#the florida education system everyone

[hilli98215]

Well, this is going to backfire badly. Not only that, how is this going to be enforced?

[not-so-superheroine]

Elder Graham Needs to Come Get His Mormon Cricket Legion 🦗

saw a comment youtube that read “a swarm of mormon crickets is enough to make you wish for a nuclear winter.” and another that read “i’m a latter day saint and we don’t claim them (the mormon crickets)”  then i thought, “no, you need to claim them. come get your legion of crickets, Joshua Graham.” 

[odinsblog]

🗣️THIS IS WHAT INCLUSIVE, COMPASSIONATE DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

Minnesota Dems enacted a raft of laws to make the state a trans refuge, and ensure people receiving trans care here can't be reached by far-right governments in places like Florida and Texas. (link)

Minnesota Dems ensured that everyone, including undocumented immigrants, can get drivers' licenses. (link)

They made public college free for the majority of Minnesota families. (link)

Minnesota Dems dropped a billion dollars into a bevy of affordable housing programs, including by creating a new state housing voucher program. (link)

Minnesota Dems massively increased funding for the state's perpetually-underfunded public defenders, which lets more public defenders be hired and existing public defenders get a salary increase. (link)

Dems raised Minnesota education spending by 10%, or about 2.3 billion. (link)

Minnesota Dems created an energy standard for 100% carbon-free electricity by 2040. (link)

Minnesota already has some of the strongest election infrastructure (and highest voter participation) in the country, but the legislature just made it stronger, with automatic registration, preregistration for minors, and easier access to absentee ballots. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded the publicly subsidized health insurance program to undocumented immigrants. This one's interesting because it's the sort of things Dems often balk at. The governor opposed it! The legislature rolled over him and passed it anyway. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years. (link)

Minnesota Dems gave the state AG the power to block the huge healthcare mergers that have slowly gobbled up the state's medical system. (link)

Minnesota Dems restored voting rights to convicted felons as soon as they leave prison. (link)

Minnesota Dems made prison phone calls free. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed new wage protection rules for the construction industry, against industry resistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new sales tax to fund bus and train lines, an enormous victory for the sustainability and quality of public transit. Transit be more pleasant to ride, more frequent, and have better shelters, along more lines. (link)

They passed strict new regulations on PFAS ("forever chemicals"). (link)

Minnesota Dems passed the largest bonding bill in state history! Funding improvements to parks, colleges, water infrastructure, bridges, etc. etc. etc. (link)

They're going to build a passenger train from the Twin Cities to Duluth. (link)

I can't even find a news story about it but there's tens of millions in funding for new BRT lines, too. (link)

A wonky-but-important change: Minnesota Dems indexed the state gas tax to inflation, effectively increasing the gas tax. (link)

They actually indexed a bunch of stuff to inflation, including the state's education funding formula, which helps ensure that school spending doesn't decline over time. (link)

Minnesota Dems made hourly school workers (e.g., bus drivers and paraprofessionals) eligible for unemployment during summer break, when they're not working or getting paid. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a bunch of labor protections for teachers, including requiring school districts to negotiate class sizes as part of union contracts. (Yet another @SydneyJordanMN special here. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a state board to govern labor standards at nursing homes. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a Prescription Drug Affordability Board, which would set price caps for high-cost pharmaceuticals. (link)

Minnesota Dems created new worker protections for Amazon warehouse workers and refinery workers. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a digital fair repair law, which requires electronics manufacturers to make tools and parts available so that consumers can repair their electronics rather than purchase new items. (link)

Minnesota Dems made Juneteenth a state holiday. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned conversion therapy. (link)

They spent nearly a billion dollars on a variety of environmental programs, from heat pumps to reforestation. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded protections for pregnant and nursing workers - already in place for larger employers - to almost everyone in the state. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new child tax credit that will cut child poverty by about a quarter. (link)

Minnesota Democrats dropped a quick $50 million into homelessness prevention programs. (link)

And because the small stuff didn't get lost in the big stuff, they passed a law to prevent catalytic converter thefts. (link)

Minnesota Dems increased child care assistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned "captive audience meetings," where employers force employees to watch anti-union presentations. (link)

No news story yet, but Minnesota Dems forced signal priority changes to Twin Cities transit. Right now the trains have to wait at intersections for cars, which, I can say from experience, is terrible. Soon that will change.

Minnesota Dems provided the largest increase to nursing home funding in state history. (link)

They also bumped up salaries for home health workers, to help address the shortage of in-home nurses. (link)

Minnesota Dems legalized drug paraphernalia, which allows social service providers to conduct needle exchanges and address substance abuse with reduced fear of incurring legal action. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned white supremacists and extremists from police forces, capped probation at 5 years for most crimes, improved clemency, and mostly banned no-knock warrants. (link)

Minnesota Dems also laid the groundwork for a public health insurance option. (link)

I’m happy for the people of Minnesota, but as a Floridian living under Ron DeSantis & hateful Republicans, I’m also very envious tbh. We know that democracy can work, and this is a shining example of what government could be like in the hands of legislators who actually care about helping people in need, and not pursuing the GOP’s “culture wars” and suppressing the votes of BIPOC, and inflicting maximum harm on those who aren’t cis/het, white, wealthy, Christian males. BRAVO MINNESOTA. This is how you do it! And the Minnesota Dems did it with a one seat majority, so no excuses. Forget about the next election and focus on doing as much good as you can, while you still can. 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿

