#then your uninformed opinion is neither wanted nor needed nor useful

[jewreallythinkthat]

Sometimes I genuinely wonder if we should go back to calling antisemitism "judenhass" to stop hiding what it actually is. And the only things that stop me pushing for this is 1. It's not fair on the Germans to use that as the global term (same idea as not naming diseases after places) and 2. It means the antisemites who are trying to redefine literal words to erase their meaning, win. Like antisemitism has a meaning and if you are pulling the bullshit like about "XYZ are semites too" then you're not just an antisemite, you're also fucking stupid

[etz-ashashiyot]

I've been thinking about this since you posted it, because I do think it's a good question and a question that should be asked.

I think the bottom line for me, as the creator of these polls, is less that I think diaspora Jews are going to swoop in and solve Israel's problems (and there's plenty that could be unpacked about that idea) and more that I want to educate outsiders (and frankly each other) about what each other think. Goyim have distressingly little understanding of how we understand and view this conflict, and everything has gotten so crazy that I think many Jews have even lost sight of what I expect the results to show: that the overwhelming majority of us, wherever we live, want peace and safety and dignity and self-determination for all the people living in the southern Levant.

But also, for better or worse, we diaspora Jews don't get the option of not having an opinion on Zionism and Israel.

Gentiles have always judged us collectively and they have not stopped just because half of us have returned to eretz Yisrael. The nations judge us based on the actions of Medinat Yisrael, no matter how much they themselves claim not to and no matter how much certain diaspora Jews try to distance themselves from Israel.

And so you're right! Diaspora Jews, by definition, do not live in Israel, many have never even been there and while there is always a chance we may someday make aliyah (either by choice or out of necessity) the reality is that most of us will likely never have to directly live with the on-the-ground reality. For people who will not face the most direct consequences: the rockets, the draft, the stabbings and bus bombings and sanctions and limits on our passports, etc., a lot of diaspora Jews sure have some Big Opinions and quite frankly I think it's fair if the people who have to have a mamad in their house that sees regular use are not particularly excited to hear those opinions. I get it, I really do. I can imagine it's extremely frustrating, especially when those opinions are highly critical and/or deeply uninformed.

That is one truth, and it is one a lot of diaspora Jews too often ignore or elide. Sometimes we really do need to shut the fuck up and give the floor to the people directly living with this nightmare on their doorstep.

But on the other hand, there is another truth, which is that much of these shrill opinions and criticism are coming from diaspora Jews who have had this war and the state of Israel shoved in their faces - sometimes violently - without any real meaningful voice or power. None of our governments including the US care what we specifically as diaspora Jews think about foreign policy towards Israel and Palestine. Biden and Congress are neither helping Israel at our behest nor pushing for any given iteration of peace at our outcry. They are reacting as world leaders acting on a global stage and the vast majority of Zionists in the US are Christian "Zionists." And the vast majority of anti-Israel actions are being taken by gentiles with any other number of agendas or prejudices animating these activities. We are a tiny minority in a huge country and so we are surrounded by people who would judge us based on the actions of a country we cannot even vote in while ignoring how our voices are being swallowed within the country we actually can vote in. People have attacked our homes, threatened our schools, vandalized our synagogues, ostracized us personally and professionally, have physically gatekept us from public areas we have every right to be in, and have even committed physical violence in some cases. And it is difficult to simply avoid engaging altogether: many gentiles will demand our opinions and assume the worst if we do not give them. Harassment is pretty much standard no matter what your opinion is unless your words can be used as a cudgel against other Jews (Israeli or not.)

It is not any given Israeli citizen's fault that the goyim are acting like this or responsibility to fix. But it is worth being aware of when we speak about this issue. It is another truth.

A third truth: The reality for Jews in 2024 in every part of the world is that we are not safe. Diaspora Jews are facing levels of antisemitism that have not been seen since before the Shoah. Israeli Jews have just experienced the bloodiest attack on Jews since the Holocaust, with levels of sadism designed to traumatize a whole generation, and have been embroiled in this terrible war not of their own choosing ever since. It is not safe to be a Jew. Israel's existence has not solved this problem because there is no way for Jews to solve the problem of one of the world's oldest hatreds ourselves - we are a tiny minority and antisemitism will only disappear when the goyim collectively decide to make that so. In the meantime, what Israel does do is make it easier for us to fight back and that is a substantial part of what so many people hate about it - it makes it much harder to kill Jews. But this premise comes with an attached responsibility to the diaspora, to take us in if we are persecuted and unable to fight back ourselves. For that reason, diaspora opinions are relevant as well, because if Israel falls, so too does the ability to fight back and defend our lives in a meaningful way.

We are all in this together. I hope the results of these polls show gentiles the broad diversity of opinions within Zionism and that they show Zionist Jews the broad diversity of opinions within non- and anti-Zionist Jews. I hope it helps add nuance to the conversation, I hope it softens some of the hostility within our communities, and I hope it educates those who are willing to be educated. But I understand your point and I think it's an important facet to sit with as well.

In light of these* previous posts, I am rerunning these polls. Please vote however they apply to you, and spread them for reach even if they don't apply to you. Thanks!!

(*Context: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5])

ONLY answer this if you are Jewish and self-identify as an Anti-Zionist! By which I mean: you voluntarily describe yourself as an Anti-Zionist. Other people describing your views that way is not sufficient. Being pressured into labeling yourself that way for reasons unrelated to your beliefs is not sufficient. You MUST actively choose to label yourself as an Anti-Zionist. If you are a lukewarm Anti-Zionist but are fine with it under certain conditions, that's a personal judgment call. Feel free to answer this poll, the non-/post-Zionist/other poll, or both (if it changes).

If you click that button, you are saying under oath that YOU🫵 are a Jewish Anti-Zionist 🙂

Please answer your IDEAL solution, not necessarily what you think would be the most likely or most practical, but your idealized outcome. I intend to reblog each of these with a second poll that asks what your preferred pragmatic solution would be after posting.

Everyone please be respectful of the folks replying to this poll, as with the others. There are lots of other places to debate people or discourse, but this post is not one of them. My goal here is simply to gather information and others' perspectives, not to argue or deconstruct them.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Gender Roles? Sushi Rolls!

Date Night collides with Daddy Issues.

Suptober prompt: Fish Flufftober prompt: All the Hugs Fictober prompt: "Is this safe?" Inktober prompt: Fairy

(Read on AO3)

He can't help it. The words push their way past his lips again. “For real, though. Is this safe? Cas, are you sure this is safe? We're not gonna get brain-eating worms or something from this?” In the seat next to him, Cas only sighs. With a single gust of air he eloquently expresses both infinite patience and bone-deep irritation. Dean raises his hands in apology.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'll be quiet.” He clamps his mouth shut but his body language still speaks and Cas hears it, as usual. His face falls.

“Dean, do you want to leave? We can leave,” he offers.

Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas, I–” he protests, but his husband cuts him off.

