by a snap of Autumn in the air, and you both glance up as San, grinning ear to ear, comes into view around the corner of the cafeteria. 

You immediately groan even as Chan stands to give the incoming beta a high five. 

San’s face doesn’t lose its grin as they both settle back down beside you, the beta throwing his arms around the two of you and pulling you close. 

“Sup, alphas?” 

You roll your eyes. “Why am I not surprised that you’re here? Although-” You glance to where he appeared, half expecting to see Wooyoung rounding the corner at any moment. “-where’s your better half? I’d think your ugly mug would scare the children if he’s not around.” 

You offer him a sweetly innocent smile. 

San scoffs. “Please. I’m hot as fuck and you know it.” 

A crisp, cold wave of early Autumn washes over you at his words, and you make a show of pinching your nose. 

“Seriously, Sannie, did he forget your leash? There’s no other way he’d let you wander around on your own.” 

“For your information, I hold his leash, so jot that down-” San leans into you and runs his cold nose along your throat, even as you shove him away from you. He gives you a grin so wide his eyes disappear into crescents. “-and second, he’s rounding up our kids for the second half of the tour.” 

“You let him do that on his own?” Chan asks with slight amusement, glancing down at his watch, even as he stands and stretches. 

“Of course.” San shrugs, dark eyes gleaming now, as he smirks wickedly. “I wanted him to know what the rest of us have to deal with on a daily basis, living with him.” 

“Cruel.” You remark, but there’s respect in your tone, and he knows it. 

“Cruel, but just.” He gives you a wink, and you grin. 

San stands, towering next to Chan, and stretches his own arms above his head, his maroon ‘Department of Dance’ sweatshirt riding up to reveal a tan swath of skin, and the beginning lines of the dark ink of his matching tattoo that he shares with his moonmate, sketched across his hip. 

You stand as well, gathering up the last of your trash, and San gives you a questioning look. 

“Where’s Minnie? Couldn’t convince him to come this year?” 

You snort beneath your breath. “Lee Minho would rather pull out his own teeth than have to deal with freshmen-and you-all day.” 

San makes a wounded face, always dramatic, as you all begin walking toward the cafeteria and the bustling groups of freshmen. 

“Damn. Harsh.” He grins roguishly. “I was really looking forward to us wearing matching couple’s hoodies.” 

“Pretty sure Minho burned that sweatshirt the first week of school. Something about ‘lack of school spirit and maroon isn’t his color.’” Chan remarks dryly from San’s other side, and the beta mocks a pout. 

“He would.” 

San glances over your head and waves wildly to someone, and you follow his gaze, finding a harried looking Wooyoung standing with a large group of gathered freshmen, tapping his foot impatiently and glaring at the beta beside you. 

San whistles beneath his breath. “He looks mad.” 

You nod in agreement. “You’re gonna die.” 

Chan claps the beta on the back. “Hell of a way to go, man.” 

San sighs, and then he perks up again, whirling to face the two of you even as he walks away, walking backward and somehow narrowly avoiding every freshman in his path. 

He points to the two of you. “Oh, hey! We’ve got a freshie in our group that doesn’t belong. Not interested in Dance or anything down that alley whatsoever, but he’s still undecided major wise. Care if I send the little dude to you for the second half? Maybe he’ll dig science or music.” 

Beside you, Chan shrugs. 

“Sure. Send him over.” 

San gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, and turns to run in the direction of the still waiting Wooyoung. 

“Think they’ll accept a trade?” You remark sarcastically beneath your breath, as your own group comes into view, cocky little alpha shit right up front and center, your gaze immediately falling to him. 

Chan nudges you warningly in the side, and you bite back a smirk. 

He’s addressing the group of waiting freshmen, when San saunters over with the newest member of your entourage, pulling him up beside you quietly as Chan continues to go over the itinerary for the rest of the day. 

You glance over your shoulder at the beta, and unwittingly, your gaze falls to the boy beside him. 

He’s small, dark red hair falling over the tips of his ears, pointed features pretty and delicate, fox-like, the way he holds himself reminding you a little bit of Felix, unsure and hesitant. 

