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hencethebravery · 5 years ago

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TITLE: A Super Solid History of the “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy(s),” c. The Beginning (or There About) to Now-ish

SUMMARY: Human beings are absolute fools when it comes to love. It’s largely the reason why God, in all Her infinite wisdom, so cleverly decided that the beings in Her employ (and thereafter) would have nought to do with such petty, earthly matters. Not they had seen a memo or anything, but it merely seems obvious, does it not? (Ao3)

NOTES: Hello, hello! Here be my very first Good Omens fic. Please note that I have only just started the novel and so this is mostly a product of my having watched the series several times over.

. . .

+ Perhaps one of the cruelest tricks that God has ever played (and the list was indeed long) was in allowing angels to believe they were incapable of love. There is some amount of debate as to whether or not this was entirely by accident. She was a busy woman after all━perhaps that was why it, the question of whether or not angels were truly capable of love, had slipped through one of her metaphysical cracks (of which, admittedly, there were many). Those who managed to refrain from falling had quite an easier time believing this particular theory to be very much the case. A largely unspoken, slightly offended, “She would never,” followed by an affirmation of the belief in the long held assumption that they were above such things anyway, so really, what did it even matter, and can we please return to the task at hand?

Those who did happen to fall on the other hand, went in rather the opposite direction. In a somewhat convoluted fashion (they were technically still angels after all), demons argued that, no, celestial beings had never been capable of love, and, yes, this was done with abundant amounts of purpose. Not to mention the longstanding rumor that perhaps they were always capable, which served the purpose of both dividing and controlling the heavenly population by means of dispensing vague, unverified information. And to the more skeptical among them they might say, “Well, she’s God isn’t she? It’s not as if she lacks the ability.”

In point of fact, they were both wrong.

From the very moment they had begun their stint upon the Earth, Aziraphale had often pondered the nature of love. They had heard the rumors, of course, not that they held much affinity for such behavior. No good has ever come from a rumor, they thought, particularly when their mind was especially prone to recalling those terrible centuries of heavenly warfare. No taste for it━the whispering between nebulas; the speculating of who would be staying and who would be going. Aziraphale had often suspected that it was part of the reason why Crowley had ended up doing… what he did. That perhaps the assumption they would fall did more to provoke the descent than anything else. It was a shame, but it had been so long ago, and there didn’t seem to be much to do about it now, at any rate.

Regardless, the question of love as it pertained to earthly beings, that made rather a bit more sense. Not to the humans themselves of course, but to Aziraphale, and even to Crowley, the emotion was in fact easily explained and somewhat predictable when applied in almost every conceivable situation. Usually.

“There is no possible way that girl is worth so few goats.”

Aziraphale had never felt truly comfortable with early human rituals as they pertained to establishing their various relationships. The use of the dowry, for example, particularly when a father might value a herd of sheep over the life of his child (and at this point in time, rather too young, in their estimation), stirred something… untoward in their gut.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

Even then, Crowley had possessed the somewhat uncanny ability to speak the words that Aziraphale often thought but feared to say aloud, and while a part of them was grateful to hear them spoken, the other part was curious as to how their supposed enemy could be so well-attuned to their thoughts. Could be the point, I suppose, they thought, looking quickly away before Crowley could notice, to catch us unawares with their deceptive bouts of intimacy.

“Well there, Aziraphale, how ‘bout it? Can I count on you?”

“Oh, um, my apologies,” they stammered, unfamiliar fleshy fingers tangling together, “count on me for what?”

“Your discretion,” Crowley reiterated with an air of unrepentant espionage curling around the crown of their head, “she is worth far more goats than... that.”

Aziraphale envied the demon’s seemingly instinctive use of their own hands; tossed about in the air, waved vaguely in the direction of the unfortunate scene which played out before them. How did one use one’s own hands as a means of further emphasizing their point? Marvelous. They would have to spend more time working on that.

“ Aziraphale ,” Crowley repeated, one eyebrow raised smartly above their golden eye, “I know you can’t be a fan of this either.”

“Well, no,” they admitted, “but I am merely here to observe, and I did promise myself that last time would be the last time.”

Crowley hummed with a mildly infuriating tone of knowing skepticism (which Aziraphale didn’t much appreciate), “Alright, well, if you’re here to observe and all, I guess there’s nothing you’d be able to do about this.”

Aziraphale was, as it turned out, not quite quick enough in noting that, as a matter of fact, yes, they would be well within their rights to interfere when a demon was involved, but by that point Crowley had vanished from their side, and a slithering serpent had already begun making its way towards the feet of the large old bearded gentleman who had offered far too few goats for so young and bright a person.

. . .

It was right around the time human beings started getting rather more polite with their food that Aziraphale managed to develop a fair higher degree of grace with his own hands. Rather difficult to eat a steaming bowl of noodles without the use of… “chop-sticks.” Gracious, Gabriel would be horrified by the very idea. Not just by the “sullying of the vessel,” but the notion that one might do so with sticks? Unthinkable. Regardless, it all came fairly easy after that (the hands); throwing a pair of dice, holding a quill or a pair of knitting needles. After a time he discovered that he very much enjoyed the tactility━the variety of sensations felt on the surface of the skin he had been ordered to have.

He had also, around this time, begun to go about being referred to as “he.” Moreso to blend in than anything else. It was hard to pin down when exactly, but at some point humanity became far more reliant upon noting the difference. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed, if they were going to insist upon such hierarchical-like systems to survive.

“They are Her creations after all,” Crowley reasoned, casually (almost certainly, casually) observing Aziraphale’s hands as they cupped his bowl of broth.

Aziraphale made a somewhat half-hearted attempt to cool his soup, lest the demon sitting across from him note his discomfort. In as polite a fashion as possible, so as not to rock any proverbial boats, he made the potentially ill-advised decision to be predictable and “play dumb.”

“And,” with a mild stutter, “and what is it you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t be dense, Angel, you know exactly what I mean by that.”

He hated when their conversations took these kinds of turns. When their differences became undeniable and he was forced to reconcile with the truth of their circumstances: That all evidence to the contrary, the demon sitting across from him was supposed to be his mortal enemy━and for what? Some… pesky disagreement? An oversimplification to be sure, it must be conceded, but all the same, for… what, exactly? What had it all been for?

Having accepted the frequent refrain of Aziraphale’s silence in moments such as these, Crowley had returned to his own drink; a sharp yet sweet rice wine that Aziraphale had recommended. All the better for his own sanity, for his own return to his hot bowl of flavorful broth (with some kind of... fish base, in which large pieces of seaweed, accompanied by smaller cubes of to-fu floating alongside; absolutely fascinating, by the way), and unsettling, unwelcome questions that did little good for him to ponder over. But ponder he inevitably would, and he felt it prudent to admit that he had himself often wondered what might have happened if he had been more… present during the whole debacle (the war, as it were), or even if he had known Crowley at the time━would the outcome have been the same?

It doesn’t seem a particularly worthy avenue of thought to continue shambling down, especially if one were to consider the fact that it was all decided upon long, long ago; but as he sneaks a glance upwards, to the sight of a demon sat across from him at a table, taking careful sips of a rice wine he has no reason to drink (other than to acquiesce to Aziraphale’s own enthusiastic request) he does have to wonder, How bad can they really be?

It’s on this particular evening that Aziraphale and Crowley happen to “brush hands” for the very first time. Azirphale had, on occasion, been made aware of the concept, but had yet to fully partake in such an episode. Human beings seemed to make quite a to-do of the whole affair. He had borne witness to such things with his own eyes, and was rather struck by the intensity of something that seemed so bafflingly simple. But then again, that seemed to be the nature of love. At least as it pertained to human beings. Angels were immune to such things, clearly.

They had both reached for the bottle at the same time, is all. Nothing to fuss over. It was bound to happen sometime��trapped as they were in these rather cumbersome… things; adjusting to the speed and the space of it all. Moving with both certainty and uncertainty, holding things too tightly or not tightly enough. Silly, unreliable things. You had to wonder what She’d been thinking (not that Aziraphale would ever say so, of course).

The poets will speak of a spark, but Aziraphale didn’t much know about all of that. He could acknowledge a warmth, perhaps even a… tingle? In retrospect he might even recall a raising of the soft hairs along his arms. But really, there’s not much to say about it. Other than the fact that from the perspective of an outsider there was perhaps an unnatural pause. A stiffness that mortal beings struggled to find. Most living, physical beings required breath you see━they are frequently at the whims of their world; it is, quite nearly, impossible not to be in motion for any extended period of time. That was just the way She wanted it. The unrepentant motion. The force. The push forwards. Don’t stop, never stop. Until, you know, She says so.

These two beings, however, they weren’t human beings. They were created by God, of course, but they were relatively new to this “body,” business, and as such they still seemed to be encountering the unfortunate and inconvenient side effects. Touch being just one of many. Angels didn’t really touch in the same way humans did. Their natural forms failed to really give them the ability. They did in fact… collide with each other from time to time, but it was limitless. There was no barrier. If anything, it was a bit unpleasant━the lack of boundaries. Something about “seamless teamwork,” is what Aziraphale could recall from his discussions with Gabriel, or Michael. It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes. Regardless (or perhaps irregardless), human touch would appear to be quite a bit different. Because there was a pretty significant boundary, and for whatever reason that Aziraphale had yet to identify, it felt somehow more intimate than the traditional, angelic “brushing of hands,” as it were.

Crowley, in a rare moment of clumsiness, must have felt similarly because in his shock had pulled his hand back so swiftly that he managed to knock the half-empty bottle to the table with a soft snick, with a gentle, rhythmic dripping of the remaining wine to follow.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, moving quickly to right the bottle and dab at the developing stain. Crowley had stood rather abruptly after that, and not in the smooth, serpent-like manner that Aziraphale had become accustomed to, and with hardly a “so long,” turned and fled the scene. They would never mention that particular moment again, but Aziraphale, to his great, great consternation, did struggle to put it entirely out of his mind.

. . .

Oh, centuries pass. Not entirely unlike an unfathomably long sigh, the world continues as the world often does. As do the angels and the demons playing their parts in some… hip yet indescribably vague off-broadway production (with no discernible plot) written by and for an audience of precisely one. Maybe. Probably. Over the course of The Great Exhale (™), Aziraphale observes. He learns. Which should be obvious, as that was something of the job assigned to him in the first place, but he really takes a genuine interest in the task. So much so that he keenly starts to observe other observers, humans who frequently come to be called “authors.” Authors are truly outstanding observers in their own right; even going so far as to record their observations in impressively long works of art━in letters and in image, the authors and artists in question lend a helpful amount of weightiness to a position he had come to doubt on occasion.

“They see things in ways we can’t, you see,” Aziraphale had tried explaining to Gabriel during one unexpected (and painfully awkward) meeting. As he had come to expect, Gabriel listened with a look of mild confusion (and pity), but it didn’t bother Aziraphale all that much. He had his books. “You can tell the others there’s no reason to worry,” he continued quickly, hoping their conversation had reached its conclusion, “I have all we need right here.”

“No surprises, Aziraphale,” Gabriel warned in goodbye, slipping out the door, “and remember, they can’t see nearly as well as we can.”

“Well, we know that’s not true.”

The surprising (yet unmistakable) tenor of Crowley’s voice echoed from the darkness of Aziraphale’s office, which had been empty the last he checked. The angel in question could do little to prevent the slight hitch in his breathing, concerned with not only the unexpected appearance of a demon, but so quickly after the departure of an angel that would certainly see said demon immediately and irrevocably smited.

“That’s cheeky,” Aziraphale mumbled as Crowley sauntered out of the back room, his hair in its usual impeccable coif.

Shortly after Aziraphale acquired the bookshop, and not without some degree of honest ignorance as to why, Crowley did what he unfortunately happened to do best, and asked Aziraphale precisely what was the point of it all? And as had become usual practice, Aziraphale had a maddeningly difficult time coming up with an answer.

“You know, I’m not quite sure,” he finally admitted, “as soon as I do I shall let you know.”

“With bated breath, Angel,” Crowley had responded in distraction, his own nose lost in one of Aziraphale’s many books that he had seemingly no definitive explanation for.

. . .

The thing about Aziraphale’s exchange with the archangel Gabriel, that is the somewhat truncated version of an answer to Crowley’s “why,” was much longer and perhaps more blasphemous than Gabriel wanted to hear. But it was, possibly, exactly the kind of thing a demon (or rather, this demon) would want to hear.

Though Gabriel’s visit made for something of a stressful few hours, it was a particularly lovely day nonetheless. The leaves had begun changing their colors, but it was still pleasantly warm when standing in the sun, and should he feel just a touch too warm, a perfectly timed (some might say, miraculously timed) gust of wind would breeze on through the open window. Despite the fresh autumnal air, the smell of the books often lingered; the unmistakable scent of old paper and ink blending seamlessly with the decaying leaves which wound through the air and along the pavement.

“Do you happen to recall,” Aziraphale began, pouring Crowley an exquisitely steeped cup of Earl Grey, “when I first acquired this shop?”

In so much as Crowley could be predictable, he did, quite predictably, feign forgetfulness (not that angels or demons could forget very much by the very fact of their design). “Not certain,” he pondered theatrically, his sharp chin resting in the palm of his hand. “About what century was this, d’you think?”

Making the conscientious decision to refuse to participate in Crowley’s strange theatrics, Aziraphale continued, adjusting his vest as if it had suddenly shrunk while he was wearing it (which was certainly possible, he supposed). “Well, you had asked of me an admittedly fair question as to why I had purchased the shop at all, and I had told you I wasn’t quite certain as to why, and━”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his tea, “let’s hear it then.”

“Well,” he began, somewhat taken aback by Crowley’s abrupt demand for an answer he had recently pretended to have forgotten, “I━I do believe it might have something to do with… love. Of all things.”

Crowley’s nose did indeed wrinkle, as if a bad sort of smell had passed beneath it from having even heard the word, but he did have a thoughtful look. If Aziraphale had to describe it, he might find himself comparing it to a rather more subdued version of the look that had passed over Crawley’s face subsequent to the infrequently mentioned Flaming Sword Incident (™). An expression of pleased surprise which, in retrospect, betrayed a yearning optimism that most demons should not, under any circumstances, possess.

See, as it happened, Aziraphale had been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Not a great habit, a stern-looking Gabriel would often scold in his head, It’s all been figured out anyway, no need to go reinventing the wheel. As it happened, Gabriel was quite unimpressed with the invention of the wheel. No great feat, in his estimation. Not that he found humans to be impressive in most cases. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him, he supposed. Gabriel hadn’t been tasked with the job Aziraphale had━maybe if he had been, he would’ve arrived at similar conclusions (likely not so, but it was hard for Aziraphale to deny giving others the benefit of the doubt).

If you were in fact playing one of the two roles assigned to you (that of Angel or Demon), you might be privy to something of a hotly debated topic. Love. What was it? Who was capable of it? Was it a uniquely human trait? Was it freely available to all beings? And of course, as was the question in most things, how in the world was God involved in all this?

“Oh, Angel, not this old… chestnut,” Crowley nearly spat. Despite the darkened frames over his eyes, Aziraphale practically felt his rolling of them.

“Now, hold on,” he continued, hoping to cut Crowley off at some self-righteous pass he knew wasn’t far behind, “just… wait.”

Obviously, it was rather difficult for anyone to speculate with any degree of certainty the true machinations of God’s mind. Whether God had designed everything (angels included) with the capability to feel and/or express love in its entirety or not, Aziraphale had begun to wonder whether or not it very much mattered (the debate, that is). You had to start with the Assumption (™).

“Which is…?”

A self-fulfilling prophecy. An angel such as Aziraphale, assuming that it didn’t much matter (whether or not God had given angels the capacity for love), which was the general opinion of the heavenly chorus━or Crowley and other demons similarly assuming it was all a vile manipulation borne of boredom and the Almighty’s irrepressible urge to have a hand (metaphorically speaking) in just about everything. All this and still the usual refrain from both sides: Humans and love, they know not what they do. As if the heavenly (or not so heavenly) were, at the very least, immune.

“It’s the isolation you see,” Aziraphale managed to somewhat tangientally conclude, “the being… trapped, as it were. In their bodies.”

It was in that moment that Aziraphale worried whether or not he had gotten a tad too close to the Spilled Wine Incident (™) which had occurred several centuries earlier ( long unspoken of). Wondered if perhaps Crowlely had, in his own time, reached a similar conclusion, and was in fact thinking the same exact thing. That of angelic… mingling and the somewhat invasive ability to see into the heart of someone’s soul, versus the perfectly human ability to hardly know a person at all except perhaps through a brief brushing of hands. The arrangement of words on a page. The splashes of color on a canvas. That perhaps God, in all her… strange, bureaucratic dereliction of parental duty had in fact given human beings one single instance of superiority.

“Love.”

In a limit imposed by God, human beings could only love one another given truly uncomfortable degrees of uncertainty, and what angel or demon had ever taken such a risk?

In case you (the reader) were wondering, interrupted God with a very gentle boom (otherwise one’s head was quite likely to explode), it’s them. The two of them. Idiots.

“So, the bookshop,” Crowley spoke, filling the void of Aziraphale’s silence, “you wanted to know more about this… Risky Business?”

There was almost certainly the undercurrent of a joke in there that Aziraphale would require an explanation for at some other juncture, but for now he merely nodded. “I believe so,” smiling into his cup, “for how valuable are our observations if we’ve only ever made them through our own omniscience?”