👉🏿 https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1660846689450688514.html

[tomeebear04]

boring ass election im drawing tom (fr though i hope you and everyone else is ok :3)

i’ll be fine. although floridas public education system might not be LMAO. glad i graduated when i did

[herleaf]

hi sorry for ghosting, been having to mentally handle everything going on around me (in america) and my spouse was away on a work trip so i was very much spiraling for three days alone, while simultaneously having to adult and act like a normal person at work. i am mentally doing better now, especially since he’s home. it ended up helping bring me and my parents closer because i called them to help talk me down during an anxiety attack and explain everything that i didn’t get or remember from government class (thanks Florida education system)

now i realized jonathan and i never finished his dark materials and for three years he’s been waiting for news on when s3 was coming out from me and i just forgot to let him know two years ago. so i am away tonight watching that with him. i hope everyone is staying safe.

also, please know my blog is and will always be a safe space.

[dizzymudskipper]

Lil rants because I have a love/hate relationship with Florida

I love Florida, it’s a beautiful place with so much wonderful marine life, but I hate everyone who lives here.

So many people overlook Floridas natural history and wildlife in favor of seeing Florida as just one big Tourist attraction like Disney world, Epcot, Universal etc, which causes a lot of people to be out of work during the slow seasons, and not enough people during the busier seasons.

You would think that for a State to be surrounded by both the Golf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean it would be logical to be plastic free or reduced, but it’s just not. Almost everything is plastic and it’s everywhere

If your not living near any big city or county, there’s literally nothing to do here, especially when your broke or under the age of 16.

Literally a good 70% of residents in Florida are old white racists, who will look at you funny for literally anything. That and people are more rude to your face than behind your back.

Florida man

Don’t get me started on the politics and laws, everything is corrupt.

The schooling sucks. The Education System will do everything it can to fail you. Everything you learn in Florida is 2 to 3 years behind the Education System in places like Massachusetts. I know because it happened to me.

If you can ignore the bad, there are tons of wonderful museums, interactive exhibits and so many trails and places to explore. However please don’t go to the beach it will 100% always be crowded unless it’s either winter time or 7 in the morning. You will not have fun

That’s about it. *Leaves*

[leafypants]

Hi everyone! I'm a student at Florida Atlantic University and an education major. I am currently in need of someone with a disability or who has a child with a disability so that I may interview them based on their experiences in the education system. If you are interested, please message me as soon as possible please!

Edit: thank you to all interested, but I have found someone for the interview! However, I would be happy to discuss the topic with anyone interested!

[clockworkouroboros]

this is kinda just a rant about something i almost never talk or blog about but an increasingly large pet peeve i’m getting is when people go “i hate the american school system” when they learn some new fact that probably should have been covered in their k-12 education at some point.

but the thing is. the thing is. it feels like everyone is under the assumption that the us education system is universal. what you learn in a random elementary school in buffalo new york in grade 3 is the same thing you’ll learn in a random elementary school in the middle of buttfuck nowhere idaho in grade 3. literally there is no standardized curriculum or curricula. in some places school districts adopt an official curriculum but in a lot of places the curriculum changes from school to school. in some places there is no curriculum and it’s entirely up to the teacher to figure out what they’re doing—which means an individual teacher could teach wildly different things from one year to the next. this is why florida is able to get away with all of their book banning and “”woke crt african american history”” banning and shit.

hating the american school system makes sense—not standardizing a curriculum and relying entirely on standardized test scores to try and ensure kids are on track for graduation is bullshit. people like to say they hate the american school system for not teaching them random shit and i get it, but you’re also never going to cover everything in any school, no matter how good. that being said, the reason our schools aren’t doing better is because american individualism is a fucking poison that has infected schools to the degree that statistically, the majority of teachers are against adopting a common curriculum because they want to be the one making decisions in their classroom. i love teachers and half of the people in my extended family are teachers, this isn’t a censure of them. this is me being fucking sick of people complaining about the education system they went through without bothering to learn why that system is so shitty or seeing how they can get involved to make things better.

[dumbestthingiveeverheard]

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 7/21/2023

Note: Starting Monday, 7/24/2023, the amount of entries on this list will be upped from three to, at most, five. Due to this, I have also decided to open submissions to the blog.

Third place: Dagen McDowell of Fox News

Today on Outnumbered, she said the following about a story revolving around--prepare yourselves, this might be the scandal that brings Biden down--the President wearing sneakers:

Well I made a joke last night on Hannity, those shoes, my father will be 87 in a week, and to a man of that generation wearing those shoes, particularly as commander in chief in public, when you're going on, this is formal business -- that's the equivalent of wearing your bedroom slippers outside. That's like wearing a speedo and flip-flops to a funeral. So these elitist snobs in the White House are blithely lying to the American people over and over again because they think we're stupid, and we're not. We've cared for elderly parents and relatives and we can look at this man and see what's going on. We know dementia, we know age, we know Alzheimer's when we see it. And we look at Joe Biden and think, we would not let him drive our car in an empty church parking lot. We know what's happening with him. It's sad, but distressing. 

First off, you have to admire the audacity of somebody to call others snobs while she is saying it's possible a person has a serious mental condition because of their choice in foot wear. Also, Thomas Jefferson was inaugurated to the Presidency in his street clothes. Although, what do I expect from a network that spent weeks during the Obama Administration talking about the color of his suit?