San is saying something to you, but you’re not registering, because something deep inside-your wolf-is keeping your gaze pinned on the mysterious freshman at his side. 

And then, it hits you. 

He doesn’t smell. He doesn’t have a scent. 

Whereas the rest of the incoming students haven’t quite learned how to control their pheromones yet, their scents strong in your nose, telling you exactly where they fall in the subgender way of things, the boy in front of you smells like nothing-nothing except laundry detergent and maybe a little bit of sweat from the high overhead sun. 

He’s unpresented? Is that even still a thing? 

Curiosity instantly rears its head, and your wolf simultaneously urges you forward without a second thought. 

You hold out your hand, and San stops talking, looking at you curiously. 

“(Y/N).” Your fingers don’t waver, as you watch the boy glance to you in slight surprise, and then down to your still outstretched hand. “And you are?” 

After another brief moment of hesitation, he places his palm in yours. 

“Yang Jeongin.”

San chuckles, giving you a knowing look, which you dutifully ignore, and claps the new student on the back once more. 

“Well, you’re in good hands, Jeongin. I’m gonna get going.” 

And then he’s gone, with one last pointed look in your direction. 

It’s then that you realize your fingers are still interlaced with Jeongin’s, and you pull back abruptly, clearing your throat, even as Chan finally finishes his long winded speech to the other freshmen. 

“Well, Jeongin.” You motion with your head to the group behind you. “Hopefully you think Music and Science are a bit more interesting than whatever those two goons had going on in your old group.” 

Jeongin stares at you for a moment, and then he smiles, and something within you loses breath at the sight, his sharp teeth flashing, eyes disappearing into crescent moons within his cheeks. 

“I’m sure I’ll fit in just fine.” 

You swallow hard, and pull your gaze away from his own, glancing at Chan now, who is staring at the two of you quizzically, one eyebrow raised in silent question. 

You shrug in the other alpha’s direction, and then turn back to Jeongin with a nod. 

“I’m sure you will, Yang Jeongin. I have no doubt about that.”

************************************************************************

💗 Taglist:

@hosh1kwon

@carolinexkpop@blithevix

@sunabokuto

@wildflower-at-heart@faericals@5sos-wdw@hyuneyeon

@studyingthemind@illicee

@maddmartian

@binnie--baby

@xwinchesterprincessx

@ley-lani59

@lady---boner

@rosegaming117@meivida

@sai-kida134

@cutecucumberkimberly

@aroseharder

@spideyweirdo

@coureurs-de-bois9

@unfiltered-starlight@sixswaggy

@shimmeringmoons22

@thatgirlangelb

@beautifulcolorgarden

@runningthroughlifestay@dearalice@patat-boi@stay-berry

@laylasbunbunny

@misxing-you

@sawadabegum

@changbinsrightboob

@maliamaiden@sunnibearr@bkirsted@jamlou512

@latinxmochi@goquokka

@leeknowsw0rldd@yoongihan

@simeonswhore

@rubberduckieyourtheone

@chanlovesme

@janvibutbetter

@starlostjimin /

@vampcharxter

@dadonbabysworld

@cursed-mars-bars@lexiluness

@nanaberry6

@yoongisleftearring@seoulsaver

@leeyanyanyaaan@septicrebel

@peppermint-tea-life

@ashcapybara

@thesingingelephant@ksho123

@bangchanwhore

@im-sinking-in-mud

[deulleya]

"even a story written by someone like me."

the second instalment of my musical translation series — travelling back to the joseon era for a feminist tale of empowerment, dignity, and writing one's own past, present, and future.

the video is not mine, but all translations are my own.

musical: here, pihwadang (여기, 피화당)

cast: [gaeunbi] jeong inji, choi soojin, kim eehoo • [maehwa] jang boram, jeong daye • [gyehwa] baek yeeun, kwak nayoon • [huryang] cho poongrae, cho hun • [puppy] ryu chanyeol, lee chanryeol

synopsis: in the postwar landscape of late seventeenth-century joseon, the women who had been dragged away and violated by the invading qing army finally return home — to a country that shames them and families that scorn them. fleeing from the in-laws who plan to kill her to preserve their reputation, the noblewoman gaeunbi — together with her handmaiden gyehwa and the crossdressing swordswoman maehwa — seeks solace in a cave deep within the mountains. brought together by their shared trauma, the three women label their new abode "pihwadang," a place of refuge from misfortune. under the cloak of anonymity, gaeunbi writes stories that gain widespread popularity amongst the public. meanwhile, huryang writes to clear his father's name and criticise the country for its treatment of the women who returned from qing, but barely anyone pays him any attention. resolving to commission the renowned anonymous author so that his story can reach a wider audience, huryang sets off in search of the elusive writer with his loyal servant, gathering clues from gaeunbi's tale...