Long, long story, very much shortened to a far more reasonable and linear degree: Since The Beginning, angels and demons had largely felt confident in their belief that they knew far more than the average human (Agnes Nutter aside, of course); and Aziraphale, in the midst of an occasional crisis as to who knew what and how well, had, with the acquisition of his quaint little bookshop been unconsciously soothed by a truth several centuries in the making. That angels, like humans, did not in fact know everything. That they were not necessarily immune to what it was they had supposed, and that, quite blessedly, there was just… so very much to know. Even after all this time. Pages and pages and pages of things to know.

“It’s a fair point,” Crowley answered with a brief smile of his own, ��never much cared for all the…” A signature wave of his free hand, bereft of his teacup, “...business anyway.” Referring of course to the traditional forms of angelic and/or demonic communication, which funnily enough, neither gentleman had experienced for quite some time.

And it was, during this particular turn in the narrative (quite nearing its conclusion, I promise you), that an angel and a demon would brush hands for a historical second time. Historic for the existence of hands, the fact of their briefly touching again, and of course the reality of their circumstances (which Aziraphale had become rather tired of noting). They both reached for the teapot at the same moment you see, which, if one were a betting man (or woman), they might imagine a divine hand or two, or several, or however many hands God might prefer to have, in the mix.

What made this particular time so different from the first was not only the fact of their very recent conversation, but the privilege of having several hundred years to have a good, rational think on the matter. So rational, in fact, that the urge to spring violently apart and knock something over seemed to be entirely absent.

“You know, I’ve often found it rather funny,” Aziraphale began quietly, painfully aware of where their fingers touched, “that despite my theory, you have often been quite good at mirroring my own thoughts.”

“Ironic,” Crowley agreed, “though you are rather easy to read I’m afraid.”

The beautiful thing about a brush is the secondary movements that might come after━particularly when the brush might provoke a pause. Most anything can occur in the midst of a pause. One might move a finger, for example, which in turn might elicit a not unpleasant shiver down one’s spine. There’s also the accompanying sound, which, for all his talk of humans being superior, it was a shame that their hearing was so dreadfully ordinary. It would be rather difficult for a human being to hear breath in the same way Aziraphale or Crowley might, sitting apart as they were. The intake and the exhale, all occurring within a brief, blissful pause which, along with their shared breath and the clinking of china, was accompanied by the continued autumnal breeze, and the scattering of dried foliage.

“I think,” Crowley continued, his hand moving, ever so slowly, to fully grasp Aziraphale’s own, “that we should consider testing your theory again.”

“Q-quite,” Aziraphale managed to answer, wonderfully overwhelmed by all the knowing (and marvelous not-knowing) occurring within the tangle of their hands. “I do enjoy a thorough undertaking of the scientific method.”

. . .

They were both wrong (the gossiping, angelic and demonic masses) because, in an infuriatingly on point God move, they were both partially right, weren’t they? Yes, of course, angels were always capable of love, but God was rather busy wasn’t She? She’s a deity just like any other━lots to do. Being in charge while also doing Her best to refrain from micromanaging, which She’d been told employees didn’t actually like, so can you really blame her for being a bit aloof sometimes? An honest mistake, really. Nothing quite so sinister as the demons might like to believe, nor so benevolent as the angels would like to think. And besides, She’d given them humanity, and She did love a good game of risk.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #@hencethewriter #y'all it has been #about 5 months #working on this garbage #also i wish tumblr #would fix it's fucking formatting #but we know that'll never happen so

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moodyandmoonyeyed · 7 years ago

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Why Can't We Be Friends

Category: Stranger Things Characters: Max Mayfield; Eleven; The Party Rating: G Word Count: 2767 Summary: Max just wants to be friends with El; El just wants candy.

Tagging: @strange-thangs as I always do.

“Take that you stupid troll,” Dustin yelled as the dice flipped to the numbers everyone in the circle was impatiently waiting on the edges of their seat to see.

Cheers went up around the table and they all clapped, another phase of the campaign successfully passed.

“Bathroom break!” Lucas called over the noises of celebration. Dustin was now up out of his seat and dancing while Mike and Will talked in excited tones about how awesome everything had gone. They couldn’t have planned it any better. El was sitting next to Mike, holding his hand under the table - which everyone felt was way too easy to make fun of so no one said anything - and watched Dustin’s dance moves get wilder by the second with a wide grin on her face.

For a whole year she had wished and dreamed of doing this exact thing; hanging out with all of her friends and laughing instead of fighting and trying to save the world for once. Now that she was actually getting to live the experience, nothing could dampen her mood. Except maybe the red headed girl sitting across from her, who was throwing popcorn at Dustin.

“Ow, stop! That one got me in the eye!” He moaned, holding a hand to the offended eye and taking his seat next to her.

“Well, anything to stop that awful dancing,” she laughed.

El did not like Max. Ever since she had seen her that day in the gym with Mike - queue the reflexive hand squeeze which he returned with a small smile at her - she was in constant fear that she would be kicked out, replaced. She knew that none of it made sense and that with the way Mike was always looking at her, he would never let that happen, but when him and Max had been laughing together it had made her feel as if they didn’t need her, they could always find someone else. And it was unsettling.

So no, she didn’t really much like Max, and she wasn’t exactly shy about it.

“Mike, there are snacks up here if any of you want some,” his mother called down the stairs. With another squeeze and smile, him and the other three boys raced to the kitchen to grab what they could, leaving El and Max alone.

The redhead offered El a small smile and opened her mouth to speak but El rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, turning away from her and towards the stairs, waiting for the others to come back down.

“Okay…” She heard her whisper behind her. Then she heard the sound of a backpack being unzipped and a bag of some sort opening. Wondering what this girl could possibly be doing, she looked back over her shoulder and saw that she had opened a large bag of airheads - El’s favorite.

She felt her eyes go wide as she stared at the candy, making a small sound as she inhaled sharply. Hopper didn’t let her have candy often; only on special occasions, because she had a tendency to get over enthusiastic and use her powers at random intervals. And not always in very smart ways. One time she accidentally gotten his hat stuck in a tree and another time she had made Hopper run around after his keys when she didn’t want him to leave for work. So yeah. Candy wasn’t often found in the cabin.

Max must have heard her because she quickly looked up, curious, and caught El trying to compose herself. She didn’t want to show weakness.

“Do you want some?” She asked, holding the bag out.

Maybe El didn’t like Max. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t take what was offered to her, especially when it was so tempting and delicious. She nodded her head and reached into the bag, grabbing a red and a blue.

“So you like airheads, huh? They’re not my favorite but Billy was rushing me at the store and they were more of an impulse buy,” she sighed, trying to make conversation.

El made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and continued to open the wrappers, back to staring at the stairs and waiting. What was taking those boys so long?

Max clearly got the message that she didn’t want to talk, because she didn’t try again until everyone was settled back in their seats and back to the game.

Honestly, Max was puzzled. She didn’t understand why El didn’t like her. She had done nothing but be nice, something that was a little foreign to her. Not that she wasn’t generally a nice person she liked to usually believe - and Lucas liked to always remind her - but she was built on sarcasm and teasing. It was just in her nature. But she knew the tactic wouldn’t work on the curly haired girl so she went with this unfamiliar approach. Yet it didn’t seem to be working.

“Why do you think El doesn’t like me?” She finally asked Lucas and Dustin one day while they waited for Mike and Will after school.

“What? What do you mean she doesn’t like you?” Dustin asked, face scrunched up against the sun or in confusion as he unlocked his bike.

“I mean, every time we hang out she ignores me. She never talks to me and she always rolls her eyes whenever I talk,” she explained, feeling a little embarrassed to let them know how much this was getting to her.

“I haven’t noticed anything,” Lucas said, shrugging.

Max huffed and tried very hard not to stomp her foot in frustration.

“But it is happening and I want to know why. Are you saying she hasn’t said anything about it to you? Or Mike even?”

“Not that we know of,” Lucas replied.

“Maybe you’re overreacting,” Dustin tried.

That was apparently not the right thing to say because Max proceeded to punch him in the arm.

“I’m not. Trust me, it’s happening. And I wanna know why.”

After that she didn’t bring it up with anyone again. She couldn’t go to Mike about it. He was still a little on the fence with her sometimes and besides, El was his girlfriend. Anything she said to him would immediately go right back to her. She could have talked to Will about it, and had even started to on a couple of occasions because the boy seemed to pick up on things no one else did, but she didn’t want to complicate his life further when he was just once again settling back into routines by dragging him into it. So every time she started to ask, she quickly changed the subject, usually to the most random of things - fish, how her socks kept going missing, once even if he thought Hop or his mom would ever admit their feelings for each other. At that one he had sighed and shaken his head, wondering the same thing.

So she kept trying on her own to make the girl her friend. For two weeks, through a whole new campaign and movie nights on the weekends, she tried to be nice and polite and get this girl to open up. She didn’t have any other friends and her mom wasn’t the best of support system at the moment and she just really wanted a girl on her side. All the movies made it seem like the coolest thing ever and she wanted that. Sure the boys were awesome and she loved spending time with them, but there were just some things that she couldn’t talk to them about - especially Lucas.

But all of this to no avail. El still turned shoulders against her and rolled her eyes when she entered a room and more and more she felt a little unwelcomed. After a few more nights of that, she thought back to the one and only time she had been somewhat nice - when she had offered her candy.

Max always kept candy on her. She had a raging sweet tooth that could never go ignored so she was constantly using her allowance to buy bags of candy she could keep in her backpack. And if she was going to do that anyway, she might as well use it to her advantage. Combine that with the knowledge she had retained from a science class last year where they had been taught all about Pavlov and his dogs, and she cracked a plan to make El finally be her friend.

It started innocently enough. Every time they hung out she’d bring out the candy. She could always sense the girl’s wide eyes so she’d turn to her and offer her a piece. El always accepted and even after a while started to give her a small smile as it happened. It never seemed to matter what kind it was either, just as long as it was sweet. That meant they already had something in common and the thought made Max smile.

Finally, one night, when the boys were arguing over which ‘Star Wars’ movie was better, Max pulled out a bag of Twix and immediately felt El tense on the other end of the couch. But she wanted to try something new this time. Normally she always offered the other girl candy, trying to get her used to being friendly and sharing. This time she was going to wait and see if El would come around on her own and ask.

After about ten minutes of listening to the boys continue to bicker and eating bar after bar, when she was just about ready to give up, realizing that El was more stubborn than her, she heard a sigh and saw the other girl physically slump in defeat.

“Can I have please have a piece?” El asked, trying to keep any annoyance out of her tone.

Max tried to keep her eyes from widening in astonishment and success, instead giving her a large grin and holding the bag out. El took two pieces and began to open them very precisely before eating them both in an equal three bites each.

“So what’s your favorite candy?” Max asked, opening another bar of her own and tossing it in her mouth.

El looked at her out the corner of her eye and swallowed. “Airheads,” she finally said after a while.

“Awesome. Mine are bottle caps, but I like to switch it up every once in a while. I don’t want to get tired of anything, y’know?”

The other girl shrugged and didn’t say anything else.

Max sighed and put the bag back in her backpack, hoping that next time, she could actually get El to open up some more.

A few more weeks passed and it was winter break so the party was spending even more time in the Wheeler basement, and Max started noticing that every time she walked in the house, El’s eyes would go a little wide and she’d stare at her for a few seconds before shaking her head and looking in the other direction, confusion clouding her gaze.

This was progress, Max figured. If she was immediately seeing her and not rolling her eyes, then it was good news, even if she was only happy because of the candy. And she no longer had to offer her the candy, El started asking for it as soon as she pulled the bag out. Obviously Max was always more than happy to share, but they were still only having small conversations each time, usually ending after just a few sentences were exchanged.

Then the snowball happened and it seemed like everyone was having a good time, laughter all around the table at all moments and even sharing in a few group dances. But at one point when Max was trying to convince them all that they needed a little air and should head outside to get some, pulling on Mike and Lucas’s hands since the others were already up and out of their seats ready to join her, things seemed to change.

For the rest of the night and winter break El seemed to become cold again. The wide eyes and hopeful expression were still there whenever she came over, but she had to offer the candy once more and El only accepted with small nods and would immediately turn away.

El wasn’t sure why she was doing it. Honestly, the girl had done nothing wrong other than try and get everyone to go outside, but seeing her grabbing onto Mike and Lucas with such familiarity bothered her in a way that she thought she wouldn’t be bothered by again. Sure in the last month she hadn’t disliked Max as much. She wasn’t going to come right out and say it or act like everything was all good but she no longer felt uncomfortable or irritated with her. And she always had candy. She liked that.

And even though she wasn’t fond of Max once again, she couldn’t stop the thrill of excitement that ran through her each time she saw the redhead walk through the door. Of course she didn’t connect it with why her mouth was suddenly watering and that she couldn’t stop thinking about chocolate, but she didn’t think much of it in general, those being common things she felt throughout the day.

But really the guilt and the anxiety that surrounded thoughts of the girl started to eat at her conscience, especially since she kept sharing her candy with her, so she figured that since she’d be around for a while, she would let her know how she felt. Clear the air as she hard heard Hopper say once in. He had been talking to himself in the bathroom and she wasn’t really sure what that was about, but she had asked him what it meant over dinner that night and after the original blushing and fumbling of silverware, he told her. She liked the idea. Getting everything out in the open, even if it wasn’t pleasant. It was a lot like ‘friends don’t lie,’ to her. She hated keeping secrets and not sharing how she felt so this seemed like a good idea.

“I don’t like you, but I like candy, so I guess you can stick around and we can be sort of friends,” El said first thing when Max walked down the stairs the first Saturday morning after school started back up. She wanted to get to her before the others could and ruin their heart-to-heart, so she had waited on the bottom step for her.

“Oh,” Max replied, looking a little taken aback but also deflated. “Why?” She asked after a beat.

“Because you’re trying to take my spot,” El said simply, thinking it was obvious.

“What? What do you mean your spot? As Mage? But I’m the zoomer. I don’t want to be the Mage and I couldn’t even if I did want to. You’re the one with the awesome super powers,” Max exclaimed, a little flabbergasted that this was the reason El didn’t like her the whole time. If she had known, she would have explained to her sooner.

“So you aren’t trying to push me out?” El’s eyes were wide with wonder and she looked even a little relieved.

“Never. I’ve been trying to be your friend for the last month and a half actually,” Max laughed. “I’ve been giving you candy all the time hoping you’d eventually like me!”

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, staring at their feet and neither one really knowing where to go from here. “Max?” “Huh?” “I’m sorry I’ve been mean to you,” El apologized, giving her a timid smile.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it before. We could have avoided this whole thing,” Max said, waving her arms to show what she meant. “And then I wouldn’t have had to trick you with candy,” she chuckled.

“No. I liked it. I love candy! Hop never let’s me have any because he knows how I get when I have too much sugar,” El grumbled out reluctantly.

Max laughed again and shook her head. “Well I always have candy, so whenever you need some-”

“Do you have any now?” El asked eagerly.

Max smiled and nodded as the boys called that it was time to start the campaign, so they headed over to the table, sharing laughs and jokes while rooting the other on the rest of the day. And from there on out, Max always made sure to keep airheads on her.

#aaaaaaand that’s it folks #hope you like it #not originally what I wanted but what ever is #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eleven #max mayfield #eleven fanfic #eleven fic #eleven fanfiction #max mayfield fic #max mayfield fanfic #max mayfield fanfiction #mine #I write things

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 7 years ago

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Daughter Series - Reaper

Number four of the ‘Daughter Series’ I’ve created in response to the lovely @i-am-not-daredevil ‘s Overwatch headcanons that I requested - they can be found here.

I adore Reaper, okay? Gabe is nice too, but that little owl faced man is my favorite. So have just under 4,000 words of him and the rest of Talon finding a new recruit.

By the way, thanks for reading, I appreciate it more than you know! Feel free to ask me questions or make comments if you like :)

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, Roadhog, McCree, Soldier 76, Genji

Reaper installments: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

Masterlist

What. A. Fucking. Disaster. Holy shit. Reaper wasn’t exactly sure what had gone wrong, but all of a sudden the carefully plotted mission Talon had planned was up in smoke. Literal smoke. Smoke bombs and what smelled like a grease fire. “Damn,” he seethed, returning to his corporeal form after shadow-stepping away from the confusion. There was nothing more he could do.

“That was interesting,” Sombra laughed, materializing behind Reaper with a light purple flash. “Did we at least get what we were after?”

“We better have,” the masked man snarled.

“Reaper,” came Doomfist’s voice over the communicator, “report. I have obtained the objective, but clearly, something has gone wrong on the upper floors.” He sounded aggravated, which was rather out of character for him. The giant man was usually exceeding clam under pressure.

“There’s a fire raging on the south end of the first, second, and third floors. Get out through the main stairwell,” he responded.

“Negative,” Widowmaker interjected, “there are hostiles grouping near that exit and part of the ceiling has crumbled. You escape will likely be blocked by rubble soon.”

“I can handle rubble,” Ogundimu boasted.

“No,” Reaper insisted, “this was pointless if you bring the whole damn place down on your head. Doomfist, use the elevator shaft and then bust through the outer wall. You get out, and the warehouse will likely come down after. Sombra and I will be waiting. “

“Understood, Doomfist out.”

“You’ve always got a plan, don’t you, Shadow Man,” Sombra grinned heading to the rendezvous point with Reaper in tow.

