#that man has no morals to cling to! no class!

[slythereen]

personally i think jos verstappen should launch another pr war against the sainz collective on behalf of his son(-in-law)

[bogwaterparasite]

Sketchbook

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Pairing: Miles Morales-42 x Reader

CW: None, just fluff

WC: 1.4k

A/N: This was part of an ongoing series I had on Ao3 when Spider-Man ATSV was popular, I lost motivation to keep it going (I forgot what the plot was gonna be) so I hope yall enjoy the few episodes I had

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Everyone hates waking up in the mornings to a loud beeping sound coming from whatever device you use as an alarm, some people are lucky and their bodies are programmed to wake up exactly at the same time every single day, but sadly I am not one of those people. A loud groan escaped my lips as the obnoxious sound of the alarm woke me, making all my peaceful dreams flee my mind. Reluctantly, I sit up, rubbing my eyes to get rid of any sleep threatening to cling onto me before climbing down from the bunk bed. My gaze shifted over to the top bunk where my roommate remained dead asleep, as per usual. Sometimes I wonder if she has superpowers, not once have I seen her actually go to a class, but yet she has killer grades! How does she do it? The world may never know.

Emerging from the quiet sanctuary of my dorm room into the chaos of the hallway, the cacophony of conversations, laughs, and occasional screams of surprise or delight were quick to pierce the once serene atmosphere of the dorm. I paused for a moment, readjusting myself to the new environment, taking it all in while walking down the corridor towards my locker. I popped open the door and pulled out my belongings, putting others that I wouldn’t need into the empty space. With a quick swing, my backpack landed swiftly over my shoulder, proceeding to slam the door shut, and continued my route to my first period.

Staring ahead, my mind was back to being consumed by my thoughts as I lazily walked to my first class. Typical trivial things such as what I’d have to eat, or what to do with your free time when you don’t have any friends, you know.. normal teen stuff. Yet, those thoughts quickly subsided as I was abruptly knocked off my balance. Stumbling forward, my arms flailed around wildly trying to hold on to something for support, quickly regaining my footing and looking back towards the person who I seemed to have tripped over.

“Sorry”

At first glance it was hard to recognize the culprit, but as my gaze focused on his I realized it was no other than Miles.

To say we were friends was an overstatement, we shared a couple of classes together, and sure we talked sometimes, but apart from that? He didn’t seem to care less about me as a person. Before I could respond, or even say something, he walked away, not interested on keeping the conversation going.

Alright?

I was about to head off, but just out of the corner of my eye I could see something on the floor. Curious, i bent down and picked it up. It was a black sketchbook, a few colorful lines and stickers on the cover, i glanced around to see if it belonged to any of the students nearby, but no one even batted an eye. Standing up again, my mind drifted off to my earlier encounter, it must have been his. I turned to see if by chance Miles was still somewhere on the hallway, but he was far gone.

My eyes drifted off to the clock, a minute remained until the start of class, cutting my time short. Quickly stuffing the sketchbook into my bag, I made a dash for the classroom.

Thankfully, I made it just in time, everyone was already in their seats but the teacher still wasn’t here. A relieved sigh escaped my lips as I made my way to my seat. It didn’t take long for the teacher to arrive and start the lesson, yet It felt almost impossible to pay attention to the words spewing from his mouth. I wondered what his art looked like, the pages seemed to crumble a little making the sketchbook thicker, was he a good artist? The temptation to look at its contents was eating its way out, but I persisted. It wouldn’t be right to violate his privacy, no matter how much I wanted to take a peek.

“Díaz, are you paying attention?”

Mr. Anderson brought me out of my thoughts once again. My gaze met his, then proceeded to take a look around the room… everyone was watching.

Immediately, the possibility of being swallowed whole by the earth seemed enticing. Shrinking into my spot as my cheeks took a reddish tint.

“sorry..”

“..Anywho, as I was saying”

As he turned back to the chalk board, everyone soon went back to writing things down, and I followed, forgetting the topic of the notebook and Miles… or at least trying to.

Time seemed to fly by after the incident, my mind being far too focused on the piles of homework that were assigned with little to no class time left. Soon enough, it was fourth hour, the one class I looked forward to, and coincidentally enough, the class I had with miles.

When I entered the room I was quick to notice only a handful of students were actually there. Yet, after a quick scanning I came to the conclusion that he wasn’t any of them.. hopefully he didn’t decide to skip class today.

I slipped my earbuds in, desperate to muffle the rising classroom din as more students filed in. My hope of his arrival was fading with each passing minute, the possibility of him showing up growing slimmer by the second. Then, almost miraculously, with barely a minute left in class, he materialized out of thin air. His hazel eyes briefly met mine before he turned away, rejoining the conversation he'd been having with those surrounding him.

Reaching down to my bag, I pulled out the sketchbook, carefully placing it on the desk. Hesitating slightly, my hand outstretched and tapped his shoulder… nothing. An eyebrow quirked in confusion as I tried again once more, yet he didn’t even flinch.

Was he ignoring me? Or did he genuinely not feel someone poking his shoulder? Regardless of what it was, I was just about ready to give up all hope and simply slide it over, all up until I saw one of his friends quirk his head towards me.

Miles turned to face me, his face holding a confused expression, maybe even annoyed, yet, it quickly faded as his eyes landed on the square object.

“This is yours, right?”

He didn’t hesitate, not wasting a single second before snatching the sketchbook from my hands. His once hardened expression now softened, a relief seemingly washing over him for that split second, then he remembered I spoke.

“Yeah, thanks”

As he spoke, he gave me a warm smile, his appreciation palpable in the subtle curve of his lips. The gesture was delicate, almost imperceptible, yet something profound shifted in his typically harsh expression. His perpetually cold gaze momentarily thawed, softening with an unexpected vulnerability, a side he never really showed… it was nice.

He turned around just as our teacher entered the classroom, exchanging quick pleasantries before launching into the day's lesson. Assignments accumulated steadily, and soon the teacher divided us into partners for a worksheet that felt more like a perfunctory exercise. I found myself paired with Miles. We settled into a comfortable silence, our proximity neither awkward nor forced. Without a word exchanged, we both bent our heads over the worksheet, an unspoken understanding between us.

Eventually, I finished the worksheet and stretched back in my chair, a subtle sense of accomplishment settling over. Stealing a glance sideways, I caught Miles engrossed in his sketchbook, his pencil moving with practiced ease. Curiosity finally got the better of me, leaning closer to him. His page was filled with intricate portraits—faces emerging from delicate lines and subtle shading. I found myself transfixed, unable to look away as the figures took shape beneath his hand.