“I'm sorry I suggested this. You said it was my turn to pick, anything I wanted to do, but I see now that I should have picked something else. Let's just go.” He starts to stand. Dean grabs his wrist.

“No, stop. It's fine. Sit down. I'm sorry. We're doing this. You want raw fish for dinner, we're getting raw fish for dinner. It's fine.” Cas settles back into his seat while Dean fiddles with the menu in front of him and tries once again to sort through the unfamiliar choices listed there.

“See anything you want to try?” Cas prompts.

Dean shakes his head. “Dunno what any of it is,” he admits with a grimace.

“May I order for both of us?”

He nods glumly in reply, eyes cast down. Suddenly, absurdly, he realizes he's going to cry. He has no idea why he feels that way, which sucks. But then a moment later he understands exactly where these tears are coming from, which actually sucks even worse. He sniffs.

“Love, what's wrong?” his husband asks, his voice soft.

“S'just... If Dad was here, he'd be so pissed at me.” Another sniff, and the tears are falling now. He swipes at his face with the back of his hand and continues, “Sittin' here in a sushi bar with my husband? He'd call me a fuckin' fairy and drag my ass outta here. Probably beat me black 'n' blue in the parking lot.”

Beside him, Cas growls, and Dean can hear his teeth grinding when he clenches his jaw. “Dean...” he begins. He picks up a pair of chopsticks off the counter and snaps them in half, lengthwise. Then he bundles the halves together and snaps them all neatly in half again. He clenches the pieces in his fists, then releases them and folds his hands together. “Your father was an asshole.” he states primly.

Dean is shocked into laughter. The awful sick pressure that had been building in up in his chest pops like a soap bubble. “Jesus, Cas, tell me what you really think,” he challenges, feeling almost playful in the wake of that tension.

“This is neither the time nor the place for me to give you my full opinion of John Winchester,” Cas assures him. “Suffice it to say, I acknowledge the struggles which shaped him, but I do not absolve him for his choices. He loved you and your brother very much, but the twisted, destructive ways he expressed that love? I cannot forgive him for any of it. You and Sam deserved all the nurturing care, all the hugs and kindness and support, that a parent could give. But your father chose instead to use you both as a dumping ground for his pain and self-loathing. He was an asshole, and he's dead, and you need to stop letting him express his shitty, uninformed, toxic opinions about your lifestyle choices from beyond the grave.”

Cas punctuates the end of this speech with a beckoning gesture to the waiter. They converse in fluid Japanese for a couple of minutes while Dean sits numbly on his stool, mouth agape, just processing.

After the server departs, Cas turns to him with an inquiring look. “Do you disagree?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Not in the slightest,” Dean admits. “I'm evicting John Winchester from my head.” He pantomimes grabbing something at his temple and throwing it to the ground. He has to admit, the action really does leave him feeling lighter.

His husband nods approvingly. “I'm glad to know it's just the two of us on this date for once.” The waiter returns with a squat ceramic bottle and two small cups. Cas pours each about half full, hands one to Dean, and holds the other up. “To us,” he offers.

Dean returns the toast, knocking their cups together gently. “To us.”

[minchen0897]

Cold (derogatory) and a Cat

My Secret Santa entry from the Discord Server for @madecunningly I hope you like it!!! Happy holidays!!

Starring: Quinlan Vos, a Cold planet, and Maul

Quinlan had been on this planet for about three Coruscant standard weeks, trying to look into a lead on one or several of the Sith – because apparently the Rule of Two had been put into a dumpster and then used as an illegal bonfire – and he was seriously considering a vacation on Tatooine.

Or to set himself on fire.

Forget the sand or the pain or whatever, at least it would be warm.

He was bundled in five layers of warm clothes, one of the layers being actual thermals, and he still was shivering all day long. Even while he used every trick in the book to keep warm.

(Admittedly, rubbing his hands did not help much when he was wearing thick gloves to protect them.)

He even put on a local cream to keep his face from freezing, but it was still cold.

Yesterday he had very nearly broken a good hand-width of his dreadlocks off, because there had been an accident with a fluid that he does not want to talk about and had indeed forgotten about in the chase that followed, until he had to return to his humble temporary abode for the night to avoid freezing to death. His hair had clinked like icicles clacking against each other when he had moved his head a bit too fast (he thought he had heard something, which probably was also his frozen hair), and curious where the sound came from repeated the motion, nearly breaking off his hair.

Not that it would have mattered much, it’s just hair, but the point he was trying to make is that it was too kriffin cold.

(He also objected to sleeves on a deep personal level, so this really wasn’t his preferred weather, but alas, a Jedi went where a Jedi must go.)

He couldn’t even use the Force to warm himself up, for several reasons: he was on the trail of someone potentially connected to the Sith or a Sith themself, so extreme caution was advised – nobody wants the Sith to go further into hiding then they already were. So low profile it was, and someone on this warmth-forsaken planet not freezing their shebs off was very suspicious. Even the natives were shivering. He also was still feeling the aftereffects of a concussion he had gotten in an unfortunate accident he did not want to go into any further.

It was nothing too bad but trying more finicky things with the Force did not make his head happy.

(People who got concussions often apparently were prone to headaches and migraines. Sometimes Quinlan really, honestly had a deep worry for Obi-wan. That man could take care of himself – although he actually seemed to suck at it – had an uncanny ability to survive everything the galaxy threw at him, but…still.)

In any case, to keep the spiral of mental commentary from spinning out of control, it was fucking cold, Quinlan did not like that, and he was so far not getting anywhere with his supposed lead.

He took a deep breath – or as deep as he could without feeling his lungs were freezing, even while breathing through a scarf and all – and carefully released his frustration and discontent into the Force. They would not help and rather cloud his decisions, anyway.

Somewhere in the distance Quinlan could hear people singing. As far as he knew it was a way to celebrate together before the White Wall hit and everyone would be confined to their homes for at least a week. Historically, before technology got better, it was one last big party before they would leave the other members of their community to whatever the White Wall had held in stock for them. Sort of like one last hurrah before potentially facing down the end. Or at the very least facing separation for a while without means of checking in with their loved ones – as was usual, those who were obscenely rich and could afford the according technology were the exception to this.

The White Wall was not a snowstorm per se, although unsuspecting strangers tended to refer to it as that. It looked in fact rather innocent, simple snow clouds, on most planets not any more harmful than simple rainclouds that brought the rain and then moved on.

But alas, on this particular planet, these particular snow clouds gathered and then brought snowfall for at least a week, without moving on, and it was a regular occurrence that everyone was snowed in by meters of the frozen water posing as innocent little white crystals. It was an interesting weather phenomenon, and also dangerous for uninformed sentients. Which were exceedingly rare because in modern times everyone got warned, so generally there was not too much danger anymore. Those who hosted guests stocked up generously on anything essential that might be needed. So today there was nobody really in danger of freezing to death due to the abundance of snow the White Wall brought. (Quinlan had opinions on that, and most of them were objections to this statement, because he was still freaking cold, but that was probably his frustration speaking.)