“Someone ought to,” he grumbled.

A small blue light flashed on Sombra’s arm and the purple-clad woman brought up the electronic display on her forearm. The holographic screen popped up with what looked like a news bulletin. She was instantly engrossed in reading. Reaper heard a set of heavy footsteps from behind the wall she was leaning against and sighed. “Move.”

“What,” she said looking up with a frown.

“Move,” he hissed, “unless you want Ogundimu to punch through the wall and you.”

The faint, familiar electronic whirring of the Doomfist made Sombra’s eyes widen. She sprinted away with her head covered. Reaper chuckled just before brick and mortar flew into the air. “Might want to look up from the screen from time to time, Sombra,” he snarked. She scowled and flipped him off.

“Enough, let’s move,” Doomfist said brushing dust off his chest. “I want to be out of the country before daylight.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” the hacker sighed. “Just got an emergency notice the city sent out – the whole place is on lockdown.”

“Lockdown,” the blue sniper said dropping to the ground beside them, “How severe?”

“Severe,” she pouted, “Like every cop in town is out and they called in every other cop within a two-hour radius to help with patrols. There’s already helicopters in the air and I’m sure they’ve already commandeered every security camera around.”

Reaper let out a bitter growl. The last thing he needed was another night with these ingrates – the past three days of scoping and intel gathering had very nearly pushed him over the edge.

Doomfist pursed his lips, staring into the smoky sky above. “Of course.”

“The city responded quite quickly,” Lacroix mused sound vaguely impressed.

“Probably put out the call as soon as we broke in here,” Reaper said. “We’ll have to find a place to lay low.”

“If we stick to the grittier side of town we should be good – fewer cameras, more people who won’t be brave enough to confront us,” Sombra suggested.

“Agreed,” Ogundimu nodded as the building to their side made a worrying creak. “We should get moving.”

The four of them navigated through alleyways slowly: Widowmaker watching from above, Sombra sprinting ahead while invisible, Reaper misting into storefronts to shoot out lights, and Doomfist taking out a few odd policemen silently. The living quarters in this part of the city were already rundown and tightly packed, but the further the group went, the more dismal things became. Reaper could feel the roaches crawling over him already.

“Mierda,” Sombra snapped after twenty-five minutes, “how can it be this hard to find a place to camp out?!”

“Well I’ll be,” came an unfamiliar voice, “is that my favorite little troublemaker I hear?” Reaper slunk deeper into the darkness, making sure he was out of view. Doomfist followed suit, priming his hand cannon.

Sombra whirled around, surprised, but opened her arms out wide a split second later. “Sunshine! What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Closing down the shop,” a tall woman with fierce cheekbones said gesturing to the metal garage door behind her. “I’d ask what you’re up to, but I’m guessing it has something to do with all the alarms going off at the research facility up the road.”

“Maybe,” Sombra said teasingly, hugging the woman in front of her.

“I won’t pry,” the woman said putting her hands on her hips with a grin, “but just so you know, you’re welcome to crash with me for the night – in exchange for a favor or two, of course.”

“Aw, Sunshine, you always seem to pop up just when I need ya,” Sombra cooed.

“And you always seem to pop up when I’m making cajeta tamales,” she said opening the door with a flourish. “Good thing I always make too many.”

Reaper was suddenly struck by how much he missed proper tamales. Even though his sense of taste had been all but demolished by the incident, the aging man still had plenty of cravings. Evidently, Sombra felt the same since she was literally wriggling with excitement.

“Ugh, Sunshine, honey, that sounds perfect, but, eh,” the hacker smiled with feigned innocence, “how much room you got in there?”

The woman raised a brow, “Why?”

“I’m sort of traveling with some friends . . .”

“Friends?”

“Allies. Of the criminal variety.”

Sunshine shook her head. “I might have known, but don’t worry, it’s not like I’m running a legal operation either. Invite ‘em in.”

Sombra glanced behind her expectantly, but no one moved. Ogundimu and Reaper looked to one another, both feeling the uncertainty coming off each other. Doomfist reached to his ear and spoke softly, “Widowmaker, stay outside and keep an eye on the girl. Take her out if things go sour.”

“But of course,” the sniper said flatly. Sombra gave the martial arts master a dirty look as he rounded the corner. Sunshine stared on in awe.

“You’re shitting me,” the young woman said with a stunned laugh.

“Old friend, I’d like you to meet Doomfist, Doomfist, Sunshine,” Sombra said proudly.

The woman regained her composure but flushed. “Forgive me,” she apologized, “I didn’t mean to be impolite. It’s a pleasure, sir.”

The man flashed a charming smile and shook her hand. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

Reaper rolled his eyes behind his mask, moving behind the oddly named girl. He let out an unimpressed huff. “Shouldn’t we be getting inside? Out of the open?”

It looked like Sunshine had almost jumped out of her skin, making the masked man smirk. She recovered quicker than most. “Please come in,” the woman said stepping out of the way. The four slipped into the small apartment with no choice but to squish together. No. There was no way Reaper was going to stay here. He’d rather sleep in the street. He was not about to suffer through another night of Akande’s snoring and Sombra’s need to snuggle something as she slept. This morning he’d woken up to her clutching his lower leg. Never. Again. Smelled like heaven in here, though . . .

Sunshine giggled awkwardly, “Sorry for the tight fit, the shop is roomier. Door’s behind you, Sombra.” The Talon operatives moved from the sparsely decorated living quarters into a spacious, clean, professional workshop. Every tool had its place and every surface was spotless. Even better, there was room for him to perch on a bench and sleep peacefully. He sat removed from everyone else as they made small talk.

“A nice little setup you have here,” Doomfist said.

“Thank you, sir,” Sunshine said bowing her head politely. “It may not be the fanciest place, but I believe the hand wielding the tool is more than the equipment itself.”

Doomfist chuckled uncharacteristically. “I would agree.”

The young woman smiled at Ogundimu, then frowned. “It looks like your system took a hit.” Reaper suddenly noticed that the paneling on the large man’s left arm was damaged, bent with wires fraying out of it. The prosthetics of the limb not wielding the Doomfist were subtle, painted the same color as Ogundimu’s skin. Reaper had often wondered if there was a bit of lingering shame there, but he did not care enough to ask. However, the way Ogundimu quickly attempted to twist the broken mechanism out of view, may have just given Reaper his answer.

“It is nothing I won’t be able to repair,” he assured her, confidence returning to him just as quickly as it had left.

“I could take a look, if you like,” Sunshine offered, giving the broken technology a curious look.

“I beg your pardon?” Ogundimu instinctively leaned back as the woman leaned closer.

She straightened, “I specialize in prosthetics, organic-synthetic integration to be specific.”

“Do you now . . .” he said, still skeptical.

“I can vouch for her,” Sombra chimed in from the desk chair she had claimed.

“You have always been my best work and the work I most worry about, Sombra,” Sunshine smirked.

“You made Sombra,” Reaper scoffed.

“Yes. Well, sorta. I got her up and running. When I met this asshole her new system had just been installed by some idiotic hack. Girl was all but dead in the street, so I scooped her up and dragged her home. I couldn’t bring myself to leave all that pretty tech in the gutter, no matter how much Sombra tried to threaten me.”

“Gotta admit,” the hacker shrugged, “I wouldn’t be able to do half the work I do without this little sunspot.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do any work. Because you would be dead,” the young woman corrected.

“Also yes,” Sombra said with a stretch.

“But,” Sunshine turned back to Ogundimu, “if you are protective of your prosthetics, I understand. To each their own.”

Doomfist still looked unsure, but in the end sighed. “I suppose it would be best for me to be repaired sooner rather than later, but know that I will be watching carefully and would have no problem breaking your arms in an instant.”

Sunshine grinned good-naturedly, raising her hands in surrender, “But of course! Please, take a seat.”

Reaper watched with mild curiosity as the young woman set to reconnecting the wires and tweaking the sensors in the small patch of circuitry under Doomfist’s elbow. She was quick, precise, and focused. And smiling. Even the edgelord himself admired someone who took pride in their work. She was tall – likely about six foot – with sleek black hair wrangled up into a sloppy bun. Skin the color of coffee with a splash of milk. A sharply slanted nose with a small flattened tip. Expressive dark blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar . . .

“So,” Ogundimu mused while keeping an eye on the woman, “Sunshine. Interesting monicker.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I know. It’s been my nickname since I was a child.”

“I can’t quite tell if it’s meant to be ironic or not,” he said with a thin smile.

“It wasn’t at first, but as the years go by the name is becoming less apt,” she shrugged.

“You never did tell me how you ended up with it,” Sombra hinted. “Just that you got it from your commander in the Orphan’s Army.”

“Orphan’s Army,” Doomfist said tilting his head.

“Bunch of kids got abducted from orphanages when the omnic shit-show started up. They were raised to ‘fight for humanity.’ It was some crazy shit, but they were tough as hell. And often insane, but Sunshine here’s a good one,” Sombra explained.

“How have you not heard about the Orphan’s Army?” Sunshine spoke with a mouth full of drill bit.

“Prison,” Sombra whispered, obviously trying to annoy Ogundimu. Judging by his face, it worked.

“I see,” the young woman nodded, unfazed. “Well, Sombra’s right, the whole thing was a mess, but it was my mess.”

“How long were with them,” Doomfist asked.

“From age two ‘til seventeen, when the organization fell apart enough for me to run. Unorganized assholes were holding me back,” she grinned. Sombra high-fived her. “But, back to the nickname, that came from the fact that I was the most chipper mini-soldier in the bunker. It was inspired by my real name.”

“Which is . . .” Sombra pushed, smelling a secret.

The young woman re-wrapped her bun as her cheeks flushed a bit. “Promise you’ll kill me quickly if you get mad,” she said flashing a cute smile. Reaper and Doomfist both squinted at her. Sombra leaned forward excitedly.

“Promise,” the hacker said putting her hand over her heart.

Sunshine’s eyes went back to the repairs as she sighed, “My birth name is Sonya, Sonya Reyes.”

Reaper’s head twitched to the girl, as his colleges’ eyes darted to look at him. He shrugged. Reyes wasn’t that uncommon of a name, but the masked man couldn’t deny that every muscle in his body had tensed up as ‘Sunshine’ said that name.

“Sonya Reyes,” Ogundimu repeated thoughtfully.

“Yup,” the young woman said, “Then it was ‘Ray of Sunshine,’ which just turned into just Sunshine.”

“Reyes,” Doomfist repeated, making it clear what he wanted to know.

She removed the broken metal plate from Ogundimu’s arm and placed it under a scanner which slowly began to bend it back into shape. “Yes, Reyes,” she said polishing her tools and putting them away. “And yes, that Reyes. Mr. Hot-Shot Overwatch Man was my father.”

Reaper crossed his arms uncomfortably. She had to be wrong. He did not have a daughter. The man had run the covert ops branch of Overwatch – he would have known if there was a child out there with his blood. But she did have a jawline that reminded him of – No! She was wrong.

Sombra was laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair, “Hostia! Sunshine, are you serious?!”

“Sure am,” she said warily.

“I was unaware Gabriel Reyes had a daughter,” Doomfist said scrutinizing Reaper. The former Blackwatch agent couldn’t read Ogundimu’s expression, but he knew this was going to be a whole conversation later. Reaper sulked, a bit of black fog wafting off him.

“I don’t think anyone knew,” Sunshine explained, “probably not even Mr. Reyes himself. I don’t think he and my mother weren’t really on the best of terms.”

“You were an oopsie-baby, weren’t you,” Sombra interrupted.

Sunshine chuckled, “Oh yeah – I was NOT planned. I did some research a while ago and found out that I’m a love child, the product of a scandalous affair.”

Everything clicked in Reaper’s mind. Sunshine looked like she was in her twenties. Two decades ago he was dating Nora for the fourth year. Things had not been going well: she wanted to move forward, get married, settle down, have Gabriel take more of a desk job. That wasn’t happening. In fact, he took more missions just to avoid Nora, and things only got worse. He’d met a beautiful, wild woman living near the Swiss base and they started up an affair. It had been months of astounding sex and heated arguments, a cycle of destructive passion that had not ended well. Nora had found out and left days after the infidelity ended. Now the mistake had come back to bite him in the ass all over again. Reaper had to concentrate to keep from misting out the situation in a panic.

“On another note,” Sunshine said brightly, “you should be good go, Doomfist.” With a soft click, Ogundimu was whole again. He moved his fingers and did a secondary check of his ranged weapon with a grave look. The young woman watched nervously until a grin spread across massive man’s features.

“You appear to be quite skilled, young lady.”

“Thank you, happy to help,” she beamed.

“Told you she was good,” Sombra boasted.

Doomfist gave her another evaluative glance. “Tell me, Sunshine,” he clearly wasn’t a fan of the name, “what exactly are you doing here in the city?”

An annoyed look came over her. “Whatever I can to make some cash. I’d moved here hoping for some good business – tweaking prosthetics, modifying weapons, that sort of thing, but this place has proved entirely boring. I’m just saving up enough to move on at this point.”

“You know, Talon could use someone who knows augmented systems,” he hinted.

“Yes,” Sombra said overly enthusiastic.

“What,” Reaper choked, fully panicking now.

“Um,” Sunshine smiled awkwardly, “maybe I ought to give you a chance to talk things over. The tamales should be just about ready, I’ll bring them out.”

“YES,” Sombra boomed.

All eyes were on Reaper as soon as Sunshine left the room. He rolled his head back and let his shoulder slump.

“Congratulations Gabe,” Sombra said in a smug voice, “it’s a girl!”

“Do you ever shut up,” he snapped back.

“Did you really not know about her,” Ogundimu asked.

“I had no idea,” he sighed honestly.

“You know what her mom’s name is?” Sombra brought up her display again.

Reaper frowned, “Why?”

“Research time,” the hacker sang.

“That is not necessary,” he growled.

“Oh come on,” Sombra insisted, “don’t you wanna know what your baby has been up to all her life? Or what happened to her momma?”

The dark clad man rubbed his neck, unable to deny the curiosity swimming in his mind now that the frenzied first thoughts had died down. He had a daughter. A fucking daughter. A god damned combat trained, civilian army ditching, criminally-minded daughter. He was concerned, but also . . . proud. Very proud. She seemed like a tough little shit, if a tad reckless – just letting Talon members into her home. But telling them to piss off probably wouldn’t have gone well either. She had handled herself well.

“Her mother is Angelica Ruth Cotter,” Reaper said moving to the hacker’s side. “Went by Ruby most of the time.”

Sombra had pulled up a myriad of records in seconds. “Oh,” she said lowly.

“What is it,” Reaper said inching closer.

“Your baby momma is behind bars. For driving drunk. And vehicular homicide. And some other nasty stuff. Looks like you really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Can it,” he snarled. Ruby had never been the upstanding type, but damn.

“This her,” the hacker said bringing up a few photos. Reaper nodded. Pale skin, dark hair, bright red lipstick – even in her mugshot. Looked like she’d been getting into drugs, too. “Guess Sunshine’s probably better off without her,” Sombra mused

“Why have you not looked into this friend of yours before,” Ogundimu questioned.

The hacker shrugged, “She didn’t butt into my life when she saved me, so I figured I owed her the same. I mean, I do owe the girl my life and my livelihood.”

Reaper was admittedly relieved his daughter was on Sombra’s good side. “What did you find on her,” he pressed, looking at the holographic screen.

“Not a whole lot,” she admitted, “she grew up under the radar and knows when to run. Did find her birth certificate and the papers her mom filled out when she gave her up. Closed adoption. Didn’t want anything to do with – oh my god she was a cute baby!”

A photo popped up and expanded of a fluffy little bundle in a pink blanket. Big, focused eyes surrounded by thick black hair stared at Reaper as he began to smile warmly. For once it had nothing to do with murder.

“But anyway,” Sombra continued, “she’s a solid gal – smart and talented. I can’t see a reason we wouldn’t sign her on. And I’m not just saying all this because I want her to give me a tune-up.”

Doomfist turned to the masked man, “I trust you would be professional about this situation, Reyes?”

The superior tone of voice made Reaper scowl, but not as much as the idea of Sonya joining Talon. Even though he would like to keep an eye on her, having the young woman alongside him as he sought revenge was the farthest thing from safe. “If you think she’ll be useful, I have no objections,” he lied.

Ogundimu took his time staring Reaper down with an appraising eye. The older man huffed, unimpressed. Doomfist didn’t scare him, never had. “You gonna make a decision or not,” he growled, “girl’s going to come through the door any second now.”

“I can smell that sweet, sweet caramel from here,” Sombra said wistfully.

As if on cue, Sunshine backed through the door with a plate in her hands. Fuck. Those. Smelled Good. Reaper had never missed his taste buds so damn much. He’d always had a sweet tooth. Widowmaker strolled in behind Sonya munching a tamale with a bored expression.

“Your sniper needs to talk to you, I guess,” Sunshine said sounding slightly perturbed. “She broke in through the window.”

“The city lockdown is changing – they believe we are still in the city and are therefore sweeping through sectors of the city. A large portion of the police force will be concentrated in one area. We will likely be able to sneak out if we do so quickly from the Eastern road,” the shapely woman informed them.

“Good,” Ogundimu said standing, “Sunshine, interested in joining us?”

The young woman glanced around the room, and upon hearing no objections, grinned. “I would be honored!”

Doomfist smiled, “Can you pack up quickly or shall we arrange for a pick up?”

“The tools take up a lot of room-” she started.