Second place: Laura Ingraham

While engaging in the continuing quest by the media to make RFK Jr.'s Presidential Campaign a thing, we got the normal talking points. Among them that the DNC must be really scared of him because Joe Biden hasn't agreed to debate him yet--never mind that in 2020 Donald Trump not only never debated either Bill Weld, Mark Sanford, or Joe Walsh, but state Republican primaries even cancelled primaries specifically to prevent either of those candidates from getting a foothold within the party.

However, while talking about how popular RFK Jr. is, Laura showed this poll:

Now fourteen percent is not nothing, especially when you're a primary challenger to an incumbent President. However, after two straight years of Biden bashing by the mainstream media along with the perpetual push to make RFK Jr. into something other than a waste of everyone's time, the odds of RFK Jr. doing any better are rather unlikely. For reference, fourteen percent is about the percent of votes gotten by Newt Gingrich in 2012, John Anderson in 1980, George Wallace in 1976, and Al Gore in 1988. Hardly the battle similar to that Ford and Reagan had for the Republican Nomination back in 1976, fuck it's not even the fight Jimmy Carter and Ted Kennedy had back in 1980 or the fight George Bush and Pat Buchanan had back in 1992.

Winner: Ron DeSantis

I think the headline "Florida Schools Will Teach How Slavery Brought ‘Personal Benefit’ to Black People" from The Daily Beast sums this story up perfectly. The article also notes that High Schools are going to be taught that a deadly massacre against black citizens in 1920 included “acts of violence perpetrated against and by African Americans.”

I wish to remind you all that Ron DeSantis wants to become President, presumably so he can implement this education system across the country.

Ron DeSantis, you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

[eclipsecrowned]

karin lindholm ; burying the hatchet.

4200 words, second person POV ; tw for disassociation, mental health, gaslighting, allusions to child abuse ; long post, consider viewing on blog rather than dash.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and it’s as good a fresh start as any.

Your life starts in Miami, at the house in Coral Gables. Maybe there was something before that, but you prefer to live as if there wasn't. Your life, such as it is, begins with moving boxes, and fresh paint, and the safety of whatever came before being almost 4 hours away. You know that very well. You counted the hours piled into the moving truck with your mother, feeling like such a big girl for riding with her rather than in the car with your father and four siblings. It’s only a little scary, waking up in the night not knowing where you are, but you’re comforted knowing you’re not the only one that piled into your parent’s bed that first night.

It’s only a first night, though, and while it remains sweet, it’s a rare feeling. Coral Gables became familiar in a matter of weeks, more a home than anywhere else. Your days are spent playing the dutiful oldest daughter, the angel of your house, always well-behaved and quiet even when your sisters whine for attention. Kris can be forgiven for it, since she’s so little. Kaja is a bit harder to defend. You do so anyway, trying hard to stop problems before they begin. Old for your age, the neighbors say, though you shy back from affectionate hands. Your youth is a held breath, watching, waiting for someone else to prove the world isn’t so insurmountable.

Some might laugh at the sentiment. Your mother the successful surgeon, your father the lawyer, every door is opened to you and your siblings. Wealth can get you anywhere in this country. Your parents ensure you know an education is the gateway to such privilege, and that with such privilege comes a set of responsibilities towards your fellow man. That’s why your schoolmates come to mock you for your father’s law practice, you come to realize with age. Your father puts justice above payment, running a defense firm that doesn’t concern itself with the corporate bigwigs and snowbirds that get into trouble so far south.

Even so, you’re proud of him. Your parents have always been the kind of people to do right in every aspect of their life. It’s a model you work to emulate – The Perfect Daughter. Good grades, well-groomed, taking part in all the right extracurricular activities and still having time to pick up and escort your little siblings homeward after school, you are a wonder to the adults in your life. Sure, it’s not winning you a lot of popularity contests, but you have just enough friends that not even high school can dim your shine.

Sixteen is a time of rebellion, people laugh. Even your parents nudge you towards a little deviance, a little more than being the pretty Lindholm girl who is always home before dark and faints at the first blush of wildness. You laugh it off, saying you have no interest in blacking out at some homecoming party or wandering too far from your own prom.

You never, ever speak the truth. You never want to meet what lurks in the dark, to stray to far from your mother that loves you and keeps the world past and present at bay.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and you must leave the nest eventually.

Everyone does it. Even you, that first autumn day after senior year. You trade away five hours of your life and the safety net of family for a full ride in Gainesville. The first night is always hardest, but you pull through on your own this time. The world becomes less of a question as you settle into campus life. In many ways, you come into your own.

You meant to follow your father into law. Really, you did, meaning to help the people of Florida in their times of need, fighting against a corrupt system. It’s just that words came hemorrhaging out of you, once you were lonely enough, and even new companionship couldn’t dam their flow. There was a poet in you, or at least the bones of a better than average author. Your major shifts towards English, with the ultimate goal of creative writing. Every new essay or exercise helps you feel like yourself again – for the first time in a very, very long time. New friends certainly encourage you, as you move from a player to the forever Storyteller of the bi-weekly The Interviewers Chronicles meet-ups.

That’s not all they encourage, either. Whether the words, the independence, or the support of friends, you begin to change. Confidence knits your self-doubt shut. You live for yourself a little bit more in this place. The night no longer seems so terrible. With the right drug cocktail, you feel the sun settle warm in your bones again. Van Gogh attested to yellow being a color of happiness. You cannot disagree.