The tradition to meet up before the White Wall hit and celebrate with songs and dance and good food and also this one special drink they made for the occasion had stayed and was probably one of the most famous things this planet had to offer, right up there with the weather phenomenon that was the reason for the celebration in the first place.

He turned around a corner, intent to get back to the small inn he stayed at and found himself almost immediately hissed at.

There was a cat. Very fluffy. All that fur probably was needed in this cold. Desperately so, because despite all the fur it still appeared to be shivering.

It also, under all the anger it spouted in the Force, felt quite miserable.

Quinlan felt for the creature.

He knelt and sent gentle waves of calmness at the cat. “Today is just not a good day, isn’t it?”

He would have said horrible, but that would have probably been his frustration talking.

The cat continued hissing, as Quinlan settled down against the wall of a building close to it. Not that the hissing really bothered Quinlan. He steadily continued with exuding calmness. It worried him a bit that despite the hissing and general everything of the cat, it had not moved. Neither to attack nor to run away. Odd.

Maybe the cat couldn’t run? Being hurt would explain why it was so angry and miserable. He had seen a vet clinic only a few blocks over that had open still and could at least check the cat for injuries.

“You don’t look so good,” Quinlan looked at the cat that had stopped hissing quite so loudly. He was not quite sure why he was talking to a cat, but there had been stranger things happening in this galaxy than this. The Force seemed to be supportive and anticipating something.

“How about I bring you to the vet – there is a clinic not too far away – and you get checked out for injuries. And maybe we can find a place for you to stay? The weather forecast said the White Wall would hit tonight, and honestly, nobody deserves to be out in this cold.”

The cat looked a little bit like it wanted to make a face between straight up murder and questioning Quinlan’s sanity. It felt a bit rude that a cat was looking at him like this.

“Come on, inside a house it’s definitely warmer than outside, that has to be a convincing argument.”

The cat took its time, but it got less hissy gradually. Still not in the best of moods – which was perfectly understandable, in Quinlan’s opinion – but the calming presence Quinlan tried his best to exude seemed to do its job.

Once he was sure the cat would not attack him immediately with the intent to kill Quinlan carefully gathered the cat into his arms and began making his way to the vet. The cat was predictably very unhappy, but suprisingly it was not struggling too much. Mostly because moving seemed to hurt it somewhat, Quinlan thought.

The vet, while still open, was running on minimum staff. There was only one vet and one assistant currently on hand; their colleagues had already gone to the celebrations. The two in attendance had, from the looks of it, drawn the short sticks and had been assigned the duty during the following week – or weeks, depending on how much and how long snow would fall – to care for long-term patients or animals that had been brought here because the owners couldn’t take care of them during this time.

Basically, they had to pull double duty in the veterinarian clinic and the animal shelter that apparently was part of it.

Quinlan did not envy them their jobs.

Especially not once the cat seemed to regain some energy and made valiant attempts at scratching the vet and their assistant to death during the health exam. Not that they were bothered by it; they made jokes about thick skin and that was the extent of their reactions to it.

It turned out the cat – actually a male specimen, apparently – was perfectly fine health-wise. Cold and exhausted, but nothing rest and warmth won’t fix.

The assistant rang him up after the exam was over.

“That would make 15 Credits – the fee for our services. Oh! Before I forget about it – will you take him home with you? Or do you want us to keep him here?”

The cat stared at the assistant, ready to take their eyes out.

“I’ll take him home with me, no problem,” Quinlan said. He had a feeling if he left the cat here he would actually commit murder. Aside from that, the vet had said – after Quinlan asked, because small talk was a thing – that the shelter was filled to the brim. And he wouldn’t really have to worry about feeding the cat. His temporary neighbour two rooms from his own rented one had brought two tookas with them, so there would be some kibble available for sure. And if needs really must, he could always share his own food, he supposed. “Thank you for all your help.”

“No problem. It is literally our job,” the assistant chuckled good naturedly. “However, I think you should hurry. It looks like the snow is coming down soon, and nobody wants to be outside when the White Wall hits town.”

The assistant had a good point there. He had a good sense for orientation and the Force to boot, but he honestly didn’t want to be outside still when the snow really came down. There are dares and then there is being an idiot. He very firmly counted himself among the former section.

He said his good-byes, cat under his arm, and made his way back to the inn.

This was really not how he had thought his visit on this planet would go.

-_-_-

Darth Maul, Sith Apprentice and a Lord in his own right, had at one point come to the conclusion that his life sucked.

His life up to his defeat at the hands of Kenobi and subsequent half-existence spoke for that in and of itself.

It was only due to his stubbornness (his desperation, his clinging to life, not that he called it that, because it smelled of weakness he refused to have) and hate for Kenobi that he managed to survive the following years. Admittedly, he had used the Dark Side as a crutch, an aid to his continued survival. Not that his then-Master had allowed him to learn these arts, but when has not being allowed something ever stopped him?

In any case, with everything gone, the whispers and promises of the Dark Side had been constant. Had been there, had not left. Had fed from his anger, made him stronger in return, let him survive in return.

For ten years the Dark Side’s whispers and his own tinkering to gain a lower body-half again where the only noises he took note of.

Then he learned that Count Dooku, that absolute snob, had replaced him, that his master had simply thrown him away (he refused to acknowledge that the actions – or lack thereof – of his former Master had hurt) and Maul swore revenge. On Kenobi, for defeating him; on Dooku for taking his place; on his Master for casting him off like one might throw away a broken toy.

They would pay. All of them.

He had survived, and then he plotted.

Kenobi had to die, and he would do it himself – no matter the cost. Every time the place where his body met the prosthetic cramped, making Maul remember the fresh wound with a shadow of the pain he had lived through, he was reaffirmed in this.

Dooku had to die too. And it had to be humiliating. He had vague memories of other Zabraks, who had been…close…to Maul. He could use their power. Take them from Dathomir. Leave chaos in their wake, as the damned witches on that Force-forsaken planet had given him away like a slave that he had been. (It felt like betrayal – another thought Maul did not want to recognize in himself, unsure were following it would lead, which felt suspiciously weak, and he refused to be that.)

The witches would suffer for what they had done.

It had the added bonus of at least indebting the other Zabraks to him, as he would free them from the Witches.

Once they were on his side, he would train them, and train them well. It would take time, but he had time. He could be patient. (It felt like hunting – another vague memory from the life before he had been given to his Master.)

Besides, it was not like he had nothing to do while training them. He could study the material he would take from the witches, use their Magick to his advantage – as he knew for certain that Palpatine never had an interest in learning Dathomirian Magick, seeing it as beneath him. It would be an ace up his sleeve.

He could also go to other Sith Temples. Learn. Teach. Biding his time.

He had heard Dooku had a thing for rare artifacts, so if he found one it was a possible lure for his replacement.

As for his former Master – death for him was inevitable. Palpatine had not shared all his plans for the Empire he wanted to build – but that he wanted to build one was certain. He had already started with his plans; in fact, one of the early stages had been becoming the Supreme Chancellor.