“We’ll update you,” Sombra interrupted with her mouth full of a third tamale, “just bring the custom stuff. I’ll download your data.”

“Talon is not your personal financer,” Widowmaker said swinging her hips.

“I will personally make sure you are outfitted with the best equipment available,” Ogundimu assured their recruit. “Just bring the essentials.”

“Then give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be good to go.” Sunshine had this giddiness to her that almost made Reaper chuckle. Almost. Having her around was going to be strange. It had been a very long time since he’d had anything in his life that made him feel anything but rage, hatred, or utter ambivalence. Suddenly he was looking forward to something.

Reaper moved to Sonya’s side. “Go find an escape route and radio me the location,” he said. “I’ll make sure the girl gets there.”

“Why Reaper,” Sombra teased, “it’s so unlike to volunteer to do anything . . . social.”

“And you’re wasting time, as usual,” he snarled.

“Make sure you hurry,” Doomfist said heading to the door with Sombra trailing behind. “And it would be best to travel light, Sunshine. But worry not,” the massive man flashed his perfect teeth,” I will make sure you are taken care of.”

Was that bastard flirting with his daughter? That pinche bastard was flirting with his daughter! Thankfully, the other Talon board member left before Reaper could sink a claw into his neck. Sombra gave Sunshine an enthusiastic thumbs up before darting out of the garage. Widowmaker sauntered along after them, stopping to shoot an intimidating look at the newest member of the group.

“You,” the sniper murmured quietly. Reaper’s hand automatically gravitated to his shotgun. “If you have room, bring whatever you need to make more of these. They are delightful.” The long-legged woman grabbed one last tamale before trotting off, heels clicking.

Sonya slowly turned her head to Reaper, shocked. He was equally stunned. The young woman snorted loudly and burst out laughing. It was endearing as fuck.

#mine #writing #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch drabble #drabble #my drabble #reaper #sombra #widowmaker #doomfist #sonya #daughter series #i-am-not-daredevil

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spamzineglasgow · 5 years ago

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(SPAM Cuts) The Noughties, by Dom Hale

Attending to the poetics of lightspeed capital, everyday internet phenomenology and aesthetic refusal, Mau Baiocco explores Dom Hale’s ‘The Noughties’, a poem taken from Hale’s debut collection Scammer (forthcoming, the 87 Press).

> On February 1 a long poem, ‘The Noughties' drops into my inbox. 'I appear / to have failed to purge / my poem of evil' it reads roughly at the halfway point, '502 Bad Gateway / nginx / The literal just lost to me / Nostalgics / for toujours.' ‘The Noughties’ was first circulated as part of Dominic Hale's early 2020 edition of the file/pamphlet Scammer and at 44 pages takes up half of its contents. It is an experiment in serial and durational writing initially taking place between July 2018 and July 2019. Its form as well as composition are fragmentary, with short lines of unevenly indented text cascading down text boxes, an appearance that on the page bears a superficial resemblance to code, but when read aloud has all the jutting immediacy and scattered rhythms of something that cannot be compiled as a program or finished. And though I will attempt to trace questions around the relation between the internet, politics and poetics as they arise in ‘The Noughties’, a new and unprecedented arrival on something that might appear done to death (the ~internet~ poem), it should be noted from the outset that this poem is avowedly provisional, open to alteration and as much a mechanism of response to other poets and events as it is a finished work. Sitting down to appraise it, almost as a private inquiry, feels like refusing some of the poem's own motivations. If ‘The Noughties’ is about anything, it is about exchanges and modulations to be made outside the formal circuits of publishing, the commodity and ultimately capitalism. When read live—as I was lucky to witness twice in 2019—the poem is delivered at a rapid and at times overwhelming speed, straying far from considered intonation and 'poet's voice' but in an oppositional mode long explored by various poets such as Verity Spott, Tom Raworth or Peter Manson. Its text is a camaraderie, in all the inviting and indulging senses of the word.

> To admit the internet into history is to arrest the entirety of its internal logic, its drive towards immediacy and delivery of information on request—or even before we request or begin a search engine lookup, as algorithms quietly dispense tailored content, autoplays and preempt any personal vicissitudes we might have at a given moment. As being online ceases to be a specific activity and becomes the very basis of our lives (and dramatically more so following Covid-19), the internet takes on a phenomenology identical to encountering everyday life: the external world, its colours, the weather, a sentiment, an object. Our words for being online can paint an entire life-world as it is really being experienced. I couldn’t stand it, the internet was so annoying today. This transparency is only superficial: what appears to be truly memoryless, debugged and free of glitches is owed primarily to the quiet labour of developers, data centre workers and content moderators—industries rife with overwork, exploitation and even trauma at the exposure to daily streams of violence and hate. Behind every phenomenal seamlessness is a world of labour and agency that has been wrested away from the internet’s users and makers. This is far from the resource that would remake the public sphere, the heroic age of the developer-hacker-blogger-writer. At some point in our lifetime a transition occurred between accessing a resource and living through its infrastructure. Had it happened any more dramatically we would rightly call it a revolution on par with any other that came before it, with political and interpersonal consequences no less significant than those of any other revolution.

> The critical internet poem, the post-internet long poem, the always-online poem has to account for such a revolution: the gap from Web 1.0 to Web 2.0. It has to account for it as a real event where political and affective possibilities were seized by the powerful and online spaces sequestered and rerouted into sites of economic capture. Hale's 'sorry for cross-posting / stupidly nostalgic for the fucking noughties' is poised at the aftermath of this revolution, speaking back to the first decade of the 2000s through a relentless clash with the proper names for corporations and individuals (Bezos, Cuadrilla, G4S, Bill Gates, Northern Rock, etc) who have shaped the current world we inhabit. Arrayed against them is a belated deference to modes of grassroots management of online spaces (apologies for the cross-post), the ability to render these spaces malleable via creative interventions (forking), techno-utopian dreams that cross with play ('Snorlax used Snore! / Sustainable day') and the metabolic ease and abundance of 'We / eat as we go'. And yet, we are constantly reminded that to move from the past to the present means being carried by a 'katabatic wind'—a ceaseless descent that finds its origins at every point of the noughties and carries us on through to today. These winds, the matter of the skies as an invisible mover, figure prominently in ‘The Noughties’, and they are our guide through the fragmenting online landscapes of the decade since. When the winds reverse they end up 'hoovering / up the teleologies'; ecological catastrophes such as wildfires are seen congealing 'under the / pearling cumulus'. Like the financial flows and exchanges that pervade the poem, winds can go unnoticed until they collapse upon themselves or crash against lives that mean to resist them. These moments are revelatory of a whole structure at once: 'A sky’s a style' or 'A sky’s a clause', the grammar which shapes our political and expressive possibilities is loaded with toxic fumes, global and intimate as weather. It all lays open for contestation.

> In comparison to the fast-moving streams of text, riffs on information and broken data that surround it, a sort of speaking self appears in ‘The Noughties’. The ‘poet himself, as part of as part exposed nervous receptor, part digestor and regurgitator’ as Alex Grafen has written on Scammer’s companion pamphlet/pre-release Addons. It is often rueful, self-castigating and circuitously arrived at. It appears regularly in the guise of a comment or interjection. A distance from the surrounding text—set aside by line breaks and Hale’s deft play with sentential clauses—makes space for simultaneous ironic detachment and sincere observation. This wouldn't be unfamiliar to anyone who spends a lot of time on the internet; it is after all a very common affective position to speak from online. Other forms of internet speech feature in the poem too: textspeak, emoticons, emojis, etc, but my own response settles on moments where this voice appears, as if a remainder of pre-technological communicability:

> Perhaps what makes them stand out is that they are so often addressed and imperative. The imperative falls in line with a poetics of refusal figured in Anne Boyer's essay No, from which Hale draws the epigraph, 'Sometimes our refusal is in our staying put.' Perhaps the commitment to speaking and interjecting works out as a refusal to speechlessness. But this persistence paradoxically discloses very little: it would rather not talk, not participate, go back over itself. On the other hand it may coax a life out of life; its speech becomes more a sort of 'negative silence' which to Boyer is 'the negative’s underhanded form of singing', speaking while not speaking and asking when not asking. I think these gestures of refusal also gain a specific valence within a long durational work such as ‘The Noughties’. From the outset the poem aims to figure as a text of life, a response born from the everyday. This specifies the refusal as a sort of refusal to the everyday temporality out of which it arises, a refusal of the working day or even a refusal to work: 'I will never / be fulfilled by any kind of work.' This is seen more clearly still as the poem develops and the specificities of the decade—war alongside economic boom, proliferation of websites, technologies and interfaces to enact one's self-presentation to the world, to give voice to our newly minted online selves—begin to add up. The voice threatens to drop out entirely:

> In these lines poetry is pitted against the ability to survive the everyday economies of making ends meet. It signals a larger background of sustenance, a whole undisclosed sphere which undergirds the year-long writing of the poem yet cannot be easily verbalised. The gloss we can give to the gap between this sphere and ‘The Noughties’’s own enactment is a no, a refusal to make the link between the circuits words take on page and those of the background out of which they emerge. There is a doubleness to 'now, now', shading over to both 'no, no' but also that the poem must return to its present elaboration, the site of its self-recognition. Reading this gap as a refusal opens the possibility that the poem's own dynamics—the very rhythms it falls into, its very online texture—can militate against the extension of working life into non-working life. 'Hacking', so often the trite word for unauthorised access into systems and circuitry, springs to mind here, but in its older meaning. A sort of choppy relentlessness abounds in ‘The Noughties’, where two types of ‘work’—that of the poem and that of the post-internet working day—extend into one another, bristling at the seams and unveiling oppositions where we could have forgotten there were any.

> In Sleep-Worker's Inquiry, an anonymous text published on the communist journal Endnotes, a tech worker begins to dream in code, coming upon problems raised by their working life and solving them in their sleep. The worker asks if this is meaningfully different from their everyday waged work: 'When I find myself observing myself sleep-working, I observe myself acting in an alienated way, thinking in a manner that is foreign to me, working outside of the formal labour process through the mere spontaneous act of thought.' Self-estrangement has always been an aesthetic resource of the avant-garde, but its possibility always corresponded with the availability of leisure and other types of 'free' time. When our estranged selves are also signed up to the imperatives of production, what spaces are left for the creation of social alterities, dream worlds and landscapes where we do not come under those same imperatives? As technologies extend the working day by making us become forever available to our jobs, as the everyday labour of self-making on social media becomes collated and valorised as data which accrues its owners stock value to be exchanged on the market, distance from any economic activity becomes impossible. It becomes inchoate as the speaker’s voice in ‘The Noughties’, refusing as it proceeds.

> But I find that as I fixate on this voice of refusing, I almost forget that what makes ‘The Noughties’ so enticing to read and pick up is the heaving pile-up of dead data, outmoded imperatives and pithy renderings of cultural touchstones we would rather forget. 'What is this ‘dick chainy’ / and where can I get one?' To hold all these together, to attend to this conflagration of material is also to remember that, profoundly, the noughties were a fucking awful decade, with an enormous amount of political and cultural dead ends that the poem (happily) fails to enumerate. If the noughties represented the smirk of capital at history's end, ‘The Noughties’ enacts its degradation into our modes of present living. But we hold on to our imperatives, to care, to refuse and somehow make a world otherwise.

‘The Noughties’ is taken from Scammer, Dom Hale’s forthcoming collection from the 87 Press. You can watch Hale perform extracts at The Roebuck, London last year:

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Text: Mau Baiocco Published 3/7/20

#poetry #Dom Hale #SPAM Cuts #SPAM Cut #The Noughties #Scammer #87 Press #the 87 press #Mau Baiocco

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brittanywould · 7 years ago

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2017′s Word of the Year: Feminism

I just learned that the most searched word on Marriam-Webster’s website in 2017 was, “Feminism,” which is defined as, “The theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes” and I have a lot of smart, important points to make about this topic, but instead I’m super tempted address the mind-blowingly unremarkable concept that’s been popping up all year. So, after watching passively as the same dense argument has been passed around, lifted into the air like a trophy, and celebrated by an audience all surrounding me, I’ve finally given in to dignifying this ignorance with a response.

Why do I always find myself listening to the chirpings-on about how America “doesn’t need feminism” because there are women in other countries who “have it worse”? Does this argument suggest that since increased oppression is causing other countries to miss out on the talents of its citizens (to say the least), more so than here, that it takes some sort of audacity for an American to demand complete equality of the sexes? Does this reasoning also suggest that an American citizen’s desire to reap the full benefits of any particular right should be negated by a direr need for that right in other parts of the world?

With that being said, does this mean that since forced child marriage is far more common in India than in the US, that it’s wrong for countries like ours to advocate for marriage equality, because at least we have the option of choosing who and when we marry?

Does it mean that since Russian reporters lack the free press that would allow them to properly inform their audiences, and have been known to wind up dead after opposing the views of the Kremlin, that Americans should not speak out against faulty news stories, biased media coverage, or net neutrality because, hey, at least reporters aren’t risking their lives every day?

Does it mean that since the North Korean government dictates where its citizens will live and work, that American citizens who are being denied reasonable accommodation or fair compensation by their employer, should pipe down about workers’ rights laws, because at least they got to choose their jobs in the first place?

I think one of the most frustrating aspects of this narrative are the threads of patriotism and selflessness manipulatively woven into the presentation of its position, when those two values could not be further from its foundation. I’ve scrolled through countless threads, of both familiar and unfamiliar names, condemning feminist causes, and implying that supporters of the feminist movement in this country are ungrateful for their freedoms and careless about the circumstances of women around the world, but the truth is more clearly revealed through the actions of those on both sides.

Feminists who are willing to point out examples of rape culture, sexism in the work place, the need for intersectional feminism, are also the ones willing to research how to shop ethically in order to avoid supporting sweatshops and other immoral systems around the world. They’re the ones who’ve never stepped foot in Primark, even though they’re broke, who picked out their New Year’s Eve dress at a thrift shop, and who volunteer sometimes after work, because they want so badly to use their privilege and small bit of power to help affect progress for everyone, regardless of nationality.

Those of us who will openly and passionately acknowledge the need for feminism in the US, also acknowledge the precious liberties we assume as citizens of this country, so we come together and speak up when we can, because we believe that America can help lead the rest. I will never understand how a group of people can point their finger at the feminist movement in disapproval, by declaring that it’s efforts are inconsiderate to the rest of the world, while also chanting, “America First” for the whole world to hear.

#feminism #feminist

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lewigm-blog · 5 years ago

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Newsletter 3: Lima tell you something about Peru’s Capital…

Me trying to imagine and pose for a cute couple’s picture. Cat has to send me a picture of her sitting on some steps so I can photoshop her in. (Also I wonder what was going on with the couple behind me. I’d like to think that I captured a cute moment of them) Published April 16, 2019

Gypsy Music

“God is a gypsy who plays her violin

At the gate of my heart.

Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music

is her longing for love.

She plays her rhapsody

Until the tears come… longing, longing to be invited in.”

- Sr. Lou Ella Hickman

After spending a short six hours at the Starbucks in Cusco, I finally finished my pre-Lima newsletter in Cusco… That is to say that I am only three newsletters behind now! I am excited to be writing going through my experience and time in Lima with a broader perspective on what the Lima trip has meant for me. The city has much life and is constantly moving with rushed vendors hopping onto moving buses on highways and throughout every street. Interestingly enough, traffic seems to function better than some major U.S. Cities. Everyone here is an aggressive driver, not much like Jersey or Long Island drivers in the ways they can be careless or distracted, but rather they drive with an attentive, but intense approach to driving. Not all conductors can be characterized this way, but I can say this much about the commercially employed and apparently licensed drivers.

Amidst the bustling movement of people and vehicles, I have been able to draw out three “themes” or questions that capture my time in Lima: Traffic, privilege and more traffic, “Why am I here?”, and “Bohemian Rhapsody” While some of the events and moments I describe while in Lima fall clearly into one theme, most others blend and find their place somewhere in between.

Traffic, privilege and more traffic

As my fellow first year community mate and I arrived in Lima, we were met with an overwhelming heat and cloudiness that pervaded each and every breath we took. It was as if Peru was letting us know that although we had come down 3,000 meters of altitude, we weren’t going to make it through the coastal region without some discomfort. In true volunteer fashion, we were provided with a cheap Altel “dumb” phone (which only worked on speaker phone) to communicate with our JVC community back home for anything migrations related. Another adjustment we had to make was navigating the city without access to consistent internet. We found ourselves downloading, screenshotting and even hand drawing walking and bus routes to move around. It became our nuanced approach to being simple living JVs in Lima.

One of the aspects that struck me the most about Lima was the rhythm and pace of the traffic and the Limeñan people. Our entire first day in Lima was spent attempting to understand the bus routes and system. We stayed at the “humble” Inmaculada Colegio located in Santiago del Surco, which was conveniently located near a major highway (Panamerica Sur Highway). The highways have bridges and other points of access so that pedestrians could make their way to bus stops. Bus companies in Peru tend to be privatized and have specific routes which only added to the confusion. The city of Lima had its own public bus company, but we never made it to that point in our time with public transportation. After failing to describe our destination to nearly 20 buses, we decided to hop on a random bus and see where it took us.