That paradise comes to a close, as it must. A brief four year stint, but it’s enough for a lifetime, you hope. With the portfolio you’ve built in those years, you hope that your post-graduation situation will be as bright as your mood. Moving back home to Coral Gables, you’re content to pass one last summer in your parents home, waiting for the opportunities you are sure will come.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and for once, you are too optimistic.

Besides a published OpEd and the odd invitation to post on a wider blog, your opportunities dry up fast. So does your optimism, it turns out, despite the reassurances of most of your family. You need a change, but you’re not sure where to start.

You tell yourself that in the future, you’ll attest your success to the importance of location, location, location.

Miami isn’t that far from your first home. Distinctly, you remember running wild through the streets with your brothers from time to time, public nuisances from the richer side of the tracks. Here, however, that history seems to be forgotten by the people. In so many ways, the streets and city welcome you into its arts community. You find brief success in counterculture and queer circles, writing of your experiences loving women and your hunger for a better world. Hilarious as the appeals might be coming from your throne, the words are just skillful enough that a readership embraces you.

The next Molloy, your peers tease you. It’s a name you knew even in Coral Gables, largely through the complaining of elderly neighbors. Molloy was the man who founded the biggest boost to Florida’s economy in over a century, the Night Island that glimmered off of Miami’s coast. Every night, the lights went up, and the mecca of capitalism was opened to the exceptionally wealthy. To your people, however, the old man was better known as a champion of change in his own right. He was one of those old guard, a gay man that could speak and write like an old Roman orator. He got to the heart of struggles and threw his words – and money – into the struggle. Molloy was, others touted, the Miami Robin Hood, stealing the rich blind in his shops and developments and turning that revenue towards leveling out the playing field in the real world.

He is also, Kris and her friends contend, the man who wrote at least one of the books on which your beloved The Interviewers Chronicles was built. You have no reason to contest this. He’s a character in The Vampire Chronicles themselves, after all. The Storyteller is mean to be a pastiche of Molloy’s appearance in the first book, and the idea tickles you deeply every time your shared living space turns into an impromptu mass towards the man’s virtues and latest publication in the papers.

It’s a scene you might never see again, if you don’t stat putting your rent on the table. Miami is rough, and expensive, and your works only draw in so much revenue at a time. Most of it is hand to mouth. There’s always the possibility of taking money from your parents, but the idea comes across distasteful now. You’re an adult. You can make your own way.

You find the offer in the most unlikely place. Scanning through the local paper on your phone, you find an advertisement for an open position. Help Wanted. Secretarial and Sundry position sought upon the Night Island. Contact Mr. Molloy for details. It follows that a man of his age would not know how to use a job posting board, but you’re still frozen to the spot by the old fashioned classified. Hesitantly, you log the number.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and you have an interview.

Molloy is young. Problematically young, in fact, given the Island’s establishment and the length of his rule. He carries himself just right, however, for an older man. This idiosyncrasy can be easily chalked up to a good plastic surgeon, since no genes would stay so intact so late into one’s life. Besides, he puts you at ease almost from the word go, erasing that first confusion beautifully. This is a man it is dangerously easy to like, as he walks through your work history, your degree, your goals. You feel like you’re talking to an old, intimate friend, even as he cuts the occasional wry joke. He’s especially intrigued by your degree, and where you intend to go with it.

From hindsight, you’re sure that none of this won you your position. No, it’s when a young man walks in, only slightly older than your youngest sister. He’s lugging around a large canvas, babbling animatedly to ‘Daniel’ as he intrudes on this scene, pausing only once his dark eyes catch you. He sets the canvas down against the floor, leaning casually against it. Is this the new Gertrude, he asks. In an instant, you know the name of your predecessor. Maybe, Molloy answers with a boyish grin, if she wants to be. Your desires seem secondary to the auburn-haired boy, who unceremoniously dumps the canvas upon you. I need this scanned and put on the computer, he says, before gliding gracefully out of the room. He doesn’t even close the door behind him.

There’s apologies on Molloy’s tongue, embarrassment over whoever that was. Still, you look down at your newfound responsibility, and know immediately you want to stay. Did he paint this himself, you ask. Molloy gives a hesitant affirmation that the beautiful piece in your hand is an ‘Armand original.’ When you ask what file type he needs the scan to be, you realize you have lost the older man, but won the job in his office.

The Night Island is always busy. At the eponymous time of day, it’s practically a country in its own right. Calls must be made, messages relayed, order kept in at least this one office, and this is where you step in. Mr. Molloy – Daniel, he insists, though you never bite – is much too busy to hold down the place as he once did. His business partner – the Armand that you were so interestingly introduced to – is a host unto himself. Sometimes, the two make it easier on you. What a rare occurrence that is.

Regardless, you ferry red wine between the two offices, keep everything organized, greet guests. You are to send all calls from a Marius to the redhead’s office, and alert security to any golden-haired Frenchman that might make it into the building. Most vitally, you are the one who modernizes the business of Molloy and di Venezia. This floor had been perfectly preserved ever since your predecessor took the position in the 80s, and it falls to you to right that wrong. The first moment your boss asks you to fax something to Berlin, you stare at him, dumbstruck, and set about getting the personal information of his contact and sending a much more appropriate email. The work demands long hours, and is so much effort for one woman, but you have a good employer, despite his long absences and the strangeness of his partners demands. The pay, too, is fantastic. Really, you should be proud of where you’ve ended up. It’s not that you’re ungrateful...