Knowing about the Empire was enough for Maul to decide where he wanted to begin his revenge against Palpatine.

Every Government can be undermined.

And Palpatine would grasp at straws, and fail to do so rather pathetically, when Maul pulled the Empire away from underneath his feet. Or shattered it into million pieces. He was not sure yet.

Regardless, when Palpatine would see his Empire crumble right in front of his eyes, Maul would strike, and end the wretched life of the wrinkled bastard.

Or maybe torture him first and then end him. He had not quite decided on his primary plan quite yet.

Point was, he had a plan with backup plans regarding Palpatine’s end, and the majority of them involved him building up his own underground empire. (Name still pending.)

And to that extent he visited this damned planet (honestly who would want to live here, it’s too cold) that brought him back to his suffering, because he needed contacts.

And the contacts were not actually the problem. The problem was that he had grown curious when he noticed a Force Artifact in one abandoned building – a ruin, really – far outside any settlement.

So he went to investigate. The Dark Side whispered promises still, but there was something else that spoke of anticipation – good or bad Maul couldn’t tell.

The artifact turned out to be some strange metal, nothing he could identify on the spot, formed like a claw. There were ancient texts, or at least they looked ancient, written all over the cellar room he had found the claw in – both room and claw hidden away behind traps that were almost too easy for him.

He had been too focused on his little hunt in the ruin to notice it right away, but the thing speaking of anticipation had grown and smothered the Dark Side’s whispers into nothingness. In hindsight that had been a glaring sign something was about to go wrong.

But he didn’t notice, and now he paid for it.

Because the moment he touched the claw, he lost consciousness, and once he woke up again still in the cellar, he was a kriffing cat, and the claw was nowhere to be found.

And, because the universe hated him, the ruins had started to rumble ominously, little pieces of rock falling from the ceiling in a clear sign that he should get out of there as fast as possible.

Which he did, of course.

It simply turned out that the traps that had seemed almost too easy for him before were significantly harder to circumvent. Especially when he had not even heard the tiniest slip of a whisper from the dark side, only felt that anticipating something hovering absolutely everywhere, which was somewhat interesting, but also absolutely useless. (He was not a fan.)

Also it turned out the bonus of having non-metal legs (because that was a thing, as a cat he apparently had four functioning flesh limbs) was actually not that much of a bonus at all when weighed against opposable thumbs and said metal legs not needing muscle stamina to run.

Outside the ruins he watched as any option to figure out what was the power behind the claw – and it had to be some power in cooperation with the claw, nothing else would make sense – literally crumbled to the ground, and quickly was covered in snow.

There was, he thought furiously, very little chance of finding the ruins again after the White Wall hit.

So as anyone sensible who also happened to have received some form of training in the powers he had, tried to lift a few rocks off where he suspected the cellar had been. (Apparently, his room orientation was now also shot on accord of being a karking cat.)

Nothing moved.

Maul let out a furious yowl.

Whoever was responsible for this dilemma would pay, he would make sure of it. As soon as he found out who it was anyway. Until then his rage would carry him forwards, as it always did.

He found it disconcerting that no whispers from the Dark Side, no promises, reached his ears after this vow. Only the anticipating silence from the Something Else. It was almost eery.

He paced in the snow for a bit. (Unsurprisingly it was cold.)

He was a cat, had no thumbs, and basically no strength – neither in body nor in the Dark Side – when compared to his actual body.

There was simply no chance of him digging the cellar out. Not without his full set of power.

He cursed and got furious when he only heard himself hissing and yowling. Very angrily, admittedly, but it was just not the same. It simply made him angrier, but without the added benefit of more whispers and promises from the Dark Side.

Which, again, was usually always present and was now suspiciously absent.

Without another option in sight, and unwilling to die in the White Wall, Maul had made his way back to the nearest town.

Which, very frustratingly, had taken an eternity. It had also been miserable because in the midst of his way back it had started to snow, and he was pretty sure he had run in a circle before getting his orientation back.

He had cowered in an alley and made the very first being suffer with his claws (neat) that came too close.

Then the lack of stamina in this useless (aside from the claws) body had made his muscles cramp and he had been reduced to hissing and yowling curses at everyone that came too close.

A few beings tried, but while they didn’t understand his words, at least they got the gist of his message.

Until a Jedi walked into his alley. Because of course there was a Jedi present on this planet, in this town, walking into his alley. He was easily noticeable as a Jedi because the anticipatory something from everywhere seemed to give this person something like a hug.

Strange concept.

And then the Jedi had the audacity to not only ignore his threats and come closer but also sit down next to him.

That absolute bastard would meet a harrowing death at either his hands or his claws. Blood would spill. He would shred the Jedi’s clothes, scratch at their skin until the liquid of their veins-

The Jedi was warm.

The Jedi was warm?

The anticipatory something from before had become smug (rude) and mixed with the something surrounding the Jedi, who then seemed to make the something into – well Maul would guess the equivalent of a warm blanket.

It was one of the stranger things Maul had felt. He knew similar things from the Dark Side, had used it to intimidate people in a bar once because he wanted a booth for himself and they were in the way, so he had sent them cowering.

But this was new. Startling. Strange. But not bad?

How very weird. (But also comfortable.)

The Jedi made a few good points about not freezing to death outside once the White Wall hit, but still, the audacity to simply pick him up and bring him to a vet!

He blamed it on his still cramping muscles that he did not eviscerate the Jedi on the spot. (Never mind that his muscles were somewhat useable once more.)

The vet claimed everything to be alright with him, which, no, he was kriffin cold, this planet was horrible, and also he was a cat and not a Zabrak as he originally should be, but before he could claw the vet’s – or his assistant’s, he wasn’t picky – eyes out, the Jedi had bundled him up and they had left.

He would have to enact rage later.

To his great surprise the Jedi did indeed take him with them to the place they were apparently staying at, and did not randomly drop him in a dumpster.

Maul refused to feel grateful for it. He did not want to think about his success regarding this decision.

Instead, just to spite the Jedi, he aimed to be as much of a menace as he could be without access to his full abilities. For the next few days furniture got scratched up. The Jedi’s food was eaten or made inedible by him. Fur was shed excessively.

The Jedi cursed regularly at him, but never raised a hand. An interesting change to his usual experience with other Users of the Force. Usually there was always violence involved when he met with any of them, be it his former Master or another Jedi.

Not that he wanted to be fair, but the reason behind it might be that in the Jedi’s eyes he was a simple cat.

The thought disgusted him somewhat, as he was not merely a cat. He was more than that but communicating that was hard when he had no thumbs and could only do cat things and noises. He was stuck at angry hissing.

Then, one evening, the Jedi made the grave mistake of leaving their cup of tea on the counter while they went to the ‘fresher. Maul saw a chance and took it.

He sat next to the cup on the counter and waited until the Jedi returned, established eye contact, and pawed the cup over the edge. It fractured into tiny, sharp shards. The ground was covered in rapidly cooling tea.

The Jedi began cursing.

Maul’s work was done, so he leapt from the counter.