Once aboard, we zipped past several districts and areas of the city, both poor and underdeveloped and also drove through areas that were more touristy and gentrified. One region in particular, San Luis, had me disconcerted and would shift my perspective for the rest of my time in the city. As the bus drivers maneuvered through hordes of stagnant traffic, several passengers hopped on and off to get to their destination. One young man, about my age, made his way onto the bus and stood near a woman in a seat in front of my community mate. I initially thought nothing of him as he appeared to be just another passenger who, like most other Peruvians on public transportation, had little regard for personal space. He suddenly bent over and drew closer to this woman putting his arm around her, speaking to her as a close friend would. I couldn’t hear much of anything over the incessant car horns and chants of street vendors attempting to sell their goods, but after he spoke, the woman seemed distressed as she began to shake her head. He crouched down, and it appeared that he was comforting her. She then opened her backpack and he searched through it, taking out some money. He casually called over a bus vendor selling snacks and purchased a soda with her— I suppose now his—money. In a dramatic and cruel fashion, he opened and drank the soda in front of her, gasping in delight after consuming the first sip of his spoils.

If my description of this event so far hasn’t told you much about me, I am quite weary and observant of those around me, especially in unfamiliar territories. Perhaps it was the inner gringo in me or all the news media clips that my mom and other family members would share with me before arriving in Lima, but I feared for my own safety. In that moment, I felt that my decision to wear Chaccos, Touristy white cargo shorts and a Henle Long sleeve shirt was the worst thing I could’ve possibly done (Picture this but with a different shirt). I experienced an intense pressure and anxiety as my Americanness and privilege seemed surged up as if it was beach ball that I was trying to hide underneath water. I felt very out of place and wanted nothing more than to disappear. I had never seen a robbery in action.

What could I have really done? What if he approached my community mate? I only felt the sweat profusely leaving the pores from my hands onto my knees and shorts as these thoughts passed through my mind. Seeing what I believed to be a casual Jason Bourne-esque robbery on the bus, I only wanted to get back to Andahuaylillas. I struggled thinking about how I would travel the rest of my time in Lima. My community mate and I still had a whole 12 days in the city, and I wanted nothing more than to leave after our migrations process was over. I was never quite at ease during the rest of the trip after that moment but had to pull it together for migrations.

The next few days were spent drawing out maps to the tramites and customs office about an hour walk away. What we expected would be a process that would take a few trips and days was over in a matter of three hours. We left the Inmaculada early ordering an Uber from inside the Inmaculada to take us to the interpol and customs office. We thought we had arrived early enough but there was a long line of others waiting to be let through. One thing to note is that Peruvian lines can be complicated and generally disorganized, but we didn’t know that at the time. With a great wave and influx of Venezuelan refugees, things were backed up for everyone who may have just wanted to renew their licenses, ID’s and file any other paperwork. I was growing nervous after seeing other folks in line pulling out the same sheets of paper that looked completely different than ours. I thought that we had forgotten something back in Andahuaylillas and our trip would be for nothing!

When we finally reached the front of the line, an employee asked me where my papers were, and he noticed that my community mate and I had United States passports. He then loudly exclaimed “Oh you’re AMERICANS?! Why didn’t you come up front and say so?!” and then he took us inside. As we walked past several offices and groups of people, we were told that we had waited in the Venezuelan line and we would be tended to shortly. The process afterwards was clear and simple. We were fingerprinted, had our teeth checked and signed a few documents. Within a few hours we were out of the interpol offices and I was to check up on my religious carnet in a few weeks back home in Cusco. It seemed like an easy process for us but there were many Venezuelans still in lines and I wondered how long they would be there.

For those who may not know, Venezuela is going through an economic, political and humanitarian crisis. The “President” Nicolás Maduro has allowed for much corruption to go unchecked for years, leaving many to flee the country so that they can provide for themselves and their families. Many Venezuelans seek refuge in nearby countries such as Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia and Peru. Many of the street and bus vendors in Peru today are Venezuelans hoping to make some money to meet up with family in other countries, or to simply feed themselves for the day. It is both sad and amazing to see the resiliency and positivity of many Venezuelans who are grateful for every sale and donation.

During my trip with the tourist bus company PeruHop, I met a Venezuelan named Luis in Paracas who was working in a hostel we stayed at. He fled the country as things were starting to get violent and desperate and he told me how grateful he was to find employment and a place to stay. Most of Luis’ friends and family weren’t so lucky. Oftentimes, even if they managed to leave Venezuela, they struggled finding consistent employment.

The sentiment and tensions that some of the Limeñans had towards the newly immigrated Venezuelans weren’t helpful during the mass migration. During mass at the Inmaculada, some Catholics grumbled about parables or readings that welcomed the stranger and foreigner. This crisis has been going on since Hugo Chavez’ presidency in 2010. It has been nearly a decade and the issues have yet to be resolved. The distaste and disapproval of their migration seemed ironic to me because just a few decades prior, Venezuela had opened its borders to receive Peruvians. I suppose it surprised me to witness a distaste of migrants and refugees in another country. These issues are present everywhere I suppose.

Why am I here?

This question of “Why am I here?” came up often during my time in Lima. After our migrations experience took only a mere 3 hours to accomplish, I wondered what we were going to be doing for the next 12 days. My community mate and I decided to spend a few days on the safe and touristy bus company called PeruHop. It took us to the beach town of Paracas, near the Ballestas Islands or better known as “The Galapagos of Peru.” We also stayed in Huacachina and the area of Ica, home of the largest desert oasis where spent an afternoon looking at the sunset after sandbuggying. This was definitely an experience that I would normally enjoy but given the reason I had come to Peru in the first place, seemed to contradict the JVC value of simple living and solidarity with the people we served.

This was a difficult discernment process because it wasn’t a decision that affected solely myself, but my other community mate as well. I had not been accustomed to living a life of much travel, vacation and privilege before. As some of you may know, I was raised with my brother by a single mother who had sacrificed much to ensure that we were provided with the necessities. Here and there money would be saved up to take a trip to the free Knoebels family park or on the rare occasion, to Dorney Park. Time off and vacationing wasn’t the norm for me, and it was difficult to discuss with my JV community mate since our upbringings were starkly different. I constantly had to ask myself, “Is this really simple living? Why am I spending more than 3 months’ worth of stipend for a trip that most of the people in the Quispicanchi region will never experience? Am I doing this because I want to or to appease the community?” Questions like these surged constantly and left me feeling uneasy and resentful.

I understand that I have many differences with others, but I struggled to find a balance between our different gustos (tastes) and interests during our time in Lima. It was a particular challenge being just one on one with that person, but I (eventually) realized that I was at odds with my community mate because we are different people. I understood the saying “You learn a lot about yourself and others when you travel with them.” It was certainly an intense way of experiencing this saying as it was two people.

I have found that this whole arranged marriage part of the Jesuit Volunteer experience was difficult because well… it’s arranged! In my life, especially leading up to my departure, I tried spending most of my time and energy with the people I cared for the most. I had no problem leaving an event or kindly declining invitations to spend time with acquaintances. I simply did not have the time to casually be wasting time, or at least that was how I bluntly rationalized that decision. I spent time with the individuals who I would consider true friends, the people that gave me so much life and added value to me as a person. I believe that I may have brought a bit too much of that no-acquaintance attitude into Peru. Naturally, I didn’t realize this completely on my own. I had the help of some Jesuit apartment mates for two weeks at the Inmaculada.

Bohemian Rhapsody

Contrary to my earlier descriptions, not all from my trip was a negative experience. I had a wonderful time within the walls of the Inmaculada. With it being the start of the “summer vacation,” the colegio was empty and quiet. The only sounds came from construction, much like the University of Scranton during the summer. Life was still going on, but at a much slower pace. Any other noises would come from the aforementioned Zoo, but mostly from the bird exhibit. Macaws and Peacocks would constantly shriek and call out throughout the days and late in the evening. I never quite grew accustomed to those sounds because they were always foreign and unexpected in the super city.

The time I would spend in the Inmaculada before and after exploring the city with my community mate was a time to order my life and for calm reflection. This was both good and bad because I would have a lot of time on my hands to think about why I am here, which was a frustrating question to ask. I felt that I was just wasting my time and struggled to understand what this time in Lima really meant. I was at odds with my community mate on how to navigate the city. I struggled with the value of simple living after paying for three months’ worth of stipend for PeruHop. I wanted to start working and although I recognized that I would (eventually) appreciate my time adjusting into Peruvian life, but that didn’t make going through it any easier. Interior conflict and resentment was a brewin’ and what I needed was some spiritual direction.

I found that during those times I would write and converse with the Jesuit brothers and priests who stayed in the Inmaculada to reorient myself. I discovered much life and joy within the Jesuit milieu in the mornings around the dining room. It was a time that I would chat with my new source of inspiration and passion for food, Olga. I would always cook an egg in the kitchen so that I could preview what was to come for lunch and hear about her life in Venezuela. I also noticed the routines and particularities of some of the Jesuits. One Jesuit would always have a fruit, perhaps a granadia or a sliced apple, while reading the paper. Another would always ask Olga for an over easy egg. As she would make his egg, he would toast a slice of bread, spread butter and pour olive oil, made from the Inmaculada’s own olive trees, onto his toast. Quite a unique way to do breakfast, but my community mate learned another way to spread butter!

Everyone had a routine and I realized that it was something that I longed for myself. I began asking them about their lives and roles in Lima. Some Jesuits were simply passing through, while others were more permanent residents working within the schools in the area. I really enjoyed my time with the director of the Inmaculada, Father Oscar. He was the parish priest who originally brought JVC to Andahuaylillas. I also enjoyed speaking with Monsignor Alfredo Vizcarra, the bishop in Jaen. His story was particularly interesting because he was sent to work in Chad, where he founded 17 Fe y Alegria schools. He had no particular desire or interest to go to Chad, but that is where he was sent, and he was able to make a difference there. Monsignor Vizcarra told me that although his mission had many successes, the journey was not without any challenges or failures. In that moment, I related to this because I hadn’t clicked particularly with any of my community mates. Perhaps I wasn’t as open to the experience to learn and grow within the JV community as I had once thought…

“Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music is her longing for love…”

This was an experience of God; a chord was faintly being played that I recognized, something I could hum along to. The initial feelings that I had when I was called to enter this JV experience resurfaced and I felt renewed to be challenged as a person to grow for and with others. The sound that beckoned me brought with it much excitement and fear. It was a call to be more able to find God in all things. In that conversation with Alfredo, I had also asked him about his motivations for joining the Jesuits. He told me that he was called early on in life, but with a well-maintained prayer life and dialogue with God, he found solace as he left his studies of law for the Jesuits.

As he continued to speak, I questioned and began revisiting my faith life and relationship to God. Was what I had only a technical or academic sense of faith? Do I really believe that I am a Catholic? Can I say confidently that I own my faith, that I have a relationship and prayer life with God? I realized that the answer wasn’t clear just yet. Up until that point I realized that I didn’t have a defined and clear relationship with God. I don’t know if anyone ever does reach a constant state of nirvana, but I felt that perhaps I wasn’t even trying. I merely appreciated what the Catholic faith life had added to my life. Sunday masses helped provide an orientation for my life one week at a time. Ignatian Spirituality appealed to me because of its intellectual approach to faith and life. It was as if I was stuck with only talking about Faith, God and sharing stories and reflections of my life without ever being clear that God was at the center of it all.

“At the gate of my heart…is her longing for love…longing, longing to be invited in…”

I didn’t believe in the faith with all my heart. I saw its goodness and potential, but I was not ready to accept it. This was the challenge for which I felt called to face during my time here in Peru. It was also a call to see God in other people as well. I realized something surprising about myself during this reflective period. I had been used to taking on the responsible, big brother role within my family and I was beginning to show some of that with my community mate at times. I had come into this volunteer experience with expectations and desires for what I wanted a Jesuit volunteer to be. Naturally, when those expectations weren’t met, I was going to be inevitably frustrated. I had not given myself or my community mate the space to discover this new world and chapter in our lives. It wasn’t fair of me to do that, and it is something that I have slowly been improving on.

My conversations with the Jesuits and my brief experiences of prayer after that night gave me something more focused to work on; To be truly open to witnessing and hearing God’s call to not only love others, but to allow myself to accept the ways in which others want to love me. I hope that with time and effort, I can continue to explore and renew the commitment to a healthy and holistic relationship with God. To nurture a relationship with the God that is always there, the God that is always beckoning us to let Him in, even when and where we least expect it.

“Is this the real life? Is this just Fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the sky and see...”

Gypsy Music (Or what I call “God’s Bohemian Rhapsody”)

“God is a gypsy who plays her violin

At the gate of my heart.

Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music

is her longing for love.

She plays her rhapsody

Until the tears come… longing, longing to be invited in.”

- Sr. Lou Ella Hickman

A group of international PeruHop friends after winning Trivia Pictured (Left to Right): Jenz (Our Danish sugar daddy who paid for our drinks) Jary (Holland Native who came for Peru’s international car derby Dakar, Also loves Chipotle more than anyone I know even though he’s only been there once), Jack (An Australian student just traveling and balling on a budget) Me (Inhaling to look decent in the apparently medium sized shirt) Phyllis (My community mate who killed the celebrity part of Trivia) Margerite (German free spirit who was such a kind soul)

The view from the Olive Cerro at the Inmaculada. It was cloudy but a spectacular view nonetheless

Links to Photos:

Lima: https://photos.app.goo.gl/HnVHCALVR6naKB7s6

PeruHop Adventures: https://photos.app.goo.gl/rpkFB8eWsf677aUB8

#JVC Peru IgotroadsinLima

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fieldworkterm2017 · 8 years ago

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Hello part-of-the-world-connected-via-underseas-cables, Today I am writing a little more contemplatively and with less certainty about what I am describing. Jorja asked about the experience of transitioning to our new space? What a question for this week as I think about connectivity; declared intent and undeclared effect; and the personal experience along side the expectations of other entities! For a provoking (but dense and long anthropological) read about this kind of stuff at the scale of infrastructure, see 'Extrastatecraft' by Keller Easterling which I've been talking about to anyone who might listen because there's /so much there/. I’ve been thinking about how visiting Sierra Leone once before, somewhat prepared me to make an adjustment, but of course the adjustment itself is an entirely new thing both because the circumstances I’m here under are entirely different, and also because I’m a different person than I was five years ago. In 2011, I was here as a 3rd term sophomore in high school, tagging after a group of U.S. professors meeting with S.L. professors; we traveled across the country, but the time we spent interacting was concentrated on two university campuses, which as with Bennington College and it’s town, or Vermont as a whole, are made of very different communities. And this time in S.L, I’m spending time, as many people do over FWT, living again in an open town community rather than the bubble of a campus. I’m experiencing political climates, walking to my work, worrying about my laundry or how to make friends and form working relationships with the people around me, and of course reflecting on how all of this fits into my education. No matter when or where I go, it’s important to engage in those questions of connectivity, intent and impact, personal experience and others’ expectations. It no longer feels like it’s enough to have an experience and learn something. What I’ve gotten from the people at Bennington is that these questions are as important as the work itself because without asking them, my work may be thoughtless. As for connectivity, I’m focused on two things. First, I’ve been thinking a lot about how to communicate clearly with people at home whom I know and love when it’s so difficult because of infrastructure. Second, I’m putting a lot of energy into learning the languages and ways of speaking here, as well as implicit cultural ways of communicating. I need to be able to communicate clearly and meet people halfway, as it were, without asking them to translate their interactions with me into a white americanized culture which I have seen people do with me and three others from the U.S. on this trip. I know that I’m making progress in this respect, but I’m not sure to what extent; and of the two people whom I know I could ask, I don’t think they would really understand what I was asking. But it’s a question I’ll ask in the next week or ten days because I’m also trying to figure out what the impact is of having a young white woman working here for the organization. I know that there are many expectations for me given that I’m from the US (about how wealthy I must be and how well-educated I must be, but also about how independent I should be, or not be). Those have been easiest to read in situations like walking through two different neighborhoods to get to work and when I spend time with my host family. But I’ve had more difficulty reading the expectations for me from the various men we’ve been interacting with on official business, whether they are government ministers and engineers, teachers, or masons and carpenters. I got this FWT job by contacting the founder of the organization and explaining first what FWT is, and second how the description of the organization’s work in Kabala mirrors the values I aspire to in my own work at Bennington and how I wanted to be involved in some of their development projects if they could use me. I knew of course that in coming I would be putting myself in a position of unknown and unfamiliar, maybe unexamined, power systems both with people here and at home. The undue deference and respect that I receive I try to fight by learning as much as possible so that I can explain that I defer to someone else’s better knowledge and intuition, or that I’m happy to eat all the same dishes that my host family would eat if I weren’t there and that I’ve enjoyed all my meals. What I’ve had more difficulty adjusting to and understanding the full meaning of is the way that my color, gender and age are something of a spectacle. And when I’ve tried to raise these questions about race and gender and religion which are such a focus right now in the States, especially as Trump is inaugurated, I get what I guess I’d describe as a lack of response despite the fact that I also see and hear a lot of conversation about girls in school and work, teen pregnancies, differences between tribes or chiefdoms, corruption in the government that parallel the conversations at home. So maybe there is a critical engagement with social difference in universities and colleges at home that hasn’t spread to Sierra Leone, or else the way that Americans are having these conversations doesn’t make sense for this country and culture. I’m not sure, so I’ll sign off to continue my work and contemplation. Love, Lauren P.S. Martin Luther King Jr. Day of course wasn't celebrated here but I'm glad to be connected to people from the U.S. who do celebrate his spirit and the spirit of many others fighting oppression in so many forms, especially as Trump and all he’s associated with takes office.