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and something is wrong.

...It’s that your every night is given to this place. Days are for sleeping. You’re like a vampire, your mother sighs, and you try not to flinch. Even in such a crowded place, there’s a solitude to your station on the Island. More often than not, you’re alone in that glass-lined coffin, holding your breath for something to happen. Sometimes your employers are so strange. You ask yourself, why is it always wine, so red, warm in the glass? Why does the younger of the two seem so still, so pale? You swear sometimes you blink, and one of them has cleared the hall. Your mind is playing tricks on you again. You start to hurry towards the ferry faster and faster with each passing month.

You, alone, are alive among relics, ancient canvas and obsolete office tech. The nights are so long on the Island. It’s getting harder to ignore the odd stains on the wrists and lapels of the pair’s coats, when you take them on the coldest nights. The first thing you consciously register is how little your boss stirs the air, when he walks you to the docks on a winter evening. Your own breath turns to vapor in the chill, and yet you can’t say the same for him. Something is wrong here. His eyes are visible for too long as the boat pulls away, twin pinpricks of hazy light in the dark. You feel insane just admitting that.

But you’ve always been a little crazy. Sane people born of normal childhoods don’t take the pills you do. You’re ashamed to admit you’ve screamed once or twice, alone on that top floor, when the phone’s rung. You deny what you were doing, why it so upset you as you inched away from your desk, down the dark corridor. The other end was silent. You matched its volume. Then, a woman’s voice, perfect, whispering ‘Angel?’ Somehow, you don’t think that’s what either of those men are.

Therapists do their best, really they do. Your doctor never entertains your delusions, the fact you’re dancing around that your new job is dangerous and something is wrong with the people you share your evenings with. She only acknowledges the errant thoughts, and says she sees nothing wrong. This isn’t the support it once was, when she said she couldn’t see bruises on your shoulders, no gashes on your back. This isn’t your past. This is an ongoing nightmare, and you feel adrift, alone, in its current.

It hasn’t been like this since before you moved, a little girl shrieking at shadows and any hand that moved too close to you.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and you have made a mistake.

You no longer recognize your diary entries as your own. Something hot and sticky wells up in your chest. Pen to paper spins out a horror story every time. Your mother is only a half hour away, and your father, but this is so different from the last time they saved you. What do you intend to do, walk into your childhood home and declare Miami’s golden boy some kind of monster? You’re not even sure what kind, if you could speak this apparent fact into existence.

Take a break, your therapist urges. Something about the brain, and living nocturnal. It changes something in your brain. Molloy and the other one never seem changed by it. Do you ever go out with friends these days? How’s your first draft going? No, you aren’t, and it’s not your own book you’re worried about. You’re wondering if Molloy wasn’t just making up whatever he published before you were ever born.

He looks so young. His voice is sweet though, and sincere, whenever he thanks you for your work. It’s been what, a year, he asks in that sweet Californian patter. It’s started to warm up out there, yes, but there’s a coldness to this place that never dissipates. Perhaps it’s that you live in Armand’s shadow, the young man always appearing just when you need him, or anticipating the stray thoughts you have towards need or desire. He smiles like a saint after every such moment, as if it were coincidence. Those dark eyes are blazing in spite of it. He’s making sport, you realize that in some deep, primal part of yourself meant to anticipate the predator.

There is no more yellow in the world. Even the dawn that creeps along the floor of your room is a hazy, sickly peach. The world has gone so dark, and you are nothing more than another timid creature trying to avoid the eyes and talons of your betters. You think you’ve done so well, keeping away from the teeth and hands of your masters. That’s just it, though. You’re so focused on those terrible beasts you can see, you forget about the ones you can’t.

Another late night, another ferry ride, and that sneaking suspicion you are not alone. Nerves frayed, you’re so terrified to turn around and see a ghost that you power through the crowd, hailing a taxi so nothing can catch you, hurrying into your home. The door clicks shut behind you, and you slam the bolt into place. It’s alright now. You fight to convince yourself that you are safe now. Molloy, or whatever dead man has haunted you on your way home, is gone. You lock your bedroom door anyway, as you step back into the safety of a familiar shadow. Still, there’s a weight settling on the roof above.

Your third floor window creaks. Then, inch by inch, a marble hand slides into place beneath the lift. Glassy nails softly scream against the panes, the lock breaking with a metallic whisper. The moonlight comes spilling in, haloing a beast you do not know.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and you blink.

You blink, and the world comes back into focus. It’s just the sort of nice, featureless room that signals a liminal space. This is a hospital, that much holds true no matter the country. Sweden looks a lot like Florida from the right ward. The nurses are kind to you, the doctors full of good advice and compassion, even if the police are less than enthused with your place here. You’ve woken up, or so it seems, with dirt under your nails and a few months of mania running wild in your head. Only the drugs bring everything back into focus, without anything like coherence.

The last months are not completely erased. Your mind has only given you a thin layer of wallpaper between the now and the then. One tug and you’ll start reclaiming that time. Helpfully, others fill in a few of the blanks at first. You came to Europe by plane, into a Parisian airport. After that, you have dropped completely off the radar, moving across borders and certifiably alive only by the dubious state of your bank account. Just before the fever broke, you were found wrist-deep in a graveyard, pulling up dirt and unable to speak the local language.

That strikes you the most, once all is said and done. You’ve always spoken your father’s tongue.