Or intended to, because the Jedi – for once without gloves because they had indeed taken a shower – caught him mid-leap with their hands.

“Careful you kriffin menace, there are shards every…where…“ the Jedi petered off into silence.

The something – which Maul assumed could only be the Force the Jedi preferred to use – around the Jedi was thrumming with activity.

And thus Maul hung suspended in the air by two hands for a while.

He didn’t even struggle to get out of the hold. He blamed being distracted by the interesting patterns the Force of the Jedi drew and sung in equal measures.

The eyes of the Jedi were staring unblinking at nothing right above Mauls head, right until they weren’t anymore and instead snapped into focussing right on Maul.

“Fucking shit.”

Well, that was eloquent. Not. But it summarized Mauls situation quite neatly.

“You’re Maul.”

Maul tried his best to frown at the Jedi, but alas, being a cat crossed his plans once more.

“Why are you a cat? No actually, how the fuck are you still alive? We thought you were dead!”

Maul hissed. It was not his fault that Kenobi was incompetent.

“Holy shit, you’re a cat.”

Now he began to struggle in earnest. While the Jedi seemed flabbergasted still, it was only a question of when that would change, and as soon as the Jedi stopped being…shocked, he guessed, they would try to catch him and ‘bring him to justice’ or something ridiculous, and Maul did not want to make that easy for them by simply hanging in their grip like a wet towel.

“No, hold on, wait, I’m not going to murder you! But I could use your help.”

If he could snort derisively, Maul would. Yeah, right. A Jedi wanted his help.

“Okay I know this sounds ridiculous, but – well. I. Uhm. I saw that you have plans for your former Master, which largely end with him being dead, and I want to support that goal.”

Sounded fake but he would hear the Jedi out. For now. Maybe he could get good connections out of this.

“Okay, so hear me out – wait, no, name first, I’m Quinlan. Now hear me out. We’re kinda getting desperate here. The war is going on and on, our men are dying by droves despite our best attempts otherwise, the Jedi are dying equally as fast – not that that interests you, you’re probably happy about that,” Maul was actually not quite sure if he was happy about it, or if he had apathy about it, or if it was more convenience than anything else if it actually was convenience, but that’s nothing he wanted to spend thoughts on, “and we hope that finding the Sith Lord, the Sith Master, and ending them will end the war and spare many people from dying.”

A valid reason for a Jedi he supposed. Now the Jedi – Quinlan – only needed to get to the point.

“You were the Sith Master’s Apprentice. You could tell us about them. What you know about their plans. Which would, in turn, ruin those plans because we – the Jedi – would do our best to stop them. It would align with your goal of making your former Master miserable. I would have to speak to the council but maybe you can be directly involved too, enact your revenge more directly.”

At that Maul clawed at Quinlan’s bare arms, because he was still a cat, and he could not take revenge on Sidious as a cat.

Quinlan flinched satisfyingly.

“Here’s where my counteroffer comes in,” he continues despite the scratches and while still holding Maul up. “The Archives of the Jedi Order are large and filled with knowledge. You would have access to it and I would offer my help to reverse whatever made you into a cat.”

Maul stared at Quinlan.

Quinlan stared back.

“If you are entirely against this deal shake your head, if you are willing to talk details, I don’t know, hiss at me or something.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan frowned.

“Yeah, okay, maybe talk was the wrong verb to use there.” He hummed in thought. “I think I saw an external keyboard for a terminal somewhere in this place. It had a weird layout, but you should be able to type something when I hook it up to my pad.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan stared.

“So?”

Maul hissed.

[spell-struck]

i don't know your ocs' names but i want to give you an excuse to talk about them so hm... do multiples of 3 for the oc ask

Oh boy this is… okay!I’m going to spoil my boy, Elias Hawke. Here we go.

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about? 

The obvious reply is that his nickname is “Hawke”, just out of being well… Hawke. But his family has amassed some other names, like “bumbling idiot” (Amanda), “nug head” (Bethany, on rare occasions), “smart-ass” (Carver)… most of them are with love. Malcolm used to call him Eli. That was a long time ago.

3. How tall is your OC?

He’s a wonderful 6′2 beefy mage, which means plenty of love to go around.

6. What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances?

himbo

9. What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area?

Depends! He had to share the space in Gamlen’s place with Leandra, Amanda and Carver, so it was too cramped for anything of substance. Once they move into the Amell estate, he’s got his own room, so it quickly becomes more “lived in”. He’s not a super messy sort of guy, but you’ll quickly find books strewn on his desk that he never bothered to put back, and he doesn’t make his bed. Just can’t see the point!

12. What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father?

Okay, I’m actually really glad I get to answer this one. So before Malcolm passed away, he was pretty much the only one in the family who Elias felt particularly close to. Being a mage, it meant that he was under pretty high security (as was Bethany, but I’ll get into that) and both Amanda and Carver felt a little resentment toward their brother for being the reason they couldn’t live a “normal” life. As a result, he felt very isolated from his non-magic family. Malcolm was fun, kind, and Elias developed similar if not the exact same mannerisms as his father. When he was forced into the “family head” position after his father died, it might be that he tried to behave in a similar fashion because it would put his family more at ease. He remembers his father dearly.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

Like I said, Elias was a mage born into a world where magic was feared, and with an apostate father his childhood consisted of constant moving and an ever-present fear of being taken from his family to the Circle. He received a great deal of training from his father on how to use his magic safely, and did his best to stay out of trouble–rather, stay out of trouble with the Templars. There was a time when he and his twin sister Amanda were close, but after his magic manifested, their connection faded. This isn’t to say it was all bad. His family, despite their troubles, was very happy for a time, and his fondest memories were dinner time conversations which usually came with some type of entertainment like a play or a mock sword fight between Amanda and little Carver (but she had to be careful with him).

18. How many times did your OC move as a child?  Which area was his/her favorite?

He wouldn’t be able to give you a solid number. Too many times to count, but he loved the people in Lothering. Especially once the Blight started, everyone was trying so desperately to help one another, it really kept up his faith in others to see those who truly cared doing all they could–him included.

21. Who are your OC’s closest relatives?

Before Kirkwall, it was his father and Bethany. Being mages, it was just natural that they would spend a great deal of time together, with Malcolm teaching his children what they needed to know to protect themselves and manage their magic. Elias was fond of his little sister; he and Bethany got along well, and that could be attributed to their being the primary recipients of Malcolm’s jokes. They were close; when she died on the way out of Lothering, he became a stranger in his family. His mother, Amanda, Carver; they were his family, and he loved them, but they didn’t know him the way he wished they did. He was effectively isolated, and they didn’t even know it.

24. Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

He and Isabela just can’t see eye to eye. He’s a do-gooder, if his actions could result in unrelated and innocent people being hurt, he won’t do it. Isabela thinks he’s a goody two-shoes, and he won’t deny it if being honest and kind is being too good. He’s been accused of being easy to rope into help, too, and never for financial gain–another thing Isabela just cannot comprehend.