#laurenbrady #fwt2017

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fortheheavenssake · 5 years ago

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PG MM Anon Interpretation Collection - 18

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

115: Nov 14

MM ANON …… MAD-ISON AV. Re-Sunshine Sucks…… a tabloid too far…… LA thanksgiving? …… homeless shelter thanksgiving?……Royal Family thanksgiving?…… professional lie juggler …… $h!t scared of loosing tax millions …… HMTQ drops in 🤣🤣🤣🤣…… MM drops out…… “ it’s not rocket science Harry dear boy, she’s a s****!!…… “ but I love her” … “Really!!, sit down and watch this” …… “ now!! convinced!!”…… “ ones judgment is sometimes compromised Harry” …… “ But, But ,But …… “No ifs, no Butts. … just act royal

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜 l hope you’re well🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 14/2019 0855 hrs CST, Riddle #115

MAD-ISON AV. Re-Sunshine Sucks

Madison Avenue in NYC is Ad-is on Avenue🤣🤣😂. Every advertising firm, PR Firm etc etc has offices along that avenue . On madam weekend trip to see SW lose to our young Canadian sensation Bianca Andreescu !! Was that not beyond the pale exciting!! Madam’s PR Firm, one of them is SS Sunshine Sachs. Well everything they have done since they came on board, so to speak, seems to backfire, contradict previous information madam has shared in interviews or other PR or news reporting from royal reporters or her “besties” or OS. They basically ‘suck’ at their job. Suck, pardon the horrible pun🤣😂, is really a slang term meaning they are doing a lousy, terrible, job.

MAD-ISON, interesting upper caps and hyphenated. Obviously madam must be mad as in angry 😤 but has she gone mad, as in psychologically?? ISON, last four letters of Archie’s second name Harrison. I do frequently wonder, given the alleged extremely severe narcissistic personality disorder she exhibits, it’s Axis II in the DSM multi axial system of diagnosing mental illness, the actual book is the Diagnostic Statistical Manual. I think the U.K. must have something very similar.It’s the standard by which mental illnesses are diagnosed, it lists the criteria for making a diagnosis. Axis l is the primary mental illness ie depression, Axis ll are the personality disorders, there are more several more levels but that’s all l need to tell you now. Getting to my point, l think at some point she allegedly has diagnoses along some of Axis l and Axis lll, depression, substance abuse, eating disorder. I hope l am not confusing you too much. I worked as a mental health clinician for 20+ years. This leads me to the uppercase MAD, mad is a word often use by laymen, regular not professional mental health workers, to refer to someone with mental illness. Phew, l hope l didn’t confuse you, but you see, l eventually get to my point, but l always think explanation and background information is so important to enable me to put things in context for you all.

a tabloid too far

The tabloids and papers have been following closely yesterday the back and forth one upsmanship, of the PR put out and then BP woukd respond affirming it and than madam didn’t want it she was playing games via SS PR articles. Which one is going to LIFTOFF first. They will release too much information?? More than is meant to? Or is madams PR going to release too much private information.?

LA thanksgiving? …… homeless shelter thanksgiving?……Royal Family thanksgiving?

The Thanksgiving holiday takes place in October in Canada, but in America, it’s very near Christmas, at the end of November. I always wondered why they put two big holidays so close together. It’s a big dinner turkey usually, with dressing, pumpkin pie and a whole table full of options!

So the PR yesterday was back and forth, are the Sussexes spending the holiday in L.A. , then BP PR said yes, Well for some reason which l will get into later, madam does not really want to go to America. So her PR put out the plan that she would spend part of the day, wait for it, deep breaths now🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂, being a fauxmanitarian by helping serve turkey and pumpkin pie at a homeless shelter near Frogmore Cottage. Are there homeless shelters for millionaires and royals? Turkey and pumpkin pie, on a holiday that doesn’t exist in her new home country that she soooo longed to live in. I have to digress, l have friends in Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿, one year, one came for a visit over thanksgiving week. My godmother made a huge dinner with my friends here and so my visiting friend could meet them and experience a Canadian Thanksgiving. She had NEVER EVER EVEN HEARD OF PUMPKIN pie or pumpkin muffins, l clearly remember sending her off at the airport with her suitcase loaded with cans of pumpkin purée 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. So l am not certain about England but l do know one of my other friends was from South London , living in Scotland working offshore, he had never had pumpkin pie either. Anyhow, serving unfamiliar food to the homeless, they need comfort food they are familiar with. MADAM IS WORKING HARD TO AMERICANIZE THE ROYAL FAMILY !!! No disrespect to our American friends, but just imagine the other way around? So so disrespectful of The Monarchy!

professional lie juggler

Madam, and l believe as do many, that her ‘family’ are working in tandem, in this plot allegedly. There is by now such a convoluted web of conflicting information about EVERYTHING about her. Every little detail, missing years, age, relationships, how they met etc etc etc. She is juggling all these stories and using different PR firms who don’t know what story has been printed or told elsewhere or previously it’s just a big mash-up of conflicting information, some call an alleged pattern of lies. The metaphor of a juggler is perfect. A juggler is someone who throws things up in the air and catches them, usually multiple items like balls, or plates etc. Well, picture madam standing astride, as royal ladies do, NOT🤣🤣🤣😂, juggling all her ‘stories’ in the air, ever increasing number of them conflicted, well eventually she started dropping them, it’s too much to juggle and people have been calling out the inconsistencies, some call lies.

$h!t scared of loosing tax millions

Here is where l told you earlier in my interpretation that l would explain. America is one of, l think two countries, maybe a few more, that when it’s citizens live and work out of country, they still have to file American tax forms and pay taxes to the IRS, Internal Revenue Service, the tax part of America’s government. One also would have to pay taxes on any bits received, income of the spouse and their assets come into play as well but we are just dealing with madam here..

Now just think of the $$$£££££€€€€€ she has made merching, wedding gifts, paid appearances and goodness know how else she has earned money. I have postulated this repeatedly in previous riddles. I think she does not want to go back to America because she has not done allegedly any tax forms since she has been in the U.K. and owes millions of back taxes!! Just think, her wedding dress allegedly cost @£250,000!! What would be the tax on that. And on and on. Put all the alleged stories/lies/feauxmegnancy aside, she is allegedly in a world of hurt facing when it comes to the taxes she owes her own country’s government. The country she is trying to turn the royals into, she /her PR call it ‘ modernizing the monarchy’. GIVE ME A BREAK!!!! Our Monarchy has existed over a thousand years and consistently evolves to adapt!

HMTQ drops in 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I read this AGAIN this mornings paper, HMTQ DOESN’T DROP IN REPEATEDLY OR AT ALL, YOU GO TO HER IF INVITED! END OF! FULL STOP!!! HMTQ spends the week at BP, unless attending appearances elsewhere. On weekends, she goes to Windsor Castle, nearer to PP at his ‘farm’. She likes to relax on weekends, just Monday we saw her riding this massive horse, was marvellous to see! So madam ALLEGEDLY has been living at FC with H!!M🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. So after her busy week NIT AT WC BUT AT BP, HMTQ”pops in regularly” on her weekends??? This is outrageous, 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬absolutely outrageous!!! She is the reigning MONARCH, PEOPLE GO TO HER!!

MM drops out

Well the idea has been floated around about madam running fir political office in America. Several articles l have read list the criteria to be able to do that and she does not meet the criteria, l cannot recall the minutiae of it. But sud no more such stories. Her PR is engaged in a game of chess with BP, when her PR cannot play checkers! I know l have said that BRF it it’s so true!!

She also dropped out, according to her PR yesterday but it’s like weather, wait a minute, it could change🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Suddenly she dropped out of the idea of going to L.A. for the holidays, now it’s at “an undisclosed location “ oooo everything is soooo secret.

“ it’s not rocket science Harry dear boy, she’s a s****!!…… “ but I love her” … “Really!!, sit down and watch this” …… “ now!! convinced!!”…

When madam first came on the scene to Harry, she allegedly knew everything about him and she played him like a fiddle, manipulated him seven ways from Sunday. Her backers had been allegedly working on this plan for years! He had blinders on, anyone who has had an experience like this, you’re being manipulated but you think it’s love, l know l had a relationship like that, l was in too deep when l realized. So, DM has a dossier, the Royal reports also. I am certain, why HMTQ called LG to help. They gathered information on madam.

I see this going like this, in very early days, Harry released the statement after madam told him she was frightened etc. The information was gathered and shared with HMTQ, PP,PC

and PW. They had Harry come to a sitting room equipped with a large HD screen. Harry was besotted and they were desperately trying to get him to see through the alleged lies and manipulations but he was besotted.

I do believe the first line here is PP bluntly telling Harry about madams morals or alleged lack thereof.Fire is crackling, remember what time of year this was, Harry staring straight into the fire 🔥, the other most desperately trying to bring him to reality of what had happened. He was unconvinced. They had to shock him back to reality . They played the tape, in HD on a 70 inch screen, madam allegedly performing acts so vile that most of us had never heard of them or the urban dictionary and it’s terms that are now in our brains. Imagine, just imagine, what went through Harry’s mind and emotions, utter and complete shock, devastation feeling filthy for having been with her intimately and feeling incredibly angry at being not only used by her allegedly, but used as an in to attack the a Monarchy. IMAGINE HIS RAGE!! So that was the moment, he vowed to do anything and everything necessary to seek justice for HMTQ, his grandmother. I picture him weeping, his head on her lap, him on the floor in front of her, so broken and used. He was convinced!

“ ones judgment is sometimes compromised Harry”

Reassurances were quick, his family loves and adores him, and wanted to protect him, yet an invasion took place. None of them saw it coming or knew who or what sort of individual they were dealing with and alleged backers who allegedly planned this assault. It’s true, we all have times when our heart rules when our head should, we make mistakes. But it’s different when you are a Prince, grandson if the ruling Monarch and the target point to invasion, allegedly. Oh dear Harry, how l have ached for your pain, and prayed for you. Yes, l believe in you and the role you are playing and continuing to play to seek justice ⚖️ and truth!

“ But, But ,But …… “No ifs, no Butts. … just act royal

Instructions for a reluctant madam! Surely this is not the NATO banquet! Being told to act royal despite her protests and uncertainty. BUTTS, is this a reference to video, photos, or the way madam dresses, keep her butt coverage. Or is it cigarette butts?

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦1035 hrs CST

PHEW that was a tough long riddle MM ANON and now l hear you sent another, keep me on my toes

Thank you so much dear PG….interesting that we are getting the happenings from the beginning……again confirming Harry being trapped….great job!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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116: Nov 14

MM ANON ………… surreptitiously, “lift off”. …… who dares,bins…… 🎄it’s a wonderful strife🎄…… failure is not a-doption……Interstellar McCartney………me invito tactiost…… an act of con-passion…… “ therapy, the humanitarian solution Harry”. …… “serious emotional and mental disorders” …… it’s not her fault, she seems to have been born that way” ……… “ yes!! Section 8. … “ it’s your call!! “.

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

Things must be pretty serious with two riddles and the content. I am so thankful for my 20+ years working in adult mental health services!

November 14/2019 1035 hrs CST

Riddle #116 Riddle #2 today

surreptitiously, “lift off”

In a riddle previously, today was meant to be LIFTOFF day, the media was meant to have freedom to publish any and all information not yet published or respectfully of HMTQ,to not publish alleged information of a damning vulgar nature allegedly regarding madam. Something changed, to use your words MM ANON, there is a spanner in the mix!

What does surreptitiously mean and what’s it doing here. It simply means doing something in a manner or way that attempts to avoid notice or attention, or done secretively.

So some information may come out, but it will not be splashed on headlines. It will quietly appear. So kids we need to check twitters, instagrams, every social media place, newspapers online etc etc etc. Because there are now serious holes in the boat, and it is taking on water rapidly, so to speak and information will start to ‘leak’!

who dares,bins…

It’s like who blinks first in a no blink contest. Which media dares to first LIFTOFF or publish, bins, goes in the garbage. Or is it meaning to publish garbage. Sorry kinds my brain has been working rapid fire going on four hours here!!! So the editors are now at a crossroads, they had been told today was LIFTOFF! But then delayed, are some going to ignore the delay and publish or after waiting almost two years are they just going to dump the files in the bin, aka the trash can?

🎄it’s a wonderful strife🎄

One of my three favourite Christmas films! Jimmy Stewart, It’s a Wonderful Life! The others being Christmas in Connecticut and White Christmas!! Here we have strife and Christmas trees. Strife is defined as, an angry or bitter disagreement over fundamental issues or conflict So we are then to anticipate a lot of strife, or rather difficulty, tension, over where do they spend Christmas, with which family, or where. Everyone struggles with that, most people alternate Christmases, one year with one side, the next year the other side of the family. Madam only has her mum, which doesn’t appear particularly close at all. Oh HMTQ, l feel your pain Ma’am🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻.

failure is not a-doption

The usual phrase is failure is not an option, here we have a-doption, a for Archie. This must be AMW, the discussion if he should be adopted by the alleged surrogate or other parents. Certainly madam does not appear capable or stable enough to parent an infant or any child really. I am looking at the sentence structure. Failure is NOT adopting, so success would be adoption, am l reading that correctly? I hope you all understand, the first riddle was so long and such a bear and now another, phew! I am reading, rather interpreting this as, the best successful thing, the best life for AMW , is to be adopted formally by the surrogate mother or other parents, allegedly. He is not Harry’s son, and madam is not capable, plus she may, allegedly, have some serious legal issues and allegedly some vey serious mental health issues as l struggled so hard to explain in layman’s terms in riddle #115, riddle#1 of today.

Interstellar McCartney

Yes poor Stella, NOT! Stella McCartney, Paul’s daughter, is a fashion designer, although millions would disagree and don’t like her designs. She has dug herself a right hole so she has. Instagramweeting that madam was wearing her designs on RS on the Siberian balcony. The outcry of rage from the public on social media has been stellar!! PUN INTENDED🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Madam we know merches , all the time. People are outraged at SM talking about fashion and £££££€€€€$$$ when the focus SHOULD have been on the fallen, the veterans , those with injuries etc etc . Talk about being tone deaf!!

me invito tactiost

One is encouraged to take things gently, with tact and a calm manner. I marvel at this, after all they have been attacked with, the chaos and turmoil of the last few years, the absolute compassion they have for madam has moved me to tears. Herein lies the difference between good and evil. HMTQ is chosen and anointed by Holy water from the river Jordan upon Coronation and is the head of the a church if England. The Christian compassion they appear to be taking towards dealing with madam is truly God’s Hands at work. Taking a gentle, encouraging, tactful way to move forward.

an act of con-passion

Normally it’s an act of compassion, here MM ANON has written con-passion. We have discussed the whole origin of the word con, confidence game. You gain someone’s trust and then your fleece them for everything they have, money etc. This is madams fauxmanitarian PR about her serving turkey and pumpkin pie, that’s what it said in the newspaper, that was the menu. Serving it at a homeless shelter near FC. Spending part of Thanksgiving day there. As in riddle one, it’s not a holiday in England etc etc, please read riddle #115 #1 of today’s two, l hope there’s not more than two🤣🤣😫😫😫😫 my hands are killing me! Her PR putting this out is just more fluff and drivel, alleged con, lies etc.allegedly.

“ therapy, the humanitarian solution Harry”. “serious emotional and mental disorders” …… it’s not her fault, she seems to have been born that way” ……… “ yes!! Section 8. … “ it’s your call!! “.

In Canada each province has a Mental Health Act, which outlines in great detail protocols on psychiatric hospitalization and treatment. The most common is involuntary status, or a 72 hour hold. A GP can form someone, which means they fill out a specific form for GP’s to mandate the individual be examined by a psychiatrist, or a family member can go to the magistrate and get the paperwork. It’s a lot to make sure the correct assessment, treatment etc is provided.

In the U.K., Section 8 defines the authority of the guardian, as empowered under Section 7 of the Act. These are: being able to require the patient to live at a specified place. being able to require the patient to attend places for treatment, occupation, training or education.

Here we have an intense conversation with all the same individuals l described in the earlier riddle when Harry was shown the video. They are discussing madams mental health issues very very compassionately. Saying she was born this way , needs help, therapy. They are just trying to sort out what’s best to help her. As her husband, under the Act, he is her husband/guardian and has authority to compel certain things regarding her mental health status. This is sounding extreme serious hospitalization. However, l can tell you this, people with PD, personality disorders , don’t do well with long term hospitalization. They learn about the staff and manipulated them, it’s called staff splitting or simply splitting. They can cause an unbelievable amount of chaos and they enjoy that. Best is hospitalization for crisis only and then long term therapy. I am talking years of therapy and THATS ONLY IF THEY HAVE INSIGHT AND AGREE TO IT! Otherwise it’s just a game and someone else they can mess with.

Very serious discussion indeed, and at the end if the day, it’s Harry’s decision, or your call,as stated in the riddle. I wonder too if this conversation also included legal attendance and a psychiatrist as well. Folks this is no laughing matter. This is a seriously disturbed individual who should never have been able to get in. Evil wow that’s very scary.

Might l say, the Christian, compassionate approach towards helping madam get help and treatment is a marvel. But it’s not really, because this is exactly who HMTQ is! A strong, loving, intelligent, compassionate woman of faith. God bless you Ma’am, l am so deeply moved.