production: hong company (twitter / youtube)

[ this musical will be streaming online here! kim eehoo my love ]

- ☽ -

- ☽ -

나 같은 사람이 쓴 이야기도 — even a story written by someone like me

kim eehoo as gaeunbi

I’m not sure Am I truly someone capable of such? The words I write Can they truly have such power?

All I did was live on, flickering faintly Like a candle burning out In a dark cave

Even a story written by someone like me Can it remain in this world? Even a story written by someone like me Can it be of comfort to someone?

I worry that If, by any chance Someone may be hurt by The words I write

I fear that The truth behind Pihwadang may come to light While writing the story of that winter

Even a story written by someone like me Can it remain in this world? Even a story written by someone like me Can it be of comfort to someone?

Still, I wish To let our stories be heard Still, I wish To let our voices be heard

Although it’s so painful I wish to avoid it And erase those memories

Even a story written by someone like me If it can remain in this world Even a story written by someone like me If it can be of comfort to someone

If it can be so

[ original korean lyrics here. ]

[todaysjewishholiday]

9 Tammuz 5784 (14-15 July 2024)

On the ninth of Tammuz 3173 the Babylonian army of Nebuchadnezzar II breached the walls of Jerusalem after a thirty month siege. This was the second time in eleven years that the Babylonians had invaded Judaea to put down a revolt by the Judaean monarchy. Both Yirmeyahu and Yechezkel recorded their visions during this period. The second Babylonian occupation was far more brutal than the first, which had been focused on installing a new king in Jerusalem who the Babylonians thought would be more supportive of their interests. They responded to Tzidkiyahu’s revolt with scorched earth violence, and the breach of the city’s walls exchanged slow starvation for massacres for the remaining population of the city, culminating in the destruction of the beis hamikdash a month later on Tisha B’Av and the exile of a large number of Judaean aristocrats to other regions within the empire.

Up until the Romans repeated the entire process, the Babylonian assault on Jerusalem and the subsequent exile was the defining trauma of Jewish history. The ninth of Tammuz was commemorated with fasting for centuries, until the Roman breach of the walls of the city on the 17th of Tammuz 3830 took its place.

The Book of Lamentations, also known by its Hebrew name Eicha (How?) is an ancient response to the Babylonian pillage of Jerusalem, murder of so many of its people, and destruction of its holiest place. It is now often studied during the three weeks between the seventeenth of Tammuz and Tisha B’Av, and read in its entirety during the Tisha B’Av service.

[isadomna]

María Inés Calderón (1611 – 1646 )

“A woman who apparently was not beautiful, but she had a lot of grace and charm. In addition to reciting, singing and dancing very well.”- Elvira Menéndez

María Inés Calderón, known as La Calderona and Marizápalos, was the most important actress in the Spain of the seventeenth century, who became the mistress of King Felipe IV and mother of his illegitimate son, Juan José of Austria. La Calderona was involved in a relationship with Ramiro Pérez de Guzmán, Duke of Medina de las Torres, at the time Felipe IV first saw and got smitten by the actress-singer on her debut at the Corral de la Cruz theatre in Madrid in 1627. But when the king got in the way, the lover had no choice but bow his head. La Calderona became the favorite of Felipe IV.

Enamoured of the red-headed actress, Felipe IV installed his lover in a balcony overlooking the square, a decision that flew right in the face of convention as these seats were meant to be the exclusive preserve of the aristocracy. After spotting her rival sitting in the posh seats, the queen Isabel de Borbón flew into a rage and threw La Calderona out of her love nest in the palace. To compensate, the rather sneaky king, then ordered that a secret balcony to be built under an arch. In this way, his lover could attend events at the Plaza Mayor and remain out of sight.