“You’re a really good artist”

Resting my cheek on my palm, I continued to look down at the colorful page, yet, he suddenly stopped and looked at me. Mimicking his action, my gaze slowly lifted from the drawing, finding its way to his face. Our eyes met and locked, creating a charged silence that seemed to stop time itself, neither of us uttering a word. Perplexed by his this, I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head slightly.

“Do I have something on my face?”

As my voice filled the air, he seemed to get out of his trance, shaking his head and going back to drawing sharp and precise strokes on the piece of paper. A small chuckle escaped my lips, who knew he was actually awkward.

“No, uh… Thanks”

He finally answered, avoiding my own gaze. I hummed in response, continuing to watch as he drew. It was almost mesmerizing, art was something so beautiful, I was a bit of an artist myself, but if he didn’t want to know then there was no reason to tell him about it.

We remained like that for the rest of class, he continued to doodle away besides me as I watched, every now and then glancing away and talking to someone in case he was getting uncomfortable with my presence, eventually the bell rang, signaling the end of class. While walking out of the classroom I felt a slight tug at my bag, almost sounding like someone slapped it. I turned in order to see who did that, but as I turned miles smoothly escaped from behind me, out of sight and earshot.

I pulled my backpack off my shoulder, there was a small yellow sticky note on top of it with a small doodle of him on it, my lips curled into a smile again, looking at the hallway in which he had made his escape shaking my head.

It was kept safely between two notebooks until the end of the day

[daresplaining]

Hey Dare! I have been thinking about Elektra and Natasha with Matt and how similar they are. To me, they both seem to be characters that feel forced to be 'good' but know they can't be because the world isn't black and white (for example, Elektra not being allowed into the Chaste for being impure, so she becomes an assassin, Natasha being a spy but not a hero). In what ways do you think these characters are different from one another? And does Matt play a unique role in each of their lives?

I love "Dare"; thank you for that! And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to answer this.

It's really compelling to look at the parallels between Natasha and Elektra, because you're right, they have a lot in common--mainly, that they are both in professions that require a deep cynicism, a healthy emotional distance, and a very specific moral compass. They are good people molded into hard people by life, who have become very good at doing some very unpleasant things, and have found ways to live with that. I think Natasha leans far more into the realm of the term "hero"-- she has served on superhero teams and been in the public eye in that capacity, her partnership with Matt certainly placed her in the role of a superhero more than a spy, and if you were to shop for superhero merch in the Marvel universe...I'd say Black Widow would be about 90% more likely to show up on a t-shirt than Elektra. However, she is still very much a spy, with a spy's pragmatism that doesn't always align with the heroic, and she holds no illusions about who and what she is. A while back I wrote a post about one of my favorite Black Widow stories, "Breakdown", which is all about the moral distinctions between being a spy and being a superhero.

However, Natasha seems to be able to hop back and forth across that line, carrying out top-secret missions and maintaining her status as a world-class spy while also beating up supervillains alongside her superhero friends. Her goal is to do good in the world, and she is able to do so in both of these roles--largely because some Black Widow writers want to write spy stories, and others want to write her swinging across rooftops and kicking Stilt-Man in the face, and one of the fun and unique things about her character is that she can encompass both of those genres so well.

Elektra, however, is an assassin, full stop. We have the by now (I hope) classic line from the first issue of the Blackman/Del Mundo run:

"I have often tried to be something more. At nine, I dreamt of being a ballerina. But that required a form of balance I did not possess. At nineteen, I secretly studied figure painting behind my father's back. But I could never see past the models' skin and muscle. All my classes ended with half-naked canvases marred by twisted limbs and slack faces. I have even played at being a hero. But I could not bear how foolish I felt every time I spared someone who was determined to kill me. I am not a dancer, or an artist, or a hero. I am no longer a daughter or a lover...victim or student or slave. I am, and I will always be...someone's assassin."

I would suggest that this line is not fully reflective of the truth of Elektra's childhood, but is instead a fatalistic look back from her current state of mind, since it suggests the idea that she was always fated to be an assassin, which is (at least in her original origin story, which I am stubbornly clinging to for now) simply not true. Elektra was a good, hopeful, kind person backed into a terrible corner, who became very, very good at killing for money because it was the only path that seemed to be left for her after the death of her father, after her rejection by the Chaste, and after her disastrously failed attempt at taking down the Hand from the inside, which led to her killing the only mentor figure she had left and leaving her alone in the world. Elektra does not like what she is, but she is confident in what she is and she takes a certain pride in being the best there is at what she does (sorry, Wolverine). Her tragedy is, to me, far greater than Natasha's because Elektra is so often alone. In her early appearances, Natasha thought she was cursed because so many of the men she loved died, and she does experience isolation that I absolutely do not want to downplay, but just based on my reading experience, Elektra's is more painful and has continued on for far longer. She sees her world as cold and dark and drenched in blood, and the times she has tried to change that, she has failed spectacularly. All she can do is look for glimpses of light and warmth-- her rose-tinted memories of her time with Matt in college and the opportunities she has, when she allows it and when he allows it, to see him again in the present; her deep, powerful bond with Wolverine, in whom she sees so much of herself; the brief other relationships she allows herself, romantic or otherwise... Elektra has shown a tendency, over the years, of encountering and protecting young women and girls, which I think is a really nice trend, though it doesn't always end well.

Matt is a happy memory for both of them. For Elektra, the last time she was truly happy in life was that last semester in college before her father's death, and the time she spent with Matt was a part of that. She thinks of that period fondly, and her love for Matt is something that she holds close and cherishes, no matter what else has happened since. He reminds her of a better time, and while she has her own life now, she still keeps an eye on him. They've tried to get back together a few times, but it's never worked. Everything is different now. For Natasha, Matt is a reliable friend and ally, someone she can always go to. There is a strong physical attraction between them that lingers, and on various occasions, Natasha has dropped back into his life with the intention of rekindling their romance. However, it's never worked for her either (usually because Matt is dating somebody else), and that is probably for the best. While they look fondly back on their partnership, which was a romantic and exciting time for them, it was also very messy. Matt's ego struggled with dating a fellow superhero, and Natasha hated that Matt tended to undervalue her skills. Following their break-up, which was mutual and remarkably drama-free, they have remained good friends who would do just about anything for each other.

Thanks for the great question!

[tuulikki]

Was anyone going to tell me that Engels really hated the Irish or was I supposed to find that out for myself???

These are some really impressive anti-immigrant talking points:

The southern facile character of the Irishman, his crudity, which places him but little above the savage, his contempt for all humane enjoyments, in which his very crudeness makes him incapable of sharing, his filth and poverty, all favour drunkenness.