It’s your father that comes to fetch you, after all. From behind thin walls, you hear those kindly doctors explain your case. A mental breakdown, they think, a total break from reality. You haven’t yet peeled back the paste and paper from your mind to say what really happened. Trying to remember on your own accord feels like a migraine. You wonder what your therapist will have to say about all of this, and will your insurance still cover a session?

In spite of it all, Sweden is safe. Whatever you were digging for, your hands only came up dirty. Now your father holds them, so clean and small in his grasp, and says everyone will be so happy to see you again. With a smile, you feign joy at the thought of returning home, getting onto the plane in a new dress and steady hands.

The home you return to will be thirty minutes away from whatever you were outrunning, after all. Whatever they are, you’re sure their knowing smiles and probing minds cannot reach you that far. You start ripping the wallpaper down piece by piece after your homecoming, a travel journal of paranoia and shifted reality. You remember the shadow at your window, and the knife, and something about the dawn. You walked away. You’re always walking away from this truth.

It has to be done on your mother’s card. You’re not sure that your employers are tracking your spending, but you like to be sure. Still, you’re going back to where it all began, and you have to be prepared, loading the bag into your passenger seat.

You’ve brought a hatchet into the elevator. Only the next few minutes will determine whether you mean to bury it to new beginnings, or into Molloy’s skull.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and someone understands.

He isn’t surprised to see you. Oh, your sudden appearance is a shock, but he knew you were coming somehow, someday. For all the Hell you’ve endured, for how it’s thinned your body and darkened your eyes, Daniel Molloy is the one thing in your life that has stayed the same. The same, you imagine, as he’s been since 1985.

You can’t believe he’s apologizing. Somehow, he compels you to sit, not by supernatural means, but a soft voice and knit brow. It’s always like this, he tells you. The truth always does something to the mortals that stumble upon it. But people like you, people like him, people who are already on the edge of the cliff, it takes more than you ever intended to give. He’s sorry.

Every wound the last two years have inflicted are reflected back at you, as the night drags on. He never meant to inflict them, he says. Your position is a necessity, given what he and his partner are. He got careless, and you paid for it. No matter what found you that night, he takes the blame onto his own shoulders. There’s no making it right, no happy ending that suddenly fixes all that twisted and snapped inside of you. All he can hope to do is give you some peace with it.

You don’t have to return. He’s willing to give you whatever you need to stay in comfort, to leave this place to pursue your dreams, to call in whatever favor you need to rise above this. It tempts you, admittedly. You have the beast by the throat, and he’s pleading for your peace. What a pity, then, that his kind have already stripped whatever peace you had out of you, bloody and screaming.

If you leave, you murmur, there’s still others out there. People that aren’t like him, that make his partner seem civilized. Molloy does not disagree. He can’t promise a world without night, or the things that stalk through it. He can only promise your days will be safe, rounded out by the wealth only a man of his station can provide. Every way he means to make this right turns to ash in your mouth.

If you stay, you say, and he seems to startle. You press on. If you stay, will he let you learn? You can’t go blind into the night again, and you feel safer among one of his kind that has made his guilt clear than in the wilds with those things you can only see in silhouette. Is that allowed? Can a mortal stumble into this world and find protection on her own? Is their history a thing that can be shared among outsiders? That, at least, gives Molloy pause.

No, he says. This doesn’t mean what you think it will. There’s an experience in what he says, snippets of an old novel dancing across your head. This truth ruined him, a lifetime ago. Yet you don’t flinch, and you don’t beg for another way. He has to understand it isn’t envy that makes you speak. I can serve you better if I know what I’m facing, you admit without shame. It’s what you’re saying beneath it all that shifts your boss’ expression. It’s not what he can do for you. It’s what you can become. Not fangs and pallid skin like him, but knowledge, strength, cunning enough that you will never be the victim again.

If you can survive the wolves, then there should be no threats left from humanity.

Your name is Karin Lindholm, and you have found your place.

You awaken mid-morning, in your suite on the Night Island. You feed your dog. You check your messages, for anything that might have been forwarded to you in the night. Out the door you go, stopping for some breakfast and coffee from one of the few eateries that stays open past dawn.

Then it’s into the office, adjusting the latest of Mr. di Venezia’s artistic collection on the wall on your way in. There are calls to make, emails to answer, and schedules to get in order. After that, it’s a matter of dealing with the right businesses, delegating the right work. By night, devils might rule, but by day, you are the final word in this place.

You don’t speak of the hatchet that rests beneath your desk. Mercifully, neither do your employers.

[miscpav]

1978 EPCOT Center Presentation

Epcot Legacy description:

If you were to ask even the most avid of Epcot fans exactly how many films were produced before the park's premiere, almost everyone would respond quite confidently with a single film. 1966's "The EPCOT Film" although the first*, was only one of several (!) Epcot Films made over the developmental history of the Florida Project. The following is an enhanced & color-corrected print of the 1978 presentation depicting the park midway through its evolution from the City to the Center in what I refer to is as the "Gold Dome" phase. Among the many interesting aspects of this film, is a preamble to the primary presentation of the park featuring a plethora of prototype systems already in use at Walt Disney World, as well as the EPCOT "support programs" such as the shortly-lived Epcot Educational Media division of the studio. Finally, Card's impassioned plea to find solutions to the problems of a very real world establishes a very strong connection between Walt's EPCOT and Walker's Center. From 1978, written by Marty Sklar here is EPCOT Center…

[sixty-silver-wishes]

It's 2023 and I live in Florida.