Upon the birth of her son in 1629, La Calderona lost the custody of him despite her protests. Her relationship to the king ended the same year. There were rumors at the time that her son was fathered by Ramiro Pérez de Guzmán. La Calderona was forced to become a nun against her will. Felipe IV ordered her entry into the monastery of San Juan Bautista of Valfermoso de las Monjas, in Alcarria, where the interpreter would lose contact with life, the theater, her son. In 1642, the King recognized Juan José officially as his son, and Juan José began his life's career as a military representative of his father's interests.

It was said that she died in closing, already under the name of Mrs. Maria de San Gabriel, Abbess. But it has also been written that she fled: that she managed, on the one hand, to escape from God's mandate and escape, along with a bandit, to the Sierra de la Calderona (Valencia) and, in another version, that she returned to Madrid, where she would welcome the guild of actors: « A kind of union that gave relief to interpreters who were in poor condition or who were already older. There seems to be data that helped her. Which would mean that she did not die in the convent as they officially said ».

The few concrete data of María Inés Calderón have served to increase the legend. Also regarding her family. It is not uncommon to find references to Pedro Calderón de la Barca as father of the creature. But far from it. It seems that, being very small, appeared at the door of Juan Calderón, a lender of the theater world and father of Juana, also an actress, although not as renowned as «La Calderona».

(x)(x)

[fruitzbat]

HOME TO ROOST, the final installment of the Devil & the Deep Blue Sea trilogy, is now live! Click above to read the seventeenth chapter!

One fateful night nearly one year prior, Kingsley Tealeaf escaped captivity in the Hespet Archipelago and vowed to leave the world he left in his wake changed. Having made his name known as one to be feared, Captain Tealeaf has taken his faithful crew northward and turned his sights towards Darktow. ‘Scores to settle’ does not even begin to cover it. This is war — and all that it entails. As Kingsley reaches the end of the labyrinth and as more players show their hands and faces, the only thing that is certain is that nothing is guaranteed.

It’s Kingsley’s turn to take up the Nein’s mantle of being a hero that no one has heard of. The Revelry’s throne is his for the taking — provided that someone else doesn’t get there first.

A/N: As I mentioned earlier, from hereon out we're switching to a biweekly update schedule, since these final chapters are trending longer and I need more time to edit/plot. As it was for the last book, expect updates around the 15th and the 30th of every month.

Chapter XVII: People stick their noses where they're not supposed to, and we have not only a new ally but an impromptu wedding. Kingsley has more excellent ideas. It's the calm before the storm -- who will weather it, and who will sink?

[histoireettralala]

Gambling

Gambling had always been popular with the soldiery- natural risk-takers- for centuries past, but in the seventeenth century it became deeply embedded in French culture more than anywhere else. As Jonathan Dewald has explained, it offered a chance to demonstrate that you were above crude mercantile and financial calculations, it was impersonal, relatively equal and based upon skill and fortune. As such it also offered a safety valve to a society where order and hierarchy were becoming ever more important. The crown made only limited and confused attempts to prevent it, designating games of "hasard"- pure chance- illegal, but permitting and trying to regulate games of "commerce", where intelligence and knowledge were at an equal premium. The most popular examples of each under Louis XIV were bassette and lansquenet; and culbas and reversi. For Jansenists and even mainstream devout Catholics even allowing "jeux de commerce" was too much, not least because gambling was an emotive business which challenged the Great Chain of Being. It bore a heavy responsibility for suicide, murder, duelling deaths and physical degeneration, and even the super-rich were inclined to put their souls in jeopardy by cheating. As if this were not bad enough, it could ruin not just the losers but winners as well and threatened to undermine both royal justice and the codes of honour, for gambling debts could not be pursued through courts of law. Gambling was endemic at court, and some games could involve such huge sums that even the king and royal family had to associate themselves with other courtiers to produce the necessary advances to play. In spite of royal strictures even illegal games were played by courtiers. Furthermore, card games were also played in the War Ministry itself: in the course of my research I found a wine-stained eighteenth-century playing card in a volume of letters at the French war archive- it seems to have been placed there by clerks, or even a minister, to mark a particular piece of correspondence.