With such a competitor the English working-man has to struggle, with a competitor upon the lowest plane possible in a civilised country, who for this very reason requires less wages than any other. Nothing else is therefore possible than that, as Carlyle says, the wages of English working-man should be forced down further and further in every branch in which the Irish compete with him. And these branches are many. All such as demand little or no skill are open to the Irish. For work which requires long training or regular, pertinacious application, the dissolute, unsteady, drunken Irishman is on too low a plane. To become a mechanic, a mill-hand, he would have to adopt the English civilisation, the English customs, become, in the main, an Englishman. But for all simple, less exact work, wherever it is a question more of strength than skill, the Irishman is as good as the Englishman. Such occupations are therefore especially overcrowded with Irishmen: hand-weavers, bricklayers, porters, jobbers, and such workers, count hordes of Irishmen among their number, and the pressure of this race has done much to depress wages and lower the working-class. And even if the Irish, who have forced their way into other occupations, should become more civilised, enough of the old habits would cling to them to have a strong, degrading influence upon their English companions in toil, especially in view of the general effect of being surrounded by the Irish. For when, in almost every great city, a fifth or a quarter of the workers are Irish, or children of Irish parents, who have grown up among Irish filth, no one can wonder if the life, habits, intelligence, moral status -- in short, the whole character of the working-class assimilates a great part of the Irish characteristics. On the contrary, it is easy to understand how the degrading position of the English workers, engendered by our modern history, and its immediate consequences, has been still more degraded by the presence of Irish competition.

—Condition of the Working Class in England, 1845

Dirty, stupid immigrants stealing jobs? Revolutionary take

[aweina]

ᰔ. boyfriend material : miles morales.

miles would help you create a signature, especially if you’re not well versed in calligraphy. the both of you would spend hours just figuring out what suits you. and whenever miles does them, they look perfect — leaving you struggling to make it look identical. he’s patient and a little bit amused of your lack of penmanship when it came to your own signature. at the end, miles came up with a very simple one for you because you cannot make it look as pretty when he does it. “hey it’s fine, at least it’s not ugly anymor — ow! hey, i was just teasing.”

speaking of signatures, miles has one of your name every time he does graffiti art. compared to his other portraits and simply tying their names along their faces — the design of your name has remained unchanged and distinguishable from the rest. during class, he would doodle your name and face when his mind drifted towards you (which was all the time). he would create calligraphy art that perfectly matched you, furiously scribbling at the bad ones with thick led and crumple the paper and toss it to the trash. miles would be absolutely flustered when you see your portrait in admiration, brushing off his racing heartbeat to answer your questions about the piece itself. “you love it? oh shit, thank god. wha — nothing, it’s nothing.”

if you asked, miles would guide your hand while making graffiti art. it’s not usually how he would teach you how to do art but hey, any excuse to be closer to you. he tries to play off the closed distance but inside, he’s an absolute wreck and it’s pretty much shown through his quivering hands and dilated eyes. miles is choked up every time he explains how to do certain art techniques and ends up stopping mid sentence to study your focused face. you are his muse after all. “sorry you’re just … really pretty.”

he loves to pass notes during class as well. miles just doodles you from his seat since the teacher separated the both of you (disrupting class? never heard of it. he took the blame for you though — got detention for it). each doodle is a different pose everyday, some are very silly and some made you look like an absolute doll. they always had some little cute messages or just a bunch of hearts and thought bubbles hovering your head. you save all his small doodles in a scrapbook that the both of you started together — alongside the polaroid photos you took together on his apartment rooftop and the random notes you guys wrote when one of you kept the book for the day. “heh.. i really like you too. oh? i’m just responding to what you said … in the book.”

miles has this full pack of name tags and blank stickers to his disposal. when he’s spider-man, he plasters them on the usual criminals that he would pass by during his patrols with written quirky quips that made you instantly recognize that it was from the hero himself. well, he does that with you too. since miles is very light on his feet and can go unnoticed with his invisibility, he would gently pat a name tag and other customized stickers on you throughout the school day. it’s not until your friends point it out with an amused snicker or when you find it clinging on your arm or back — a warm smile instantly grows on your face. they either go like ‘hello my name is the most beautiful girl ever’ or ‘miles morales was here’. you always looked forward to what he had to say everyday, but damn, how did he even get it on you in the first place? “that’s a secret, it would just ruin the fun if i told you, wouldn’t it?”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[gavinfair]

“Born in the USA” by Bruce Springsteen: An Anthem of Struggle, Misinterpretation, and American Identity

Bruce Springsteen made “Born in the USA” in 1984 and it is one of the most Iconic songs in American history. The song has been embraced by many as a patriotic anthem celebrating America. However, a closer examination of its lyrics reveals a massive critique of the working class citizens, particularly vietnamese war veterans. Springsteen's song outlines how these veterans gave it their all for their country only to be abandoned and forgotten. This makes the song very complex and a good song to analyze. By exploring its context, and themes we can uncover how Springsteen masterfully captures the struggles of a disenfranchised America while inadvertently creating a rally cry misunderstood by many. 

Post-Vietnam America and Reagan Era Optimism

The song was realistic at a time when America was dealing with the aftermath of the Vietnam war. The war had left deep scars on America, with returning veterans facing hatred instead of gratitude. Many veterans struggled with PTSD, unemployment, and a lack of government support. The country was dealing with an economic downturn in the blue collar industries like manufacturing, which had sustained the working class for decades. Simultaneously the 1980s were defined by the rise of Ronald Reagan’s presidency, which had pushed for a vision of renewed American strength and optimism. Regan seemed to value themes of patriotism and promised the people that they would live the “American Dream”.

Misinterpretation of Patriotism and Working-Class Struggles

At first listen it seems to be all about patriotism, particularly in the chorus

Born in the U.S.A.

I was born in the U.S.A.

However, these seemingly celebratory lyrics are opposed by one that paints a bleak picture of the American experience. For example the song opens with

Born down in a dead man’s town

The first kick I took was when I hit the ground

Here, Springsteen introduces the main character of the song as someone who has been beaten down by life from the get go. This is far from glorifying the American Dream, the song's lyrics dive into the thoughts of a man who served his country but finds himself neglected upon his return. Once you listen in to these lyrics the chorus takes a mournful tone, as if the main character is clinging to a national identity that has failed him. Springsteen himself knew that the song was going to be misinterpreted. In interviews he expressed that he was frustrated because politicians used it without even knowing what the song was about. An example of this is Ronal Reagen referencing the song in his 184 re election campaign.

The Struggles of Vietnam Veterans

The second verse of the song captures the experience of many vietnam veterans

Got in a little hometown jam

So they put a rifle in my hand

Sent me off to a foreign land

To go and kill the yellow man

This highlights the failure to provide opportunities for working class Americans, many were drafted into the war as a result of this inequality.Springsteen critiques the moral and political justifications of the war, he portrays it as a conflict that exploited the underprivileged while offering them little in return. 