I've lived my whole life in central Florida (with the nearest city being Orlando), and the general political climate I grew up in was pretty moderate. The far-right shift things have been taking honestly came as a shock (although to be fair, confronting the rise of fascism in your backyard is a tough pill to swallow no matter where you live), considering the atmosphere I was raised in; I remember going on vacation to places like Georgia and Tennessee when I was a kid and being shocked to see people flying Confederate battle flags and selling them as souvenirs in gift shops. Florida always felt like more of a mixed bag, albeit a whiplash-inducing one; you can go down to Mims and see Trump signs tacked up everywhere, or you can go to Lake Eola and see pride flags in all the windows.

Both the Pulse and Parkland shootings happened when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember how both of them rocked my community. We staged walkouts at school, had conversations with our families and friends about topics like gun control and the LGBT+ community that lasted for weeks, and it felt like a sense of mourning and desire for progress could be felt within everyone I knew.

Which is one of the many reasons why whatever the fuck Desantis is doing infuriates me so much. I hate to see the place I grew up in turned into what it's becoming, and frankly, it's painful not just to see outsiders see it first and foremost in this way, but for them to be right about it. When Kathy Hochul told conservative New Yorkers to "move to Florida," to me, that felt like a stab in the gut, that the place I lived and grew up in should be recognized nationally like this. For me, that just wasn't Florida. Did we have conservative crazies? Sure, but overall, I always saw Florida as a much more diverse and multifaceted place than people give it credit for. But unfortunately, with the insane laws being passed here and Desantis receiving a level of support that to me seems unthinkable (I swear, he could write "I am a fascist" on his forehead and people still wouldn't give a shit), and the fear I feel every day that things are getting worse and worse, the apathy that follows as a survival mechanism that I keep reminding myself that I can't give into, it feels unrecognizable. And yet, this didn't come out of nowhere.

My advice to those who are still reading? Don't be apathetic. Oppression is happening here, and will continue to worsen, and by writing off entire populations as people unworthy of compassion, you are writing off the people who are oppressed and may not be able to "just leave," who are suffering the most under such legislation and sociopolitical climates. Fascism thrives off of fear and dividing people into "us" and "them," so I'm begging you, remember the humanity of those who are suffering under it- and yes, that includes the people who have been indoctrinated into it. Do you have to like them, excuse them, or forgive them? Absolutely not. But their fears and ignorance are being preyed upon, and that will end up hurting more people in the long run.

Secondly, don't think it can never happen to you. I've seen people in blue states constantly dismiss whatever Desantis and co. are doing because it doesn't affect them, but if he runs for president and wins, he becomes the entire country's problem. And it doesn't have to be him; we've seen far-right ideology spreading across the country, perpetrated by multiple people. I've seen Europeans and Canadians blaming the rise of far-right movements in their countries on Trump and America, and while Trump and far-right American movements may have encouraged them, fascism can show up anywhere; the first step to fighting it acknowledges that there's never just one person to blame; it works systemically and thrives off of apathy. Think critically, stay educated, and most importantly, stay compassionate.

[firebirdsdaughter]

As the daughter of a history major…

… Where the hell are so many americans on tumblr going to school???

I just saw a post about how ‘it’s taught in america that the pilgrims were Good and fleeing religious intolerance but they were actually Bad’ which first off, you cannot make those distinctions bc freaking everyone was up to kill anyone who didn’t agree in those days, but also… People claiming to be american claiming that they were definitely taught exactly that??

Maybe… If you never took a history class past elementary school, I guess. Or maybe you were in Florida (oh, gods, get my mother started on people killing each other in Florida).

Bc, resident American here, albeit one in Massachusetts, and… No. We’re not taught that. You get a romanticised version in early grades maybe, but the higher you go, you get taught that the most Puritans had different religious beliefs than the standard in England, so they took the opportunity to ship off to the colonies. There’s no victimisation, it’s just straight facts. And that usually, that was the category of people shipped off to the colonies—criminals, religious differences, poor people… Like no one in their right mind wanted to go off into the ‘wilderness.’ They did it bc they hated being where they were, and England was all too happy to get rid of them. Hell, they were also completely unprepared and many of them died on the way over. Like that shot went super bad for so many reasons.

I’m not going to claim I remember every detail I was taught, and I had a bit of a deeper knowledge bc my mother is, again, a history major w/ an interest in American history bc it is whacky), and I do remember the ‘founding’ being a little simplified, but I also distinctly remember going into higher grades and having teachers outright explain ‘what you were told as kids was a very simplified version, let’s talk about it in more detail.’ We weren’t taught that there were ‘good’ or ‘bad’ guys, we were taught that these people had a difference in belief and that for that reason, they ended up shipped off to the colonies. We talked about the conflicts, the damage, the ugly bits.

I think people claiming to have been taught a sanitised version either didn’t take many history classes, didn’t pay attention, or don’t remember much of what they were taught (which no judgement here, I barely remember). Or maybe they’re just trying to sound Cool on the internet? I can’t know. But I remain baffled by certain myths about the us that alleged Americans come out of the woodwork to claim are true when… Your experiences are not universal???