The bad example set by the Court was followed by the army officers, many of whom in the higher ranks were of course courtiers themselves. Memoirs and correspondence are littered with references to officers gambling, often in an illegal manner such as playing bassette, reflecting an inability to bring it under control. At the very least innumerable disputes flared up in the course of games, even when they did not lead on to actual violence. More worrying were the financial and psychological consequences of the pursuit. Mme de Sévigné in July 1680 was furious that her son Charles, sous-lieutenant of the Gendarmes Dauphins, had just lost over 3,000 livres at reversi, although the family could afford it. More insidious was the way officers gambled not only with their own pay, but also pledged that of their men as well as promissory notes on the company masse and ustencile entitlement. Hard experience and fear of this happening on a regimental scale led Louis after 1697 to install as majors only men not inclined to gambling. One can hardly blame him, for there were plenty of examples of ruination due to gambling, and financiers' sons in elite units were amongst those forced to sell their posts to pay off debts, so large could they become. Desperate officers short on funds could all too easily turn to gambling as a short-term fix for their cash-flow problems, blotting from their minds the likelihood that it would merely make matters worse and hasten their undoing. Most tragic of all, gambling debts could destroy a man's life a lead him to suicide. At its most extreme competition amongst officers and nobles was clearly even capable of driving them to break one of the ultimate taboos of the age.

Guy Rowlands- The Dynastic State and the Army under Louis XIV: Royal Service and Private Interest, 1661-1701

[newmic]

Avec le café de Flore, Les Deux Magots est un des deux grands cafés littéraires de Saint-Germain des Prés. Il revendique même le titre de « café littéraire » sur sa banne. Un prix littéraire y est au reste décerné en janvier de chaque année depuis 1933. Comme pour la closerie des Lilas, on trouve dans son nom un terme rare aujourd’hui incompris : « magots ». Un magot est un lointain dérivé de Magog, personnage biblique.

Désignant à partir du XVIe siècle un homme très laid, ce terme entre au XVIIe dans le vocabulaire des arts décoratifs pour nommer les porcelaines représentant des personnages grotesques, par imitation de celles provenant d’Extrême-Orient. Or, le café actuel s’est installé en 1885 à la place d’un magasin du nouveauté (1813), qui avait choisi le nom Les Deux Magots de la Chine pour évoquer le luxe de l’Orient. Il reste de ce passé deux « magots », habillés à la chinoise, accrochés à un angle.

On aperçoit Les Deux Magots café dans Les Aventures de Rabbi Jacob (1973). C’est un café si touristique qu’il faut souvent patienter dehors dans une file d’attente. Il attire aussi une clientèle fortunée, étrangère notamment.

En savoir plus sur : https://www.laculturegenerale.com/cafes-celebres-paris-meilleurs-liste/ ©

***********

Along with the Café de Flore, Les Deux Magots is one of the two great literary cafés in Saint-Germain des Prés. He even claims the title of "literary café" on his banne. A literary prize has been awarded in January of each year since 1933. As for the closerie des Lilas, we find in its name a rare term today misunderstood: "magots". A hoard is a distant derivative of Magog, a biblical character.

Designating from the sixteenth century a very ugly man, this term enters the seventeenth in the vocabulary of decorative arts to name porcelain representing grotesque characters, in imitation of those from the Far East. However, the current café was installed in 1885 in place of a novelty store (1813), which had chosen the name Les Deux Magots de la Chine to evoke the luxury of the Orient. There remain from this past two "magots", dressed in Chinese style, hanging at an angle.

Les Deux Magots café can be seen in The Adventures of Rabbi Jacob (1973). It's such a touristy café that you often have to wait outside in a queue. It also attracts wealthy clients, especially foreigners.

Learn more about: https://www.laculturegenerale.com/cafes-celebres-paris-meilleurs-liste/ ©

[martinochiti]

LIVORNO DIASPORA teaser from Martino Chiti on Vimeo.