27. What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate?

Fenris has a resolve that Elias himself wishes he could have. He admires the way that Fenris has dedicated himself to righting the wrong done to him, but does try to keep him occupied during those quieter moments so that his drive for justice against Danarius doesn’t consume his every thought. Still, to be able to have that focus is admirable in itself, and it’s something Elias knows Fenris will one day be able to put to other use.

30. Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

Not sure how to answer this… Elias likes to write poetry. It isn’t very good poetry, mind you.

33. What subjects interested your OC?

He always had a fascination for the branches of magic that applied gravity and its pull; it had more oomph. That’s definitely why he specializes into Force magic.

36. What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

he’s a professional apostate but it’s legal now

39. How does your OC handle anger?

Typically, pretty… well? Kind of. He doesn’t like to make anyone feel like something is their fault; unfortunately, he turns that anger inward, and blames himself for whatever went wrong. Now, if it’s something that another person very deliberately did and had dire consequences, he will try to remove himself from the situation for as long as he can in whatever capacity he can until he can give proper judgement without being clouded by anger.

42. What makes your OC happy?

When the people he loves and cherishes are all in his estate, chatting by the fire, or when they’re playing cards at the Hanged Man. Those moments of pure camaraderie, simple times like those where no lives are at stake and no danger is afoot. 

45. What are some things that annoy your OC?

Uninformed claims and assumptions on his friends or on mages. He strongly disagrees with the Circle’s, and by extension the Chantry’s view on magic, and wants people to make judgements on him and his companions after they’ve gotten solid impressions. It hurts and bothers him to no end when people decide he is a menace for his magic–even if he’s there to help. (I don’t know if it helps that most people don’t know he’s a mage anyway)

48. What are some of your OC’s vices?

If he’s at the Hanged Man and knows that he has no commitments the following day, he will drink himself into the morning in Varric’s room. He will also crash in Varric’s room.

51. What are some of your OC’s morals?

If innocent people will be directly harmed by the action, he will refuse to take it. Templars are not innocent people, though, so they’re on a case-by-case basis.

54. Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Absolutely his heart. He’s not stupid, but he leads with his emotional responses more often than not. Except anger; he knows better than to act on his anger. Not like his twin…

57. What are some of your OC’s weaknesses?

He’s very sensitive. I wouldn’t say Elias is bad with criticism, just that he really takes it to heart. He tries so desperately to do right by everyone, but at the end of the day, he just can’t please everyone. 

60. If your OC could change one thing about him/herself, what would it be?

Geez, uhm… it’s difficult, because he isn’t ashamed of his magic, but if it would have made his family’s life easier, he would change being a mage in a heartbeat. He feels responsible for so much of their suffering.

63. How does your OC display love?

Elias uses touch-based affection, so he’s a cuddler. He likes to hug his friends whenever they’re just. Chilling. He likes to lay on them (they usually will let him, too, because they love him.) and just nuzzle into their necks.

66. What is your OC’s favorite food?

He’s fond of sweeter foods, so any sort of sweet dessert type food, really.

69. What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather?

Rainy days! It always smells nice, and he likes to curl up by the fire with the family dog (named Baby by Amanda, shh) and read. 

72. What is your OC’s favorite kind music (and song if there is one)?

Hm. How to answer this… I’ll say he likes listening to Orana play. She’s very good, getting better every day.

75. What is your OC’s favorite scent?

He really liked the perfume his mother started wearing once they got the estate back. He will neither confirm nor deny that he stole some on occasion because he liked the mixed floral smell.

Thanks a bunch for the extensive asks! Ask prompt found here.

[isaacgadflee]

Shaping your opinion

The media is owned by the oligarchy. And they use that platform to set the stage for their dominance. They do that by manipulating the conversation. A majority of the people are dimwitted and uninformed, so they learn by word of mouth. They know what the truth is because they hear people repeating the same thing everywhere they go. If the TV says Medicare for All is too expensive then people repeat that and then it permeates out into the culture and before you know it people think Medicare for All is too expensive, despite the fact that by every analysis MfA saves money. It’s cheaper than the system we have now and it covers millions more people.

There is a war going on for the truth and the people are losing because the education system has been designed by the oligarchy to inhibit independent critical thinking. The job market has been designed to keep people poor and struggling to prevent people from having the time to learn and stand up, to rob people of the ability to strike and protest. Everyone lives in the precarious position where one bad week could send them into dire poverty.

The oligarchy is using their wealth to keep people enslaved. You think you are free, but you’re paid less and work more and thankful for what you got.

We live in a world of fiat. The government prints the money without any commodity to set the price, and then that same institution tells the people what the limits of possibility are and the unimaginative populous nods their heads and in unison say, “it has to be this way, this is the way it’s always been.” What is possible is limited only by the volition of the people who will it.

Could we provide a decent living for every American? We certainly could, but the oligarchy that rules this nation understands that the privilege of others is their own oppression. In a world where people have the choice to live as they see fit, the oligarchy cannot exist. So, they broadcast the narrative that people choose to be poor, ignoring the fact that folks who work full time can’t afford rent; they say that wealth is accumulated by hard work, ignoring the fact that it is impossible for Gates to work 100,000x harder than a typical hourly worker; they say economic failure is an individual’s own moral failing, ignoring the fact that a fifth of America’s children will experience homelessness each year.

The oligarchy doesn’t want you to have leisure, they don’t want you capable of critical thinking, and they don’t want you empowered because, to them, this is a zero sum game. If you win, you are entitled to a decent standard of living in the richest nation on Earth, in which case they aren’t entitled to a docile, sycophantic, cheap labor pool with an accompanying infinite potential to profit and impose control.

We have to face facts, just like wealth isn’t distributed equally, neither is empathy or altruism, neither is narcissism or avarice. What drives a person to the top isn’t their work ethic nor their industriousness, but a love for money and a willingness to take at the expense of others. The road to the top is a series of awful decision where one person sacrifices the value of other human lives in service of their own.

Until the masses of men can recognize this truth, the population will be destined to endure the wage slavery that they are currently subjugated to. It may seem unthinkable, impossible to imagine, but the world use to exist as slaves and masters, then serfs in feudalism, and now under capitalism we are wage slaves, still a breed to be dominated but we’ve come a long way. The slaves of the past could never have imagined having what we have today, just as we cannot imagine the liberty that our descendants will enjoy in the future.

The profits of our labor that we ought to be entitled to will not be given to us. So long as we allow the system to perpetuate as it is, those in charge who live luxuriously because of it will not willingly disband it. We have all of human history to prove that. Nor should we ever be so gullible as to anticipate that this revolution will ever be unanimously endorsed by our brothers and sisters; just as 30% of people give deference to authority today, 30% of people sided with Britain in the revolution, and 30% of people will always be obedient to the existing power structure and they will need to be dragged kicking and screaming into the future where our descendants are entitled to a decent living — a fair slice of the profits that are only made possible through their blood, sweat and tears.