Upon returning home, the main character finds no support

Come back home to the refinery

Hiring man says, “Son, if it was up to me…”

This line captures the economic struggles veterans faced who returned to a country that is doing poorly. Factories were closing, jobs were disappearing, and the government failed to provide a good support system for these veterans. The main character, like many veterans, is left to live in a world where his sacrifice is not valued at all. 

Reception and Legacy

Born in the USA became one of Springsteen's most successful songs, and it single handedly cemented him as a global superstar. Its widespread appeal came with unintended consequences of misinterpretation. The song was used by politicians, advertisers, and others as a rallying cry for American Pride. Despite this, the song's deeper meaning message has prevailed. For many, it remains a powerful message of how America treats its veterans and the working class citizens. The song has also sparked countless discussions about the role of art in political discourse. Can a song critiquing America simultaneously be patriotic? 

[oceanicmarxist]

"Why Communism and Religion are incompatible"

Religion is the opium of the people,' said Karl Marx. It is the task of the Communist Party to make this truth comprehensible to the widest possible circles of the labouring masses. It is the task of the party to impress firmly upon the minds of the workers, even upon the most backward, that religion has been in the past and still is today one of the most powerful means at the disposal of the oppressors for the maintenance of inequality, exploitation, and slavish obedience on the part of the toilers.

Many weak-kneed communists reason as follows: 'Religion does not prevent my being a communist. I believe both in God and in communism. My faith in God does not hinder me from fighting for the cause of the proletarian revolution.'

This train of thought is radically false. Religion and communism are incompatible, both theoretically and practically.

Every communist must regard social phenomena (the relationships between human beings, revolutions, wars, etc.) as processes which occur in accordance with definite laws. The laws of social development have been fully established by scientific communism on the basis of the theory of historical materialism which we owe to our great teachers Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. This theory explains that social development is not brought about by any kind of supernatural forces. Nay more. The same theory has demonstrated that the very idea of God and of supernatural powers arises at a definite stage in human history, and at another definite stage begins to disappear as a childish notion which finds no confirmation in practical life and in the struggle between man and nature. But it is profitable to the predatory class to maintain the ignorance of the people and to maintain the people's childish belief in miracles (the key to the riddle really lies in the exploiters' pockets), and this is why religious prejudices are so tenacious, and why they confuse the minds even of persons who are in other respects able.

The general happenings throughout nature are, moreover, in no wise dependent upon supernatural causes. Man has been extremely successful in the struggle with nature. He influences nature in his own interests, and controls natural forces, achieving these conquests, not thanks to his faith in God and in divine assistance, but in spite of this faith. He achieves his conquests thanks to the fact that in practical life and in all serious matters he invariably conducts himself as an atheist. Scientific communism, in its judgements concerning natural phenomena, is guided by the data of the natural sciences, which are in irreconcilable conflict with all religious imaginings.

In practice, no less than in theory, communism is incompatible with religious faith. The tactic of the Communist Party prescribes for the members of the party definite lines of conduct. The moral code of every religion in like manner prescribes for the faithful some definite line of conduct. For example, the Christian code runs: 'Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.' In most cases there is an irreconcilable conflict between the principles of communist tactics and the commandments of religion. A communist who rejects the commandments of religion and acts in accordance with the directions of the party, ceases to be one of the faithful. On the other hand, one who, while calling himself a communist, continues to cling to his religious faith, one who in the name of religious commandments infringes the prescriptions of the party, ceases thereby to be a communist.

The struggle with religion has two sides, and every communist must distinguish clearly between them. On the one hand we have the struggle with the church, as a special organization existing for religious propaganda, materially interested in the maintenance of popular ignorance and religious enslavement. On the other hand we have the struggle with the widely diffused and deeply ingrained prejudices of the majority of the working population.

N. Bukharin & E. Preobrazhenky, ABC of Communism, Chapter 11: Communism and Religion

[thevagueambition]

Les Mis 1.1.8 thoughts

If you mix and match Myriel's and the senator's arguments and perspectives, you soon get to the real meaning of Marx's "religion is the opiate of the masses."

The point is not so much that to believe in a religion is to be an addict seeing the world through a haze, but rather that when you are poor, beat down, a miserable, religion is what soothes you. The people is not stupid for being religious, it's natural to cling to the one thing that makes life feel easier rather than harder. The point is also not some banal "but logic!" point about religions not being provable. It's about the material conditions people live under and how religion fits into that structure. If you're powerless in life, believing that divine justice will sort things out makes that powerlessness more bearable.

The senator is a self-serving noble who exists in large part as a straw man of atheism, but I have no doubt that this type of person existed at the time. The atheism of the modern west did start as an upper class thing, to my knowledge, and it certainly can be a useful belief to synthesise if you want to avoid certain moral duties.

(It is obviously an annoying and untrue idea that atheists simply have no morals because we don't derive them from the belief in god(s), but if you are a rich/powerful person in a highly Christian society and want to rationalise your selfishness as well as dodge the sort of moral responsibilities Christianity (and practically all major religions, afaik) explicitly expects the powerful to take upon themselves, you can get out of that through ahteism. Another way is of course to just interpret the Bible in a self-serving manner (e.g. the prosperity gospel) so it's not like powerful atheists are any more likely to be bastards than powerful Christians.)

What I find interesting, however, is that the senator does identify the use of religion for the miserable. "He who has nothing else has the good God." Indeed! That is exactly what "opiate of the masses" problematises. The senator is merely saying this as some with no solidarity with the masses. And Myriel agrees with that part, as far as I can tell, but as someone with solidarity with the masses. But to him that doesn't problematise the role of religion, it problematises materialism/atheism as a way to escape moral duties and to grandstand about how much smarter one is than the miserable who have been "tricked" into their beliefs by circumstance.

Anyway, this is certainly not what Hugo intended, but what I take away from this chapter is yet another way Myriel's charity and desire for reform is never going to be enough -- real change is needed

[dustedandsocial]

A big issue for most debates among leftists now is that passivity is factored into every side of every issue as inescapable. "Would you rather have my correct but passive observation about affairs, or would you rather have some other incorrect and passive response?" We see this currently with the UHC shooter. Either we are cheering on the shooter and crossing our fingers hoping it brings class consciousness, or we are refusing to cheer on the shooter, fearing proles might see us watching from the sidelines and take the wrong cue.

If you start from the position that there isn't an outside to the political situation, everything takes on a different character. Events then are not strictly spectacle and are unfolding with our participation, even as we stand motionless, or perceive ourselves as motionless. There was a shooting and it had a social effect. If we accept ourselves as participants in political affairs, we not only attempt to assert moral principles in relation to that shooting, but we also analyze the situation acknowledging that it is in flux and meaningful to us.