November 14/2019 1150 hrs CST

Thank you dear PG..two riddles back to back and you kept going! We so appreciate this, and your loyalty to HM to get this out there! Thank you so very much! We definitely want her to be mentally stabilized…..legal case pending, we want justice to treat her “fairly”…….🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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117: Nov 17

MM anon .......... “wash spin repeat”......... no hole barred🤣🤣🤣......... reflect,deflect,infect...... DM is armed and dangerous...... court jester 🎭......... the light is Fading...... nice hypocrisy you’re wearing...... hunger-Ian...... GCHQ on the QT......... I’m not a row boat...... “they will unleash the dossier from hell”...... complete disclosure......... in case of emergency, pull handle. ...... sorry you’re out of time......... 🎼 …”rescue me”…🎼.

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 15/2019, 1620 hrs CST, Riddle #117

“wash spin repeat”

The shampoo cycle, they print that on the bottle so you use more and subsequently have to repurchase it more often, it’s a OR instructional ploy! Well we have seen that in spades this week. Madams PR puts out something BP confirms it, she panics and than her PR changes and BP PR responds in kind. It’s absolutely continued BRILLIANT strategy by the BRF and LG!

no hole barred🤣🤣🤣

Well it’s usually no HOLDS barred. For madam, I am thinking yachting, videos etc, any and all holes were on offer for the right price. I am sorry this is so offensive, but it will become far more descriptive and disgusting in court!

reflect,deflect,infect

Yep PR tactics, deny, deny, deny. When that fails you reflect it to something else like PA, deflect, deny, blame someone else and the results are complete infection. It has become known as the Markle effect or you have been Markled ! She wanted fame, well she now has her name in everyday vernacular!!

DM is armed and dangerous

Armed and dangerous, that usually is some criminal on the loose that police are looking for. Here we have DM a and d. Again to repeat myself, they have sat on this massive dossier on madam for two years give or take. She had the chutzpah to sue them, she has unleashed the hounds not on them but ON HERSELF!! Every bit of that dossier will be at play in court and the media likely. Oh this is getting really interesting now. She is bloody corned now, in 12by 6 protective custody. She is still playing PR games. William met with a main backer. She should be afraid, not spending time on PR!!!

court jester 🎭

Madam has fancied herself a serious actress. The entire theatre world gasped when madam was made patron of the British theatre, having never acted on stage professionally. Another master stroke by HMTQ/LG. She is certainly no actress, she is laughed at. When she appears in court she will be laughed at by the public for causing her own undoing for one, the public have many other reasons . Historically a court jester is someone whose clever jokes and stories has had the role of entertaining the Monarch at court, not legal court, but the court that was held when the monarch and all the courtiers gathered daily to spend time.

the light is Fading

Lighthouses help ships navigate coastlines in the dark. Nightlights help little ones and some adults either get to sleep or help find their way at night.The light is oft referred to in spiritual terms. Well it can be hope, the saying it’s always darkest before the dawn, meaning there is hope in the light of day. Her light is fading, Fading so fast that MM ANON uppercase the F.she truly is fighting a very losing battle, she really is cornered and it’s all by her own doing/life choices.

nice hypocrisy you’re wearing hunger-Ian

There has been continued fall- out regarding the Stella M coat madam wired on RS to merch. SM was pounded by the public on social media for posting the merching when the day was ,want to be fir the fallen. Today some investigating report the coat made in Hungary at extremely low wages and by people desperately trying to eke out a living. Not exact funds but £15 wages, £50 material coat price around £1500. Quite the markup. This is going to have major repercussions for SM brand! Another person feeling the MArkle effect!

GCHQ on the QT

Prince William, we know awhile back spent a week with MI5. It sounds like these visits have continued and he is directly involved with how all things are progressing. This must have been an extraordinary meeting between HRS and himself. No holds barred. I am extremely confident that he told her he knew EXACTLY what she and the other backers were up to, they have proof and very likely they have quite the information on BC related to JE in building a defence for PA! Oh l wish l could have been a fly on the wall! I know l say that every day but it’s true every day!

I’m not a row boat

Rowboats, often l think of the Titanic or other historical ships that have had horrific events happen, the people that get in the life boat/row boats basically, are the ones that survive. Is madam wanting Harry to be her rowboat/lifeboat? Who is saying this to her while her ship is rapidly sinking and she needs a row boat to rescue her. Perhaps it’s MA or a backer. But l don’t think anything an undo the things that she has chosen to do. Not can anything be done to undo the havoc she has wrought!

“they will unleash the dossier from hell”complete disclosure

Madam signed her own end so to speak, by filing suit against the DM. In court process there is discovery, where evidence is shared. They, the DM, have been sitting on this million £ dossier since before the wedding. All of it, every single bit of filth, coercion, lies, financial issues etc will be revealed in complete disclosure. She had no idea what she was going to unleash when she filed her lawsuit against MOS/DM! I can hardly wait! I hope they air PA interview on the CBC!

in case of emergency, pull handle

You see this on fire alarms 🚨 in various places. Well ,Adam is in the emergency if all emergencies, does she have handy handles left to pull? This diary, shows alleged coercion against the BRF, but what else is in there regarding her backers???

sorry you’re out of time

Madam perhaps has limited phone calls or visitors? As in custodial situations. I am guessing she was on the phone with MA, seeking rescue, or a backer? The custodial agent telling her, phones/visitor time limit is up, she must end the call.

🎼 …”rescue me”…🎼

Great song, rescue me, take me in your arms and rescue me! I am certain madam is pleading for rescue from MA! Or anybody by now. Given her 12 by 6 containment, she has little to do but think. And hope her backers will help her and rescue her🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂. She means nothing, a pawn. This supposed diary might be a worry to backers. Look at what happened with JE, Hence why madam is likely in protective custody for her own safety!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

November 15/2019, 1720 hrs CST

Fascinating! Thank you dear PG, I know you have a pounding headache and because of your loyalty you came through for us and did two! Thank you, we so appreciate it!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜

—————

118: Nov 15

MM ANON ……Ventura Highway …… “ yes, let’s go!!”…… GCHQ, on the QT…… W knows EVERYTHING!!…… PR pops in”🤣🤣……… “ one pops in , Philip”…… archificial pops out, when?……… “ bit of a soft interview “…… tighten security, NOW!!…… “ this ones out the bag , old thing”…… “ I’m looking forward to it Philip, all the little ones”…… “yes , one is a tad hurt”…… A good appointment.…… “ right up Her street”. …… 🎼give yourself a very🎄merry Christmas🎼…… “ Little ones?the service is too long,Philip”.

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

November 15/2019 1725 hrs CST

Riddle#118 and #2 today

MM ANON is this two riddles a day thing permanent? It’s taking me hours, just putting that out there! Guys you have no idea how much l put into this and l am having a bad headache today! I will continue my best efforts out if loyalty to HMTQ

Ventura Highway

Ventura Freeway is a major highway in San Francisco, or runs through it California, America. Also. Ventura Boulevard. No Ventura highway other than a song by America, coincidence? Anyhow the lyrics are all about sunshine, drinking at night, change your name, make up a new self etc. Sounds a bit like madam. Nobody knows much for certain even age, where Doria was etc etc etc.

Ventura Boulevard is like the Malecon. All sorts of shops, people rollerblading, every type of person great for people watching in the sunshine. Also a place where you can get anything and everything!

“ yes, let’s go!!”

Madam wanting to go to California?! I am not certain who is speaking this. Wanting to escape back home but the IRS awaits.

Or is William telling Catherine about California and she would like to go there.

GCHQ, on the QT…… W knows EVERYTHING!!

This was partly in the first riddle, as l proposed here it’s in the second part of clue clue. Of course William knows everything. We have seen the clue leave it to William several times . We know he spent a week at MI5 some time ago and now again at GCHQ but on the QT meaning quiet hush hush definitely not appear on the CC. He was well equipped to meet and deal with HRC!! WHAT A KING HE WILL MAKE!!

PR pops in”🤣🤣……… “ one pops in , Philip” archificial pops out, when?

HMTQ and PP, once again by the fireside, sharing their precious time together, talking over life’s issues. HMTQ, nice cocktail 🍸 in hand, adjusts the volume on the 📺. They are talking about madams OR stating HMTQ “pops in regularly” at FC to see madam and archificual🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. They are having a laugh. PR pops in?🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂They don’t live at FC , never have, the opulent is enjoying the fire and giggling! Oh how l can see it, years of hours together, talking every possible thing, memories of life experiences, they finish one another’s sentences, a long life together well lived and well loved! Joking about the pop sound when madam was fauxmegnant. Joking about just when does archficial pop out when a HRC/EDG or any of her PR claim visits madam and amw. Just , cannot make this stuff up! OH YES YOU CSN SBD MADAM DIES, HER OR DOES,😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣

tighten security, NOW!!

After William met with HRC, he immediately gave this order. Not only General security around the family but around madam who is contained for her own safety, that’s my interpretation! Whatever took place in that conversation alarmed William so, that this order was given!

“ this ones out the bag , old thing”…… “ I’m looking forward to it Philip, all the little ones”…… “yes , one is a tad hurt”

We are back at the fireplace, with HMTQ and PP. They have switch to the music now, soft in the background, refreshed their cocktails. PP is saying something was secret is out if the bag. The phrase letting the cat out of the bag means something fierce that was contained is now out there. Is this regarding PA interview set to air Saturday night?

HMTQ brings the conversation back to Sandringham, Christmas, lamenting the children that will not be there. This year, l believe William and Catherine will be with the Middletons, they alternate years. Is sounding official that Harry, madam and archficial will not be there either. PR can change in a second . HMTQ sharing her feelings are quite hurt. Oh how l would love to just give her a cuddle, respectfully of course!!! She has feelings just like any other woman, mother, wife, great and great granny!

A good appointment.

William, in charge of liaison with MI5 and direct day to day management. The “leave it to a William” that has appeared in riddles several time was indeed a good appointment!

Might this refer to an actual appointment, as in meeting. Then l think this refers to William’s meeting with HRC! All cards laid on the table!

“ right up Her street”.

The phrase right up someone’s alley means that whatever is being done or needing done, this person is well equipped to do it. So here, MM ANON has given us right up Her street” who is Her? Might this refer to legal team they have? Or madam? The information they have is something she is well versed at doing?

🎼give yourself a very🎄merry Christmas🎼

From my ALL TIME FAVOURITE FILM! MEET ME IN ST LOUIS

The song is actually have yourself a merry little Christmas. This sounds like madam will be alone except for protection officers and will have to give terse her own Christmas.

“ Little ones?the service is too long,Philip”.

Oohhh we are back with HMTQ and OO. Attending Christmas services and talking if the children could come. HMTQ replies just too long service for them to sit still. Just a few more year Ma’am and Sir!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

November 15/2019, 1815 hrs CST

Thank you dear PG! 😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

—————-

119:

—————

119: Nov 18

MM ANON ……”too many eyes, it has to be privejet “…… SS , travel agent ……” NO more interviews “ ……” I’ll, give her away!!” …… 🎼”they had style,and well read,MM gave good head,vogue “🎼……… Aotearoa…… DM litigate big guns…… Subpoena demeanour ……… “ocean view,or the hills princess?”…… “ ones posterior is sore” …… “ I warned you old thing”…… “ Bugger them, tomorrow’s chip paper!!”……… “ I want a monkeeeeey!!🦄🐒

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜WELCOME BACK💜💜

Riddle #120

November 18/2019 1400 hrs CST

“too many eyes, it has to be privejet “

There was a rumour or report, yesterday, that allegedly madam had been observed flying out of a small airport in Oxfordshire, near the SoHo farmhouse. I tend not to believe that because up until now, MM ANON has given us the clue 12 X 6 , which l interpreted to be a containment of a sort, either ‘cell’ or a psychiatric facility. However, we have had few days with no riddle, so very possible, in this ever changing world, that circumstances have changed.

Notice she types prive jet NOT private jet! Is that a typo or have a meaning? We know for certain by now, everything means something! Prive , French for private. So has someone gone to 🇫🇷 France??? There is a company with this name also, several actually.

These days, after our massive CSIS security breach, when l read 👀 eyes, in these contexts, it immediately makes me think of Five Eyes . For those who don’t know, the Five Eyes are the U.K. , Canada, New Zealand, Australia and America. It’s a security intelligence alliance. There is plenty online should you wish to educate yourselves further. France is not in the Alliance, this very curious to me.

SS , travel agent

SS, we all know by now but lest you don’t, is SUNSHINE SACHS is a ruthless ‘dark arts’ PR firm, who works for madam, not satisfactorily, but also for almost everyone in her orbit, all these odd famous people that have come out of the woodwork offering support. They are also responsible for the dozens of headlines spreading lies. So was SS her travel agent, booking her private trip to France??

” NO more interviews “

After the disastrous interview although Sunday PA, in the daily mail, said he had told HMTQ it had gone quite well.There has been a ton, or several tons of horrible fallout and commentary led by photos of a sweaty man partying away in the papers on Sunday morning. In the interview he denied ever really partying and said due to PTSD of some sort from the Falklands war he was left unable to perspire, until recently when he had found “ methods to us” and he is now able to. WTH?? HMTQ, PA GET HERE NOW, ROYAL EDICT NO MORE INTERVIEWS, SO LET IT BE WRITTEN, SO LET IT BE OBEYED(sorry l borrowed a scene from the film The Ten Commandments there).

” I’ll, give her away!!”

Usually when a woman is given away, it’s at her wedding. Is this PA talking about Princess Beatrice’s upcoming wedding? There are two ways one could read this sentence, however with the comma, they are discussing this and who should do it maybe Fergie? He speaks, notice I’LL , give her away, with double exclamation marks, emphasis on him or I’ll. PA is asserting his fatherly role despite this horrendous scandal. It’s more than a scandal, it’s potentially legal at best, worst case scenario, you know what that is!

”they had style,and well read,MM gave good head,vogue “🎼………

It was Rita Hayworth gave good face, double entendre. Rita Hayworth, in Gilda is a MUST SEE!! She is so amazingly beautiful, takes ones breath away. She went on and married the Aga Khan, later died of Alzheimer’s l believe. Lots of old Hollywood mentioned in that song. Here we have a reference to madams skills🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Vogue is THE magazine! FRENCH VOGUE WOW!!! Has SS managed to get madam on the front cover of a French a vogue! Hence the prive jet???! Wow wow wow!

Aotearoa

Currently Prince Charles and Camilla, she joined him once he completed his time in a India and her chest cold healed. They visited Australia and once again smoothed things over with the High Commissioner’s wife and staff after madams foul language, verbal abuse and overall rude disrespectful treatment whilst they were there.

Charles and Camilla are now in Aotearoa, the Maori, Indigenous dwellers Maori for New Zealand. They will visit the site of the mosque massacre and complete other engagements on their visit.

DM litigate big guns

When they big out the big guns, it’s not always war, big guns are someone who is really excelled at their job ie Beckham/football. So either side of madam lawsuit against the DM will have attorneys. However madam or her backers are funding her, the DM has deep pockets plus the dossier and a lot of information, much of which we have no idea of. This is going to be very interesting to see if this makes it to court because the DM WILL NOT SETTLE!!! They want this information, all of it out there, she made the worst de by filing this suit!

Subpoena demeanour

A subpoena is an official notice, in paper, that one needs to appear in court. Demeanour is a manner if conducting oneself. So is someone behaving as if a subpoena were imminent or should they be? There are a whole number of individuals this could refer to. I cannot speculate further.

“ocean view,or the hills princess?”

Ha ha ha😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂, l can hear a jail guard or a very cruel psych staff workers jokingly asking her which room/cell she would like and calling her orincess😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣!

“ ones posterior is sore” …… “ I warned you old thing”… “ Bugger them, tomorrow’s chip paper!!”

Here yet again, let’s relax, return to my favourite place, it’s so cozy and warm, TV 📺 is on with , Keeping up Appearances, always good for a laugh and distraction watching Hyacinth henpeck poor Richard🤣🤣😂😂. Cocktails 🍸 arrive, nothing else desired. Fire is stoked, they are left alone. HMTQ and PP again that precious time, HMTQ is complaining, oh no never explain never complain🤣🤣😂😂. She is rather sharing with PP her posterior ie bottom is sore, likely from riding that massive black horse we see her riding so often at Windsor. Gorgeous great beast, l would love to know the name. PP seemingly has little sympathy because he did warn her😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣😂. Tv switch, the news is on, about the horrific comments on PA interview and it being in all the papers. PP then makes the comment. Chip paper, in the U.K., real fish and chips, doesn’t come in a fancy plate, it comes in a conical wrapped newspapers to absorb the grease. In America the next day paper would line the bird cage.

“ I want a monkeeeeey!!🦄🐒

We are fast approaching the biggest day in a child’s year, other than their birthday! CHRISTMAS, Oh how they squirm, search, leave notes, and very subtle, rather NOT SO subtle🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 hints of the litany of things they want from Santa Claus. Here is little Lottie, rather GRH Princess Charlotte , if you please, still clinging onto her unicorn whilst wailing loudly that she now wants to add to her menagerie A MONKEY ,!🤣🤣🤣😂😂🤣 Oh bless!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

November 18/2019 1510 hrs CST

💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻SO GLAD TO BE BACK DOING THESE🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜

—————

120: Nov 19

MM ANON ………GM consults Chobanian…… Sharon,concerns about Forth Bridge. …… Charitable uncoupling ……… a worried sausage …… LG ‘quite confidence …… cogs oiled and ready …… Dark clouds over ninety mile beach …… “it’s a runaway train old boy”…… “PRUNING , autumn or Spring?”……” I’m only the messenger!!”……… W&K ,royalty personified …… “weathering the shower, it’s not a storm old boy”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

Riddle #121 looks exceedingly difficult

November 19/2019

1920 hrs CST

GM consults Chobanian

Ghislaine Maxwelll was at JE side for years, she knows EVERYTHING and has been a part of EVERYTHING! She has now disappeared with sightings reported all over the world. Rumours are rampant that she has had plastic surgery to change her face and even her fingerprints. Dr Susan Chobanian is one the premiere plastic surgeons in Los Angeles. I shall say no more, l don’t want legal trouble!