[softly-speaking-valkyrie]

Want To Know What Bad Mental Health Looks Like For Bisexual People?

You wanna know what it is to live with people who don’t see your sexuality as real?

You wanna know what it is to live with people who think you settled for being ‘straight’ when you date someone who looks the opposite gender?

You wanna know what how bad it is when those people are your parents?

Alright then, buckeroo, I’ll fucking tell ya. And when I’m finished, and you’ve read this, don’t ever fucking think that bisexual people don’t suffer another layer of discrimination and ridiculous trauma that the other queers don’t have to suffer. 

I’m a pre-transition transgender woman who is bisexual (has known for 6 years) and is currently dating a pre-op transgender man. 

So to the outside uninformed world, I look like a dude just dating his girlfriend. And in case you need clarification, I’m not.

In the summer of 2017 after splitting up with my previous ex-girlfriend and following the worst argument with my drunken mother and father (back when they both used to drink) I came out to both of them as a bisexual, after confiding in both my grandparents who were incredibly more accepting than both of them combined. 

My parents were both, and still are both, typical conservative and right-wing thinking people who make homophobic remarks at times, don’t really ‘agree’ with people being transgender and transitioning, and have never been accepting of queer people in general. Yes, I still told them, still came out and tried to explain everything. They’re the kind of people who would say they can’t be homophobic because their friend is gay. But nevertheless, I told them I was bisexual.

Immediately my mother announced her views that bisexuality was not a thing at all, that I was going through a phase of thinking I still liked girls and that I was secretly gay and would eventually come out as gay (remember, they don’t know I’m trans, and I can never tell them following this) and date men exclusively. I told them I had slept with a man before getting with my ex (at the time) and that I still liked men equivalently to women. My mum still was not having anything of what I was saying. It was still a phase, or I was confused, or the typical bullshit ignorant fuckery parents and assholes spout because they’re too fucking stupid to listen to the people who are talking about it. No, she was right and I was wrong. Soon, I’d realise I was straight and it was a phase, or I would realise it was gay. 

The next thing she said was that no matter what I shouldn’t be telling anyone else about it, because it would then spread around the whole area we live in and everyone would be talking about them and how they had a gay son. 

Yeah, you read that right. My mum was purely, exclusively and only concerned with how this was going to affect her and her precious family dynamic. On that note of ‘family’ - my Dad had cheated on her sloppily and she forgave him and took him back, they’re raising my currently 7-year-old brother to be just like they are, they hate everyone around the area, don’t go out and neither currently speak to either of their parents. So, y’know *Vin Deisel’s voice* ‘Family’.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what my Dad thought on the subject of my being bisexual, he didn’t have an opinion. And given that he spends all day working or playing stupid mobile games that aren’t Pokemon GO, had cheated on my Mum when said brother was only 3, and is an all-around baby boomer ape, I saw that as a positive. 

But I digress. 

Skip forward to this time last year, late June of 2018, and I reconnected with an old friend who is my current partner (the transman I mentioned at the beginning), and we fairly quickly got together. My mum was really happy, like really happy, because she’d seen my previous two exes and how fucking maniacal and psychotic they both were and deemed this new ‘girlfriend’ as a good influence on me. We hadn’t really talked about me being bisexual at all in the year that had passed, and I’d never brought a man home because of course I fucking couldn’t, but I’d just been the same me as always. So when I brought ‘her’ home, my mum must have... you guessed it - “Oh yes! He’s straight!” Because remember, adults know fucking everything and if you haven’t brought a member of the same sex home to meet the family even though they don’t want you to, then goddamn it, you’re as straight as a ruler buckeroo. 

So now we’ll skip ahead to say this year, 2019, and I’ve been slowly trying to influence the family into being more accepting of other people, other cultures, and other identities. I’m being a little harsh about it because, I’m a sarcastic fuck and cannot stand ignorance, which is really ironic when both parents think I’m ignorant myself. They really like that word ‘ignorant’, which makes this cautionary tale down-right Oscar worthy. Anyway; I have a rainbow flag in my room at this point, which my Mum also put away/tried to hide from me at one point. Not only that but I have a bisexual flag pin, a rainbow flag Valkyrie pin, and a rainbow Royal Post Box pin all on my leather jacket (because being futch is beautiful) and as well as that I have rainbow suspenders. It’s pretty obvious as well from my room and all that I do, that I’m a feminist and I really really really love and cherish women. I’ve dropped hints about queer culture as well over that year gap, but my Mum is starting to get really annoyed at how ‘progressive’ I’m being around the house. She’s taking offence to how much I’m championing women’s rights, queer’s rights and people of colour’s rights, especially when we both watch The View and talk about all the horrible injustices happening in America and around the world on marginalised people. 

Then, she starts to watch Gentleman Jack (and I’m actually embarrassed to say she’s watched it all and I haven’t even started because I’ve been writing my book lately), which really fucking surprised me given at how sapphic it is. 

And then we get to today’s football match of the Women’s World Cup. England vs Cameroon and I had watched most of the game at work but got home as the second half came to a close. And here’s where you’ll find out just who my mother is. 

Mother: Look at the ref, he can’t even keep them under control! Me: Mum, she’s a woman. You can’t have a male referee in a women’s football game. Mother: What? Look at it! It’s got no tits, it’s a man! Me: Have you seen what a sports bra is? Mum, you can’t have a male ref for a women’s game! It wouldn’t be right! Mother: Well the managers are men! Seriously, look at it! Look at it! It’s a man! Its got no tits and look at its face! It’s a man!

A small loud-voiced debate ensues because my little brother starts copying my Mum and claims the referee is a man or a male. I keep saying she’s a woman, because not only is she that just by looking at her, the goddamn announcers said she was. Moreover, I was just trying to correct my Mum from using ‘it’ as a way to describe a person. I even told her outright you shouldn’t use ‘it’ when talking about a person or someone you don’t know. 

Having none of it, my mother kicked off louder than a steam engine at me. After about a minute of me and Dad talking about how good the match was to watch and how Women’s Football is amazing to see, my Mum starts to hurl abuse at me and points the finger, even so far as I was fearful to get beaten. And I have been before, even at 22. But this is not me saying I get routinely beaten, nor am I saying that my experiences are the worst kind and that I suffer more than any other queer. That is not what I’m saying nor insinuating. I’m only telling you what I get and why other queers might not get this verbal and emotional abuse for the same reasons, and here’s why. 

Mother: I am sick of you fucking having a go at me for all the gay shit! You’re not the only one who supports the gays! You’re not the only one! No one is allowed to have an opinion around you are they! Not when it comes to this gay shit are they? Fuck off! You’re horrible! You’re a horrible little fucker just because you support the gays! Well you’re not the only one! You think you fucking know me! Yeah well you don’t know me as well as you fucking think you do!

For the record, once again. I came out in 2017 as bisexual, and my Mum thought it was a phase and that I was confused. 

And some more disclaimers - this isn’t the only case of this shit, and there’s worse that I don’t want to put in here. I’m only writing this because it literally just happened. But this is why queers of other sexualities might not get this. Ace people and pan people would get this too, and we can all attest to the fucking fury and hurt it instills. 