How is the event being received? Are people one-dimensional, static beings with unmovable "interests"? Or is it possible that we are all as contradictory as our social environment? Are we, like our social environment, being pulled in multiple directions at all times? The only way to tackle that situation is to start from a point of view that is grounded in uncertainty but guided by principles.

It's certainly overwhelming to process such a reality, given how much we are bombarded by all the factors at play through media. It's so overwhelming that certainty becomes an imperative. This leads to binary thinking and absolutist political posturing, which drives us further into atomization.

Everything immediately has to be resolved into intractable antagonisms, because those intractable antagonisms uphold static identity. The more intense the situation becomes, the more identity has to be sharply defined against a chaotic background. We turn to binary thinking to sharply define ourselves against others and prevent ourselves from being subsumed into uncertainty and chaos. We end up clinging to passivity, wielding it as a self-defense, almost, because action means exposure to what could break down our certainty and change us. We grow terrified of actual politics. We can uphold a static image, but for that image to bring security, it must be kept from contact with a violent world.

But then, a big part of the current fascist movement is people shutting down and simplifying reality in the face of intense complexity. When the left shuts down, it is without power, so passivity becomes self-defense. If you take up the position of any form of hegemonic power, the complexity brings about the exact opposite reaction. If you have power, you are going to become violent in the face of the chaos. Your self-defense is active and not passive. You have been acclimatized to the use of instrumental violence, and social antagonisms make that violence more central. Your identity was founded within the logic of instrumental violence. To be a white cis man in the US is to be birthed into signification as principally an instrument of violence within a social order.

We reach for definitive, one-sided answers in the face of every event, in a way that feels traumatized and protective of what little freedom humanity has stumbled into over centuries. We try to maintain this illusion that we are only here to interpret content. We do not know how to find our footing. The detachment from place that smartphones invite makes everything worse, but these are conditions we are stuck with at the outset. I do believe we can find a new footing appropriate for the situation by dissolving our attachment to certainty. But that leap into the unknown is proving to be difficult, clearly.

[ruffianbandwidth]

Greetings y'all! I know it's been a while, and I apologize for the lack of posts about music (check out Cameron Winter's new solo album "Heavy Metal" if you haven't already. He sounds like beautifully discordant and spastically sonorous Gen-z Bill Callahan). Life has a way of forcing you into adulthood, despite your best efforts to avoid it, and pretty soon you're left having to prioritize certain things over others (and sadly blogging about music for free was one of those things that had to fall to the wayside). However, if you enjoyed my posts, and dare I say my writings, then you might be happy to know that I wasn't just growing old and selling out. I was actually pursuing other creative pursuits all these years of absence - including writing. In fact, that's the reason I'm here posting, because I finally self-published one of the books I wrote a few years back (because unfortunately it is once again relevant). It is available as both an eBook and a paperback here and I would really appreciate your support!

Here's some more info on the book (in case the title is too off-putting lol):

Make Armstrong Great Again was originally written during 2017-2019, and was inspired by the fact that I was teaching high school at the time. Being part of a high school campus as an adult feels like you're an anthropologist doing field work. It is as joyous and beautiful, as it is terrifying and confusing. You can't help but marvel at the rawness of that age. The passion, emotion, apathy, and authenticity constantly churning throughout. It is a land of contradictions. All of it hanging together by a thread, or rather the thin facade of order, tradition, and consequence.

Post-2016, I saw and felt a lot of parallels between a high school campus and our political reality. Here was the US, the global hegemon, and purported democratic beacon and moral compass of the world, coming to terms with the fact that our political institutions were nothing but a facade based upon crumbling notions of propriety, fairness, and consequence. All of which was meant to cover, obscure, and mystify our underlying economic/social reality.

Now I'm not one to subscribe to the "Great Man" theory of history. I think everyone, regardless of the power they wield, is more or less a prisoner to our underlying social/economic systems, and therefore confined to a limited range of actions and possibilities. However, I do think that every now and then, certain historical figures happen to resonate with a moment, and therefore have a little more latitude in their ability to actually respond to systems and shape reality.

Sadly, I believe Trump is one of these figures. The combination of his wealth, social capital, and personality allowed him to embody the moment, which in turn led to him (consciously or unconsciously) recognizing and breaking through the thin facade of our political order. In doing so, he forced everyone else to recognize the facade and stare into the abyss, and ever since that realization we have all been collectively going insane, trying to channel or numb all of our anger, fear, and desperation.

Whether its class de-alignement, Qanon, cottage-core fantasies, Russia-gate, clinging to empty institutions, compensatory nationalism, opiate epidemics, pointless impeachments, our ever-expanding forms of spectacle and entertainment, the circular firing squads of the left, more and more blatant racism and anti-LGBTQI+ sentiment, or just a general sense of nihilistic doom, we have all been trying to come to terms with the fact that reality no longer has any safe guards or guarantees.

This is terrifying (but also potentially liberating), and since the levers of politics are completely controlled by moneyed interests (and therefore out of our reach), all of us are incredibly alienated and have no meaningful form of social organization, and we are up against the ticking clock of ecological destruction, we end up turning on each other and using the most vulnerable as scapegoats. We do this because it's easy, and because attacking and blaming symptoms seems like the only option available. We are all so busy, tired, atomized, and disempowered that we can barely imagine, let alone muster up the will, sacrifice, and wherewithal to do what is hard and organize so that we can actually struggle against the root material causes of our misery. And so instead, out of sheer desperation, we direct all of our energy, focus, and emotion into chasing the phantoms and ghosts of a culture war. Suffocating more and more in the process, and growing more insane all the while.

Anyway, all of this is to say, imagining our politics in the context of a high school was strangely illuminating. On the one hand, it is incredibly fitting. And yet, at the same time, it feels completely out of place and exaggerated even amongst oft lambasted and demonized hormone-addled teenagers. Situating our politics in the context of a high school somehow managed to highlight its absurdity all the more. The plot of this book seems fully fictional, and yet it's the context of our very real, and very adult, reality. In fact, much of the tweets and debate/speech dialogue used throughout are direct quotes from the 2016 campaign (with some necessary contextual changes). And of course, perhaps most absurd of all, the ultimate result of it all is the same.

That's the book. In all its entertaining, infuriating, and devastating glory. No one escapes unscathed. It's different from my usual style, but it was nice to take a break from my more "conceptual" work and practice writing in a different way (though for better or worse my verbose and overwrought philosophizing still finds its way into the novel). Anyway, if you want a copy, it is now available both as an ebook and a physical paperback via the link in my bio. Hopefully it provides some sort of catharsis as we buckle up for these next four years.