"Until every shape has found its city, new cities will continue to be born. When the forms exhaust their variety and come apart, the end of cities begins." from "The invisible cities", Italo Calvino

Cities are always multiple, they can hide on themselves by taking on distinct forms, evident as to the eye or mental, hidden between thoughts and the exchanges that are consumed there. Sometimes invisible like folds on the same surface. This is one of these cities between cities: Livorno. These are some of its potential invisible folds.

Livorno Diaspora is an ongoing transmedia project which represents the foreign communities of Livorno. A city of welcome born in the seventeenth century from the thrust of Medici’s Livornine laws, it was one of the first cosmopolitan cities in the world where anyone would be allowed - by law - no matter their origins, culture or religion.

The project analyze the city through images and sounds. Not only with photos but through an audio visual immersive installation. The viewer is contained in a flow in which he finds himself part. A set of fragmented memories in which we immerge and, transported by the emotional tension of sounds and images, we are stimulated to the perception. Personal memory becomes universal.

A phantasmagoria of images and sounds shaped by the places, the colors, the food, the music, the traditions brought by the diaspora. Recognize, in the different cultures, a new form in which the territory is enriched with unknown lives and the unknown lives takes possession of a new territory without losing contact with the land of origin.

Today Livorno reveals itself in a new return to its origins with a population composed by a mix of different nationalities which add new components to the local culture, in a process of integration/dis-integration that makes the city an example of functional diversity.

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

[Image ID: A series of tweets by Pine Barrens at Quiet Pine Trees. The first one reads:

The forest wanted to beg for mercy but knew precious little about us. Pine trees roared like chainsaws, hoping this was the language of man.

The second tweet reads:

Galaxies were mere tide pools. The empty space between them was a killing field of dark-matter predators and electromagnetic anglerfish.

The third tweet reads: 

Countless confessions of love were made during the near-apocalypse. Everyone agreed to ignore “les amours finales,” but none were forgotten.

The fourth tweet reads: 

“Sorry, but your parts are worth a mint.” She drew her gun on the android. “Every snowflake is special, until you need to make a snowball.”

The fifth tweet reads:

“You can date a girl with mind control powers,” he said sagely, “but stay alert. Make sure she’s saying ‘I love you,’ not ‘you love me.’”

The sixth tweet reads:

The android led him to the cliff. At 8:43 PM, it removed his blindfold. The indigo sky filled his vision. “Make my eyes that color,” it said.

The seventh tweet reads: 

The autumn of the galaxy arrived. The Lyman-alpha forest went through redshift, and golden asteroids fell in droves onto nearby planets.

The eighth tweet reads:

“This is the one true star-map,” he whispered. “Time fluctuates wildly beyond our solar system. Everything we know about distance is wrong.”

The ninth tweet reads:

He slipped her the inkwell. “This one is full of forbidden, outlawed words,” he whispered. “Make sure you clean your pen when you’re done.”

The tenth tweet reads:

Journalists from the future would appear as history was made. He got nervous as a crowd of them filmed his blind date from outside the cafe.

The eleventh tweet reads:

The manor house creaked with joy to have someone inside it again. It let a floorboard give way just to feel him brush against its walls.

The twelfth tweet reads:

Keeping a song stuck in his head didn’t block telepaths, but he knew who had been snooping in his brain when they started humming the tune.

The thirteenth tweet reads:

“Muscle memory? No,” she said. “We practice scales to load the piano with notes. It’s an artillery piece, not some magical music-generator.”

The fourteenth tweet reads: 

For years, he filled a journal with beautiful lies and impossible hopes. When he found a genie, he simply said, “I wish it was all true.”

The fifteenth tweet reads:

Every time she looked at him she triggered his fight-or-flight response. He’d never been in love before, and it was an easy mistake to make.

The sixteenth tweet reads:

Humans were installed as lighthouses throughout the galaxy, their flaring emotions serving to warn ships away from pockets of linear time.

The seventeenth tweet reads:

The wind grew cold. The leaves turned red. The bark turned red. The soil turned red. The stars turned red. Something was wrong with October. 

The eighteenth, and final, tweet reads:

The panels of her corset were portals to deep space. With every waltz, her dance partner circled the galaxy, but he only looked at her eyes.

End Image ID]