Like I’m happy to criticise the education system, bc excuse me while I cry about not being able to hold a conversation in Spanish, but like. Unless you were in a very particular environment (I went to public school, btw)… No, you weren’t taught that shit. There’s parts missing, sure, but they did not, at least not beyond elementary, try to claim the ‘Pilgrims’ were blameless. I remember being taught that life was harsh and short, and people bitter and stubborn. I don’t doubt that the words ‘fleeing religious intolerance’ might’ve been used, bc technically, yes, they were. But I am also intolerant of trolls, and mosquitos. That’s a statement, it has no bearing on what kind of people either group was.

[micerhat]

No art - just building a dollhouse :)

Want a word dump update? Here ya go.

So some folks know, others don’t (because c’mon shitposting on multiple social media places is difficult, I’m old) but come June?

I’ll be saying goodbye to my last Voluntary PreKindergarten class at the building I work at. Too much termite damage/new construction rules pretty much signed a death sentence for my center - and upper management decided it’s better to focus on their main building vs seeking a new building to rent. So… yeah. Been processing that big ass piece of emotions - 11 fucking years. Whooo.

I don’t know what comes next tbh, I’ve apparently been spoken about by management but I don’t know in what capacity beyond ‘That Micer, she knows what she’s doing!’ and I interview on Tuesday - for a behavioral room? For their Head Start? They’ve already said VPK enrollment was laughably low the previous year, and Head Start is similar enough that taming feral kids, cursing out and having chairs thrown at me every year is already my normal and I kinda like working with 4-5s again.

Public school? Everyone keeps telling me to apply but - this is fucking Florida, I can catch a fuckin felony reading Love Makes A Family (omg gay people) or Abuela (omg immigrants) so I’ll keep that on the back burner for the day I decide I -really- hate myself and decide to enroll for my bachelors in early childhood education and really take a look at working in the public school system.

But the 25 minute commute… uuuuuuugh, I don’t look forward to that.

So here I am, stuck in the middle - down ANOTHER coteacher - my replacement to the one fired quit after getting pneumonia atop of adult RSV atop of falling down the stairs and breaking two toes and NOW HER REPLACEMENT PUT IN HER TWO WEEKS.

But hey, I’m keeping myself busy :)

[asaltysquid]

Some of y'all genuinely have no perspective outside of your own noses. I grew up in a evangelical cult and homeschooled for the majority of my life and had a flip phone from 14 up until I was 16. When I did have a smart phone it had parental controls on it that would not let me use the internet and looped any texts I sent or received back to my mothers phone. I would also lose it for months at a time for being curious and asking questions. It wasn't until I was almost 19 and ran away across the country with my now husband that I had full time access to the internet.

My experience is not an odd one for a conservative child even those that go to public school. You think kids pop out of the womb white supremacists, with no creativity or curiosity? Tumblr is constantly talking all the goddamn time about the rise in media illiteracy and the book burnings and book bans and how much that affects children's world view and understanding of the world. I can't emphasize enough how much curiosity or questioning was punished. How even basic differences from other conservatives, that your parents make literally your entire world, can leave you judged and ostracized.

Also also also, try navigating all of this while neurodivergent. Being a child who takes things literally? It took my husband sitting me down and explaining bad faith arguments to me at 20 because I couldn't comprehend why people would misrepresent themselves or lie on the Internet.

I'm not praising my own ignorance or bragging about it. It literally should be gawked at that it could take anyone that long to learn the bare minimum about other cultures. However this idea that everyone can just grab their phones at any age and be educated is absurd. I'm talking about this because there are so many children raised evangelical who graduate college and are no more prepared to face the real world than they were at 14. I was never taught how to confirm trustworthy articles or source check because the Internet was presented as always untrustworthy so we could only use library books for our research papers. Again I had to be taught what bad faith arguing is. I still have such a vague grasp on basic scientific concepts like evolution despite extensive research because creationism was so seeped into me that I am still unlearning it.

Yes my childhood was an extreme and yes I could have written the post that was so badly cropped better, but it's an extreme that I shared with hundreds of other kids in this homeschool group and is regularly becoming more accepted as more and more people are being radicalized into fascists. I say this is an American education system issue because America is one of the few places where schooling like this is allowed and not seen as a problem. Like we have to submit our curriculum. They know what we're being taught. We are only going to see this more and I am only as adjusted as I am because of the limited exposure I did get to the internet, realizing I was queer young and finding other closeted kids in the group, and the luck of stumbling into a fantastic support system so quickly after abandoning my old life.

Here's my homeschool groups statement of faith:

https://www.browardhomeschool.org/custom/90279

It used to be much worse and far more indepth and had to be signed by child and parent. I don't know why they changed it but I can only assume it was too outwardly obtuse. They're one of the biggest homeschooling groups in South Florida by the way. And the other one is also faith based but I know very little about it.

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[gatekeeper-watchman]

This call is not for apologies for the past, but for active participation in addressing and dismantling ongoing systems of oppression. It's about recognizing the enduring impact of historical injustices and working towards creating a more equitable and just society.

This involves acknowledging the ways in which current systems may perpetuate inequality and taking concrete steps to change them. It's a call to action for everyone to contribute to building a fairer world where all individuals can thrive and their rights are respected.

Engaging in conversations, educating oneself and others, and advocating for policy changes are all part of this crucial work. It's a collective effort that requires commitment and compassion. The Bible and I are here to support your thoughts and conversations.

12/1/2024 3:29:33 PM.

From: Steven P. Miller, Jacksonville, Florida., USA

@ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org, TM,

‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups.

#GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #SPARKERMILLER, www.facebook.com/gatekeeperwatchnan

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