[julieverne]

Doctor Isles warily eyed the ships in harbour. She had to flee; her biological father, Paddy Doyle, had been gravely injured by her ex-best-friend (and sometimes lover) Detective Jane Rizzoli. There was nothing left for her in the boggy settlement of Mass any more. Without Paddy in charge, the other gangs were after her, and her father's second in command wanted her to take over her father's work.

She might be an outlaw, but that was only because she'd left Detective Rizzoli handcuffed to her bed before coming down here. She was dressed in Jane's Sheriff uniform, hoping no one would recognise her. The Doyles ran these docks.

There. There it was, the Firefly class ship she'd been told about. Frost had said it popped up, now and then. Part of the underground railroad; browncoats.

She could respect that. Sometimes authorities asked for things incompatible to someone's own moral compass. Who was she to judge, anyway? She adjusted her kerchief and slid her Stetson lower, fingering the gun at her hip. Jane's shirt was too large, but the waistcoat tied it together nicely.

"Looking for a ride?"

Maura looked up in surprise. A rainbow umbrella tilted to show the cheeky smile on a grease-smudged face. Maura found herself licking her lips, considering how to answer.

"Won't find yerself finer than a Firefly," the young lady continued, an affectionate hand running over the tungsten plates of the hull beside her. "Don't usually take lawmen, but our mutual friend mighta said you were more than meets the eye. And I hafta say, what meets the eye is mighty pleasin'." A surprisingly clean hand dipped into a basket beside her, drawing out a strawberry. Maura watched transfixed as Kaylee raised it to her mouth, eyes closing in pleasure when she bit in. Maura could almost taste it herself; the sweet, tart juice, the tiny hairs and seeds on the skin. "Want one?" Kaylee offered, but Maura shook her head. "Then get in afore anyone else sees ya."

Maura scuttled on board, hearing the ramp close behind her. She had a carpet bag of belongings; mostly clothes. Some jewels for trade. Not much. She'd shifted her money into accounts that couldn't be traced, thanks to Nina.

"Word is yer a doctor. We have need of one. Cap'n always getting us into scrapes." It didn't sound like a complaint. "Won't say the outfit ain't doing it for me, though." With a wink, Kaylee strode past Maura, obviously expecting her to follow her. She did.

"We take off when the Cap'n comes back. He has some business with a man named Hoyt."

Maura paused and Kaylee looked back.

"Oh. Not business business. He aims to main him somewhat. Found out what he done to his aunt."

"Hoyt's dangerous," Maura breathed. Kaylee chuckled.

"So's the Cap'n. C'mon. Mess hall. We do for ourselves. Down here are the bunks. I got you one near me, in case you're nervy of sleeping next to mercenaries."

"You're not..."

"I'm the mechanic," Kaylee shrugged, as if it was of no account. "The other doctor we dropped off a while ago. Didn't work out. Had trouble coming after him. Not that you don't, but there's different scales of trouble. And the Doyle gang is small fish in a 'verse this vast."

There was something lyrical about her small-town talk. Her accent was unrefined, and despite obviously cleaning herself up there were still the marks of hard work on her; rough hands where they brushed over Maura's, little lines around her eyes from time spent under unregulated suns on worlds with unreliable atmospheres. But there was something endearing about her too, something that made Maura trust her.

There was a hum, and then Kaylee's arms around her, hands clinging to the ladder behind Maura as they obviously ascended, far faster than Maura had ever experienced or expected. Kaylee's breath was warm on Maura's cheek and smelled of strawberries, and one hand let go of the ladder as they hit turbulence to hold Maura against herself instead of letting her hit the ladder behind her. The body under those baggy overalls was soft and pleasant, and Maura released the death grip she'd had on the other woman's ribs.

Once they hit space, Kaylee relaxed. She didn't let go of Maura just yet, just held her and pulled away a little. Maura was short, but Kaylee's nose brushed against hers, almost the same height.

"Gorram Wash," Kaylee grumbled, but she didn't look upset, grinning into Maura's face from inches away. "You c'n get outta yer disguise now, we're on our way."

Maura had neglected to check where the transporter was headed.

"What's our destination?" Maura asked. Kaylee pulled aside a curtain - a luxury on any ship, to expose the entire universe that lay ahead of them.

"Into the black," Kaylee said cryptically. "See what trouble comes our way."

"I get the feeling your Captain goes looking for trouble."

"Lucky for you, huh? Either way, welcome to Serenity."

[atopvisenyashill]

i don’t care that rhaenyra’s oldest are illegitimate not bc i’m a targ stan who thinks she can do no wrong but because legitimacy is a social construct that does nothing more than enforce the patriarchy and class system, and rhaenyra having kids out of wedlock with a man she is consenting to sex with is fine, actually, and if you’re hung up on that it is my opinion that you are clinging to the rules of propriety and patriarchy when analyzing her because you think she should be punished for having sex outside marriage and not like, all the things she actually does that are morally wrong, which is like, textbook misogyny.

“but the lords” so the thing is i don’t give a shit if the lords think she’s a slut. i understand the time period bc not only am i not stupid, i also understand that it is still a big issue in many communities for mothers to have children out of wedlock. i am saying i do not care because it’s a fake issue the way “brienne can’t really be a knight because she’s a woman” and “sansa can’t rule winterfell when she has true born younger brothers” or whatever else. legitimacy is a tool of the patriarchy, of colonialism irl, of classism, and the argument “rhaenyra is a bad person for having children out of wedlock when she knew that would put them in danger” is stupid bc legitimacy doesn’t fucking matter and neither does marriage.

[lyledebeast]

Fathers, Sons, and Imperialism in Turn and The Patriot

It’s interesting that between these two narratives about the American Revolution there are three British characters from three different social classes, with three different problems that all, somehow, have the same solution: military service. And in each case, the British Army provides for the character in a way his father could or would not. William Tavington joined the army because his father “squandered” the wealth he was meant to inherit.  Edmund Hewlett joined because the trade embargo the Continental Congress enacted in 1775 nearly bankrupted his father.  Ensign Baker never knew his sailor father, grew up in an orphanage, and joined up because the Army needed healthy young men even if no one else wanted them. That military service is treated as a catch-all solution goes to show how imbued with imperialism 18th C society was at every level.

Of course, it turns out to be a very poor solution for all three characters. Tavington and Baker are both dead by the ends of their stories, and Hewlett comes near death many times, often at British hands, and is forced into one morally untenable situation after another, which nearly breaks him.  Their similarities end here, though, because while Baker and Hewlett are presented as sympathetic men who are doing their best to do what they see as right, Tavington is presented as the ultimate evil.  For a movie that is just under three hours, it has an extremely brief resolution.  Benjamin Martin stabs Tavington to death, delivers a voice-over monologue that fast forwards to the end of the war when he and his new bride/old sister in law find the house Tavington burned being rebuilt.  Martin’s job is much easier than Turn protagonist Abe Woodhull’s.  While Martin only has to kill one man and fix what can be fixed of the problems he caused, Woodhull has to uproot the effects of imperialism, including in his own father’s beliefs and values.