Even after coming out, I’m still considered straight. 

EVEN AFTER COMING OUT, I’M STILL CONSIDERED TO BE STRAIGHT.

And not only that, I’m fucking punished for not acting straight. Even after coming out, and affirming for two years that I’m not, I’m still considered straight and punished and seen as lesser for not acting it. What the fuck?

And yeah, I realise now just how stupid it is writing this, but adults are fucking horrible and this is what it’s like. 

I actually wish these people were not my parents and were just dead. It would be easier. Or maybe if I was just dead it would be easier for the world as a whole? Can’t even tell anymore. 

Who cares? No one cares. Sorry for making this. But this is what shitty mental health looks like. 

I fucking hate this world.

[shaledirectory]

Natural Gas NOW Picks of the Week – June 30, 2018

Tom Shepstone Shepstone Management Company, Inc.

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Natural Gas NOW readers pass along a lot of stuff every week about natural gas, fractivist antics, emissions, renewables, and other news relating to energy. As usual, emphasis is added.

Lisa Baker Asks: So, What’s Your Problem, Maya?

Pennsylvania Senator Lisa Baker really knows how to expose the hypocrisy of fractivist policies. We saw that when she forced DEP Secretary Patrick McDonnell to all but admit there was is no basis whatsoever for the DRBC fracking ban his boss is pushing. Now, she’s done it again with Maya van Rossum, the Delaware Povertykeeper. Maya is lobbying heavily against Baker’s SB 1189, which would declare the ban a taking and demand compensation for impacted landowners. Lisa has written Maya an important letter. Check it out:

Contrary to the contentions contained in your recent letter to state Senators, the provisions of Senate Bill 1189 are neither “dangerous” nor “uninformed.” It is striking that these accusatory words are used without illustration or substantiation. This proposal is the result of extensive research and consultation, and in my opinion, consistent with recent decisions on questions of eminent domain and with the grants of power to various entities,

As you point out, the focus of Senate Bill 1189 is appropriate and just compensation for landowners. However, I am afraid the ‘lack of correct interpretation” in this matter is on the part of the Delaware Riverkeeper Network.

To be clear, this is not a debate about whether or not the Delaware River Basin Commission (DRBC) can make decisions impacting land use, water resources and property. Nor is it being suggested that the DRBC lacks the ability to enact regulations according to its established rules and processes.

Nowhere does this legislation restrict the DRBC’s ability to implement a ban on high volume hydraulic fracturing, or to take any action it deems warranted, with respect to water quality and quantity. The bill simply states that a ban is a taking. and appropriate and just compensation must be paid.

It is only fair to make this determination in advance of any final decision. If we wait and allow the courts to decide, the determination of a taking will almost certainly be made later — after a ban is instituted and landowners are harmed. It is the legislature’s right and duty to let citizens and the DRBC know now what the effect of the ban will be…

If my legislation does not succeed in the current dispute, litigation will almost surely commence raising the same issues. That will have the certain effect of increasing costs and extending the period of uncertainty. Your organization has every right to assert its interests and express its views. That you do so constantly is highly commendable. But I cannot agree with your assumptions and conclusions about the power and wisdom of the DRBC.

The beauty of this response is simply this; it confronts Maya with the reality that there is a major cost associated with the proposed DRBC fracking ban. Maya wouldn’t opposes compensation, as she is now, unless she thought it was so expensive as to be a threat to the feasibility of enacting a ban. By doing so, and calling basic fairness “dangerous” and “uniformed” she’s now admitted she’s completely at ease with imposing that cost on landowners. Rather than spread the cost across the 15-17 million people she claims would benefit, she proposes to impose it on a few hundred farmers who need the money. Thank you, Lisa Baker, for illustrating what a thief in the night the Delaware Povertykeeper really is.

Powelson Is A Big Loss at FERC – Was It Over Policy?

The disappointing news came out this week that FERC Commissioner, Robert Powelson, who the Pennsylvania gas industry worked so hard to get onto FERC and who has done a great job, is already on his way out. Powelson was an outspoken skeptic of Energy Secretary Rick Perry’s ill-advised proposal to prop up nuclear power plants (and coal) with subsidies, a policy undistinguishable from those of Governor Corruptocrat and Phil “the Panderer” Murphy, both of who would, apparently, rather subsidize nuclear than accept any more gas to ensure subsidized renewables don’t destroy our ability to ensure baseload generation capacity (as in California, Germany, et al). Here’s how the Washington Post reports it on one of their blogs:

Powelson out: Federal Energy Regulatory Commission member Robert Powelson announced Thursday he will be leaving his role at the commission in August to become the chief executive and president of the National Association of Water Companies. Powelson, a Republican, was confirmed by the Senate last August after he was nominated to the commission by Trump in May 2017.

What his departure means: Powelson had spoken out about the Trump administration’s proposed use of emergency actions to bolster coal and nuclear plants. Trump could choose a replacement more amendable to what the Energy Department wants to do to prop more those financially ailing generators.

But: Environmentalists used the announcement to push for more FERC commissioners who would consider the climate impacts for more natural gas pipelines. “Powelson’s abrupt resignation doesn’t change the fact that FERC itself needs a massive change,” the Sierra Club’s Mary Anne Hitt said.

In the meantime: Powelson’s absence will be harder for FERC to do its day-to-day work with only four commissioners.

Not good. Will a new FERC appointment take as long as last time? Will the new commissioner buy into the same subsidy-ridden stupid energy policies that have so distorted markets already and that Perry seems to think are smart or best corrected by more stupid subsidies? Or, will a new FERC commissioner cave to Sierra Club madness? This a big loss.

On the Other Hand

Given the above story it’s hard to be impressed with Rick Perry. On the other hand, he did say something fascinating the other day about New York, according to the Washington Examiner:

Energy Secretary Rick Perry on Thursday warned the leaders of Northeast states who are trying to block natural gas pipelines that they will face a “real reckoning” of higher energy costs and vulnerabilities in their power grid.

“The citizens of New York are paying more for energy,” Perry said during a panel session at the World Gas Conference in Washington. “Their health and well-being is being put in jeopardy. If a polar vortex comes into the northeast part of the country, or a cyberattack, and people literally have to start making decisions on how to keep their family warm or keep the lights on, at that time, the leadership of that state will have a real reckoning. I wouldn’t want to be the governor of that state facing that situation.

“We have to have conversation as a country, is that a national security issue that outweighs the political concerns in Albany, NY?” Perry added.

Hmmm….

Doesn’t Look New Yorkers Will have to Worry About Cynthia Nixon

It’s seldom your enemies you have to worry about, but, rather, your stupid friends:

Don’t you love it? There’s nothing like a half-asleep endorsement from some has-been con artist to get your campaign going. And, why are Josh and Rick wearing the same glasses?

The post Natural Gas NOW Picks of the Week – June 30, 2018 appeared first on Natural Gas Now.

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