Of course, Turn has more room for nuance in four seasons than The Patriot has in three hours, but there is a deeper difference at work here.  The reason Turn can afford sympathetic British characters is that it presents imperialism itself as the ultimate evil.  Part of the reason Richard Woodhull clings so stubbornly to the British empire is that he recalls a time when it did defend his community from the Dutch and the Iroquois.  Abraham has no success in convincing his father until the community, and Abraham himself specifically, come under British attack in the form of Captain Simcoe.  

The major antagonist of the series, Simcoe is also the character who most effectively represents the evils of imperialism: While Tavington and (presumably) Baker are from England and Hewlett is from Scotland, Simcoe has never been to Great Britain. He is the son of a British surgeon who suffocated in the infamous Black Hole of Calcutta. By far the most enthusiastic soldier in the series, he sees it as his personal mission to “remind” colonials throughout the empire that their homes “belong to our king,” in Ghana and the Caribbean before he was stationed in Long Island.  As much as he is an advocate of imperialism, though, Simcoe is its victim as much as Hewlett and Baker.  In Simcoe’s final scene in the series, General Clinton offers him an appointment in upper Canada, citing the effects of the wound Simcoe received in his last encounter with Woodhull as preventing the wartime appointment he wants. Violence has been such a staple of his life that he is deeply bewildered by the thought of operating in a British colony where the only enemy to be subdued is the weather.

Regardless of narrative length, presenting Simcoe as an agent of imperialism, the true evil, makes more sense than presenting Tavington as the main enemy to be defeated, not least because no one man could possibly have all the power The Patriot attributes to him. The movie’s original tagline invites the audience to see Martin as having no choice but to take up arms against the British in response to Tavington’s actions, and the movie’s producer describes General Cornwallis as “a victim” of Tavington’s seduction.  The idea that only Tavington has any volition in this story is ridiculous.  Cornwallis has the ability to restrain him and does retrain him for the entire middle of the movie.  Martin has the ability to take his grievances against Tavington to Cornwallis before he massacres the British soldiers in the woods, and even after that he has a militia full of trackers and “excellent marksmen” who could eliminate Tavington.  They choose to not do these things. There are numerous Watsonian and Doylist explanation for this, but the one I’m most interested in here is that the story needs a villain, and that villain cannot be imperialism because the movie’s protagonists have spent too much time enforcing and benefitting from it themselves.

While Turn is a story about children pushing back against the patriarchy of imperialism--both figurative and, in Abe’s case, literal--The Patriot is a story about fathers.  A number of the fathers in The Patriot are also veterans of the French and Indian War, known as the Seven Years War in Europe, a global conflict between the British and French Empires.  While Abe’s freedoms are palpably restricted--he can’t even have an extramarital affair in his own home without the British walking in!--The Patriot’s fathers chafe against what they see as ingratitude for their service in preserving Britain’s empire.  “I lost a leg fighting for King George, and now he cuts off my other leg with his taxes!” Mr. Howard complains near the start of the movie.  Of course, he has more to complain about when Tavington arrives and visits the same brutal treatment on him and his family that colonial forces under Benjamin Martin had visited on the Cherokees during the last war.  Well, not quite the same.  Tavington does not use pieces of his victims as bargaining chips or incentivize murder with a scalp bounty. 

The narrative seeks to balance Martin’s past actions with his current feelings about what he has done, but those feelings do not diminish the concrete rewards he continues to enjoy owing to the exact same set of actions. Gabriel Martin tells us that all his life, men have bought his father drinks because of Fort Wilderness; he does not mention his father refusing to drink them. Men choose to fight for Benjamin Martin because of Fort Wilderness. His house is being rebuilt for him on land he took from the Cherokees by committing atrocities at Fort Wilderness.  The wages of imperialist violence have served him well.

It seems worth noting that while Martin’s arc ends with him killing a British soldier, in some respects, Abe Woodhull’s begins in the same way.  He makes several attempts to resist or give up spying in season one, but Baker’s death is the action from which there is no going back.  When his wife Mary asks him if Baker’s death meant nothing, he replies, “It meant everything!” He ends his explanation to her by declaring “I will not stop until every king’s man goes back to England.” His choice of words is interesting here.  He took no pleasure in killing Baker and he does not want to kill British soldiers in the future; he just wants them out of his home.  Obviously, his views evolve a great deal over the next three seasons, but ultimately he does not lose sight of what the real enemy is.  Whether it is Baker’s untimely sense of honor or the best chance he ever gets to kill Simcoe, Abe is not going to let one British soldier stop him from doing what he believes is right.

There is a degree of understanding for British soldiers as people in the young patriots of Turn that is completely foreign to the fathers of The Patriot.  One pervasive example is that the preferred moniker for such soldiers in Turn is “bloodyback.” Having lived in British-occupied Long Island, the young patriots are all too aware of how that term originated, and as the audience we see several floggings of British soldiers administered by British officers.  Imperialism harms its enforcers, not just those whom it subjugates.  Meanwhile, the moniker used in The Patriot is “redcoat:” ironic given how many characters have donned “red coats” themselves in the not so distant past.  

The fathers in both stories are afflicted not so much by poor memories as by short-sightedness.  Like Benjamin Martin, Richard Woodhull is a supporter of imperialism until it threatens the life of his son, but he catches a lot more criticism for his choices throughout the series than Martin ever does.  “You’re a businessman, and you think the British are a safe bet,” Mary chides him before encouraging him to prioritize his family over his politics, as she has done.  He only takes her advice when Abe has a rope around his neck, having clung so tightly to the benefits of imperialism that he very nearly loses his only son.  In this story, it is the children of independence who guide their imperialist fathers, showing them that change is possible.  Meanwhile, the valorization of Martin’s gains through imperialist violence in The Patriot assures the audience that no change was necessary to win the fight for independence.  Small wonder that movie came to enjoy such popularity during the second Bush administration.

[high-school-lit-tournament]

High School Lit Tournament Side C

Of Mice and Men: They are an unlikely pair: George is "small and quick and dark of face"; Lennie, a man of tremendous size, has the mind of a young child. Yet they have formed a "family," clinging together in the face of loneliness and alienation. Laborers in California's dusty vegetable fields, they hustle work when they can, living a hand-to-mouth existence. But George and Lennie have a plan: to own an acre of land and a shack they can call their own. While the powerlessness of the laboring class is a recurring theme in Steinbeck's work of the late 1930s, he narrowed his focus when composing Of Mice and Men, creating an intimate portrait of two men facing a world marked by petty tyranny, misunderstanding, jealousy, and callousness. But though the scope is narrow, the theme is universal: a friendship and a shared dream that makes an individual's existence meaningful.

The Grapes of Wrath: First published in 1939, Steinbeck’s Pulitzer Prize-winning epic of the Great Depression chronicles the Dust Bowl migration of the 1930s and tells the story of one Oklahoma farm family, the Joads—driven from their homestead and forced to travel west to the promised land of California. Out of their trials and their repeated collisions against the hard realities of an America divided into Haves and Have-Nots evolves a drama that is intensely human yet majestic in its scale and moral vision, elemental yet plainspoken, tragic but ultimately stirring in its human dignity. A portrait of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless, of one man’s fierce reaction to injustice, and of one woman’s stoical strength, the novel captures the horrors of the Great Depression and probes into the very nature of equality and justice in America. At once a naturalistic epic, captivity narrative, road novel, and transcendental gospel, Steinbeck’s powerful landmark novel is perhaps the most American of American Classics.

[eternal-echoes]

“The social contractualists (Hobbes and Rousseau) thought that the origin of society was only found in the free consent of man. Human will created society and law. According to Hobbes, in the primitive state of man, there was no society, no other measure of ethics than utilitarianism based on the innate instinct for self-preservation, the war of all in all. To cure this condition, human beings created society and founded the great social institutions. The mind and soul of these societies was the ruler informing and governing all the members of society. Nothing was just by nature. Nothing was just before these societies were founded. The will of the sovereign made something just. This creation was called the “social contract.” The contract created justice and authority. What in civil society is called theft, murder, adultery and lying is not evil by nature but only by human institution. The civil law determines justice and there is no prior human nature. Instead, man is by nature a wolf to other men. (Homo homini lupus.) Human beings are naturally anti-social. Good and evil are created by human wills.

In this view, the social union is, however, a real union of individual wills. There is no social intellect or will which acts apart from the individuals in the society. Both authority and subject radically retain their personal wills. It is their common moral action for a good pursued in common which is the origin of the social relationship. So their nature as persons is the origin of solidarity.

Rousseau has a variation of the same theme. He taught that man by nature is asocial, but not because he is in a state of war. Man was rather created in a state of friendship. Man in the beginning led a life of contentment with no desires, envies or struggles. In this state of happiness, he little by little developed art, agriculture, class, property and riches. It is because of these things that discord entered the human race. To do away with this evil condition, human beings were forced to freely found the social contract. This pact was fixed in the people who made it and was inalienable and indivisible. Law receives its sanction from the universal will of the people. The people thus confer all the power and sanction on the sovereign. They therefore can remove the power for the slightest cause and even execute the ruler. Every citizen clings to the social contract like a plank in a shipwreck. The origin of society is wholly in the collective will of the people.

The general position of the Popes is very different from the social contract theory. The final cause of society which is the goal for which a society is founded is the common good. This common good in the domestic and political orders is natural to man. The origin of society is thus founded neither in the fact that men are natural enemies nor are they naturally completely autonomous. Rather, the social relation is founded on the necessity of human wills acting in concert to obtain a good which they could not easily attain by themselves. To be a person entails participation in society. For Christianity, this is obviously seen primarily in God who is not an autonomous solitary. God is a communion of persons who are completely united in a communion of knowledge and love for all eternity. This is the archetype of all society. The Persons are radically distinct and yet radically united with each other. The origin of society is thus primarily in the natural order based on the objective nature of a person possessing and intellect and will. Since the Godhead is made up of the three primary Persons and they are the author and founders of the natural order, the primary source of all society is God through the natural order.”

- Fr. Brian Mullady OP, Christian Social Order

[etcnnante]

i always found mista's interest about luck being his saving grace and his strange connections with being superstitious to some degree. we know next to nothing of his background- so i like to think about where this trait comes from. i think it might have something to do with his estranged family. i don't think they're dead or gone- i just think they're out of the picture for now- which greatly affects his worldview.

maybe they're not in the picture because of more personal reasons, such as religion. i think a part of his natural gravitation towards luck and believing in strange is because of leftover beliefs and the persistent influence christianity had on him when he was younger. and as time went on, and as he got older he realized what they preached didn't line up with his moral views- and some of it was just genuine bullshit. especially since his parents preached the old testament- which endlessly showcases the wrath of god and how sinful humanity is- and how they need to suffer for their sins. it's was just ... too much for someone like him, for someone who clearly believes in the good and betterment of humanity. it's why he wholeheartedly believes in bruno with no hesitation- another man who understands his worldviews and wanting to better society- even if it is just a small fraction. and- when it comes back to how he was raised, and the never ending sermons, the singing of certain psalm before mass began, having to sift through specific verses and decipher their deeper meaning during bible study. specifically having to get up before school to attend more bible study classes. all while focusing on the old testament- a rather graphic and ruthless depiction of how god was ... i think it all got too much- the religion, the studying, the pressure of it all. then, they wanted him to settle down with a nice christian lady and further his education, maybe get a reliable trade job and stay close to home. maybe even follow in his fathers footsteps and become a deacon for the church- or possibly the bishop if he wanted to aim higher! but ... obviously he didn't want that. truthfully, he doesn't particularly know what he wants to do yet, either. but he certainly didn't want to settle down with some random woman, not when he's ready to see what the rest of the world has to offer him. especially not when he's just found out his newfound talent and power with firearms. religion just ... wasn't for him anymore. that's when his parents kicked him out, realizing he wasn't a follower of god and struggling to now cling onto something after years wasted believing in something he didn't necessarily believe in anymore. you can see it still affects him in ways he doesn't necessarily notice, the more he tries to distance himself from such a influential lifestyle that he lived in for years- the more it lingers in ways not yet realized. obviously he still believes in some sort of higher power that is looking out for him and granting him all this luck- it's just not god anymore. now he's just glad he can do something he enjoys, even if he feels a piece of him in now missing from having to deal with the sudden loss of something that was so influential to him- even if it did harm him in the end. still struggling with the verbal assaults from his parents and the sudden abusive tendencies his father displayed once mista started to feigned interest in the church- skipping study periods and not staying after mass to help clean up. but, he wants to see his parents again- which is the hardest part for him. but to see them would mean dragging up years of turmoil and conflicted feelings he is definitely not ready to face yet. maybe his siblings he'd like to come back into contact with- but as for his parents ... he will have to wait and see. he still wants to have them in his life when he inevitably has a family of his own. but their old way of thinking- it hinders a lot of progress that they otherwise could of gotten over. honestly, he just wants the familial feeling again.