Sharon,concerns about Forth Bridge.

This is one beautiful bridge in Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 a cantilever bridge over the Firth of Forth. I have a gorgeous photo l took of the Firth of Forth hanging on my living room wall, along with one l took from a Edinburgh Castle looking out over the guns. I have been over it many times from Glenrothes into Edinburgh but it’s a bear in morning and afternoon traffic!!! It is a UNESCO world heritage site. Who is Sharon? Ariel Sharon was the Prime Minister of Israel from March 2001 until April 2006. That is the first name that popped into my head other than a Sharon Osbourne, and that name was not relevant. Sharon has held innumerable positions in his lifetime. Sharon, passed away in 2014. I am just starting with basic information.

Just as there is a plan in place for precisely what will happen upon the death of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II (Operation London Bridge), Operation Forth Bridge dictates what will happen when the Queen’s husband, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, passes. The Duke has been closely involved with the details of the Operation Forth Bridge, just as the Queen has been with Operation London Bridge.

I just do not know how Sharon fits, unless his funeral arrangements were similar. I think l just have to admit Sharon stumps me.

Charitable uncoupling

This is a cute play on words from the phrase conscious uncoupling that a Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow used in the PR statement of separation. This is charitable uncoupling, so a charity is separating? We know the Sussexes have left the Royal Foundation. However last l saw on the Royal family website, in the title it says both of the Sussexes have left, but in the actual,article a Prince Harry’s name remains without hers! Or a couple is separating charitably meaning one gets $$$$$

If that is the case it can be only one couple madam and ‘H’.

a worried sausage

HMTQ is very worried about PP health. This has been his nickname for her. The toll this is taking on both of them has been extremely concerning for quite some time!

LG ‘quite confidence , cogs oiled and ready

In a mechanical deceive the cogs are circular metal devices with grooves, when turning produce motion of the device. However friction creates heat and it can burn out, like the transmission of your car, it needs oil. Sounds like LG has everything greased and confident things are ready to go regarding madam. Pre NATO banquet or Post?? The NATO banquet is December 4/2019. As much as l think HMTQ would not want anymore public scandal before then, l can HARDLY see madam at that banquet! However rumours are madam has left the country , yet fromMM ANON last clue l know is 12 X 6.

Or, God forbid, does the reference Forth Bridge!?!

Dark clouds over ninety mile beach

This absolutely gorgeous world famous for some of the best surfing worldwide is this beautiful piece of a Gods creation is in New Zealand. Currently Prince Charles and Camilla are touring.

Has something occurred there that is bad news. Has Camilla’s chest cold returned? Is it pollution and erosion of this sacred place for surfers and tourism? It’s so hard sometimes in the riddle clues to know what relates to whom.

Have hey received news of PO’s ailing health??🥺🥺🥺🥺

“it’s a runaway train old boy”

PP talking to PA l believe. That hellishly creepy interview where he laughed when JE death was raised, the usage of the word honourable in odd places. Guilty or not, we need facts, etc but the interview did endless damage to him and via osmosis to HMTQ and the Monarchy! So things have sped up and the papers and other media are at it now, more than before because they have his own words on video. The metaphor of a runaway train, similar to the horses loose from the stable, things are moving faster and faster and there is absolutely no controlling of this or any narrative now!!

“PRUNING , autumn or Spring?”

Plants and trees vary, some are best pruned in springtime others are best pruned in autumn. This is all to optimize the health of the plant and maximize its blooms , foliage or fruit production. This is uppercase meaning it’s extremely important pruning. This is a metaphor, for ridding or pruning or a person from a group or famIly even. So this is telling me that they are, despite cogs being ready, madam may be still in play until spring. The Royal family is in a very precarious situation now since the interview, believe it or not, more precarious than before. Madam knows things from her previous years, PA knows things from his previous years of friendship with GM and his association with JE! Some of their knowledge may intersect. The extrication of madam now could blow the bottom of the Monarchy! The word pizza, that PA specifically mentioned in his interview, has a very dark meaning in pedophelia , HRC had pizzagate scandal. I am not explaining, don’t go looking there, trust me, you don’t want this knowledge!!! BUT I FIRMLY BELIEVE PA USED PIZZA AS A MESSAGE TO THISE BACKERS AND THAT GROUP FOR A REASON!!! So l just think they are unsure of the best time to prune, either way, the fallout will be explosive!! Remember HRC via social media was overtly saying she wanted to see madam and hug her. What she got instead was a face to face with Prince William, l am 110% every card needed was laid clear on the table, l am also 110% William still held back some aces!!!

I’m only the messenger!!”

There is a phrase don’t shoot the messenger, it’s when a person brings out bad or negative information and the receiver treats them poorly displacing their anger over the information onto the person who brought it. Someone has brought information which has really upset someone.

W&K ,royalty personified

OH I LOST MY BREATH!!! I do not know how our Catherine does it but each time l see her she looks more gorgeous! At the RVP, Royal Variety Performance, in McQueen, that black lace gown, oh🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 she looked so outstandingly Royal! William handsome as ever. He was born Royal, she married and became royal, but naturally possessed all of the the qualities necessary and beauty beyond compare. Oh how Diana would love her!!!! WE ARE SOOOOOO BLESSED TO HAVE THRM AND THEIR BEAUTIFUL FAMILY!💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

“weathering the shower, it’s not a storm old boy”

Conversation, PP. and maybe LG or a friend in conversation. Ever the strong soldier, he is weathering meaning bearing/coping, feelings generally not talked about by those of his generation and aristocratic life. But putting into perspective this interview and it’s fallout are a shower, little bit of rain, not a storm at all. Imagine all he has seen and experienced at his age! Those individuals are called The Greatest Generation! Tom Brokaw wrote with that as the title. The style of the book is easy to jump from section to section. I HIGHLY recommend it.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦2035 hrs CST

I PRAY I AM WRONG ABOUT THESE CLUES ABOUT PP🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

—————-

////not pg Nov 21

MM ANON …… Hey’ RF!! I’m still not OK…… Daughters dilemma …… FBI delivers legal documents …… canary’s calling …… wittiness projection …… Max-well-on-Her-way-farer…… southern district documents verified …… Kuwaiti waity …… Lottie lustre camera caper…… DOC photo exhibition imminent …… “ I have a request”…… request denied !!…… USA demands archificial …… Northern flights.

Dear Skippy! Here is an MM Anon interpretation, including a lot of explanations to help people but I’m not as good at being concise with these as PG! My best thoughts to her and thanks to MM Anon. There are lots of neat clues where I agree with other anon comments, much credit to them all :) All speculation only.

…… Hey’ RF!! I’m still not OK…… This is MM talking. One story today is that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry feel “isolated” as “no-one from the Royal Family is texting them”. Note that the headline starts with MM, indicating that the story comes from MM PR. It continues to show weak work in my opinion, another sad attempt to stay relevant and play the pity card. But I guess there needs to be a gazillion stories pumped out to keep MM in the public eye during her ‘break’ and for SS to ‘earn’ their pay check. Another wonderful example of irrelevant and idiotic stories is one I saw today that she has a necklace with both PH’s and Darrens star sign symbols… why, just why, oh that’s right, to merch. I note that ‘both pieces are still available online’ according to Harpers Bazar. Good to know.

Daughters dilemma …… FBI delivers legal documents …… Poor PB and PE, they are in a dilemma not of their own making, but of their Dad’s. I wish them very well as they navigate this next chapter. There is talk of PA needing to answer a subpoena to give formal evidence under oath to to US investigation into Epstein. MM Anon has talked about a subpoena as long ago as August so interesting to see it potentially coming into play.

canary’s calling …… I think of ‘sing like a canary’ with this clue. If someone sings like a canary, they tell everything they know about a crime or wrongdoing to the police or authorities. Often this is done to ‘save yourself’, face lesser or no charges in exchange for your information on others. Something tells me that it refers to Ghislane Maxwell but it could be so many if connected to Epstein. MM Anon has referenced a canary singing in the past. At the time I thought it MM related, but in hindsight and rereading the context points more to the Epstein situation. I personally think and hope it is too big of a case for a major player to actually ‘get off’ charges.

wittiness projection …… On first read ‘witness protection’. Some believe JE is in witness protection and is not dead, others that GM is in the witness protection programme. As MM Anon has written it, Wit or Wittiness is is a form of intelligent humour. To have wit is also to be quick thinking, be intelligent. Projection has lots of meanings, the one I choose to go with is the way you project or present yourself, your image to others. Someone is smart and canny about how they are presenting themselves, is this GM quietly cooperating with enquiries, to get protection, to stay in hiding?

Max-well-on-Her-way-farer…… A wayfarer is a person travelling on foot. This clue again talks about GM. I take this as, she is ‘well on her way’, she is gone, undercover and away from the public. She is on foot, not literally, more that she is alone and not travelling in the highlife way she used to.

southern district documents verified …… The Epstein case continues in a way in the Southern District with GM being accused of recruitment for him. Currently there are a huge number of documents, naming 1000’s of people, that she is trying to block from being made public, the next court date to address the unsealing is 5th Dec. Is this saying that whatever/whoever is in these documents is true? As we know assuming truth in any story is a dangerous and damaging game, let’s just hope that justice can be served in an ethical and correct manner.

Kuwaiti waity …… The DOC was called ‘Waity Katy’ before becoming engaged to PW, a little play on this (not very nice) nickname relevant now is that PW has an upcoming solo visit to Kuwait and the DOC will be at home waiting for him with the kids.

Lottie lustre camera caper…… DOC photo exhibition imminent …… The DOC is a keen photographer, has Charlotte inherited this talent, or will we have the treat of more Cambridge kids pictures taken by Catherine? Christmas cards will not be far away now! I think it likely the clue relates to the DOC being set to launch a photography competition, called the Earthshot Prize via the Royal Foundation. It sounds a neat and relevant initiative for the DOC.

“ I have a request”…… request denied !!…… Sorry, not sorry. I don’t care what the request was, it clearly is MM asking for something and not getting it which is entertaining to think of.

USA demands archificial …… I don’t see any stories that the US public are scrambling to see Darren doll, as much as MM would not doubt love this to be the case. The only way MM could drum up some serious publicity in the US would be to play the Darren doll card and appear with him. But would she dare ???? The outcry from the UK when she showed him off in Africa, when they cry for privacy in the country that funds them was huge and just raised more questions about his birth, christening etc. I would be a spectacular second ‘own goal’ to repeat this mistake. My mind happily wanders in the direction of ‘USA demands archifical DNA’ with this clue, wouldn’t it be an interesting turn if a requirement to enter/stay/live/pay tax uncovered the truth about Darren doll. I don’t know enough on the subject to even speculate, just an interesting scenario to consider.

Northern flights. Flashback… In 2017 “Prince Harry ‘has taken girlfriend Meghan Markle to Norway to see the Northern Lights”. Hehe, yeah right Meggy just like you ‘had a date at the museum’, wait wasn’t that an episode of Friends? Anyway after that entertaining trip down memory lane, MM is probably heading off on a flight north sometime, Canada to see MA perhaps? A last hopeful note is that an aurora (northern lights) is a natural light display in the Earth’s sky at night. Maybe we should keep looking for the light in the darkness.

Wonderful. Thank you so much. PG will be so happy, as she stresses so about doing the riddles. 😊❤️❤️❤️ /// —————-

—-Dear skippy, whoever interpreted the riddle was spot on ……… amazing.

Thank you….felt Anon deserved to see this! 😊❤️❤️

——————-

121: Nov 22

MM ANON …a cuppa and a trot…… “ no damage darling”…… “W&K will pick up the slack”…… “ let’s go visit the old bugger”…… A Christmas PR push…… “ she has to show archificial “……… Harry and Sandringham??……… “ for goodness sake,nanny had the night off” ……… “it’s a wonderful Christmas card darling”………… will boss baby go viral??………Mmm , Little punk Prince!

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜THANK YOU DEAR MM ANON💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

It is sooo good to be back, thank you all for your love, kindness and prayers!💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

Riddle #121 ( l missed two but it’s #121 for me)

November 22/2019 1530 hrs CST

a cuppa and a trot

Today’s papers are full of all sorts of controversy yet again regarding PA. He was to fly to Bahrain this weekend but that was cancelled when the palace got wind if it.oh how l ache for HMTQ 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻. She left BP yesterday for Windsor, seems a day early. Today she was riding her great fell steed in the rain with PA and two others. Spending time together, a mother who loves her son, it has been said for year that he is her favourite. I don’t care about that, just the pain she is going through, on top of PP illness, and everything madam…the last few years have not been kind to one who has so loyally and stoically served! A cup of tea can solve anything, so the saying goes, but l am afraid Ma’am not this.

“ no damage darling”

I can just hear Fergie, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York saying this to PA. She was seen being driven into BP waving at the cameras with this stupid big smile on her face. It’s said she was the driving force along with Amanda Thirsk, PA now no longer secretary but at the top not of Pitch at Palace program. Fergie looked crazy, smiling as if things were glorious. She just doesn’t get how serious this is! When the slashed budget comes, probably soon, she might just get it.

“W&K will pick up the slack”

How to reschedule PA patronage’s and schedule. He was patron of l believe 65 charities/organizations. Sounding like Prince William and Duchess Catherine will have more heaped onto the plate. There goes my plan for baby number four, if it was in their plans, but just my dreams!

“ let’s go visit the old bugger”

PA saying this to HMTQ about visiting ailing PP at his ‘farm’ at Sandringham. I think PA will get a Royal, pardon the pun, scolding from his father. He may be 98 and unwell but l am certain he still can turn a phrase and deliver a stinging opinion and dress down!

A Christmas PR push…… “ she has to show archificial “

Today in the paper quoting an anonymous friend People magazine spoke of the friction between Harry and William, how LG used to be a good influence but according to this anonymous ‘source’ aka madam, he was no longer there. NOT TRUE, MORE OF HER PR LIES!! LG is very much there, HMTQ called him back into service and he is the Chief Lord. The papers are also saying the Sussexes are now spending the holidays in England. Back and forth, it’s like Serena at the tennis!🤣🤣😂😂 If she goes to America or the holidays in the U.K. she has to produce Archficial. How can she travel to America for Christmas without him and how can she show him when she doesn’t have him? Oh dilemmas dilemmas. Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive madam, yes Rachel, l am talking to you!

Harry and Sandringham??………

Is that the future plan? Is he staying there during his six weeks off? Is he spending that time with PP? It certainly doesn’t mention madam. So is Harry by himself attending Christmas at Sandringham. Oh the morning walk to church, madams first year, not yet married she stuck out her tongue. My sister and l were aghast and were sure it would be news. We looked and there was nothing. If Harry does that walk to church Christmas morning with him family and without madam, THAT WILL MAKE FRONT PAGE CENTRE!!

“ for goodness sake,nanny had the night off” . . There was a big too doo made in the papers the other night when Catherine cancelled the fancy dress night out, William went alone, looking smashing. Is it bad of me if l still want to know what her gown was like?🤣🤣🤣😂😂 The reason given was childcare, they had no one to look after the children. I have a hunch that one or more wasn’t feeling well. It was just the nanny’s night off, and being the mother she is, Catherine stayed with the children. Remember when William had a head injury and had surgery, Diana wouldn’t leave his side, Charles didn’t stay be he had the opera and was angry with her for not going with him. A mother is a true mother. Catherine, you made Diana proud, yet again!! ……… “it’s a wonderful Christmas card darling”………… will boss baby go viral?….Mmm , Little punk Prince! . The family photo at Christmas time has become such a tradition for so many, and of our our royals as well. It sounds like photos have been taken, boss baby wee Prince Louis will steal the show and go viral,, worldwide. Everyone loves the faces that he makes! Everyone loves all three of the Cambridge children, and of course their parents. By the punk comment, l am guess Prince Louis is up to his facial expressions. I can hardly wait to see! GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

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vennomax · 7 years ago

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Price of plenty: How past success slows present change

New Post has been published on http://www.vennomax.com/opinion/price-of-plenty-how-past-success-slows-present-change/

Price of plenty: How past success slows present change

As a journalist in a media industry hit hard by disruption, I have not exactly rushed to embrace change.

But recent events have forced open my eyes not just to the urgent need for news organisations to transform themselves, but to help their employees through the process.

A friend from the training sector who has helped firms undergoing major change said for those affected, it can feel like they are going through the stages of grief : reject change as they see no need for it; resist change as it is unsettling and difficult; being open to change but confused as to what it means for them; being ready to embrace change and keen to help lead it.

Picking up on that train of thought, another friend from the finance sector – who has experienced far more disruption in her career than I have – observed that while companies are quite good at equipping people with the hard skills they need for transformation, most do not pay enough attention to the soft skills.

I think she is right. By soft skills, I mean the skills that have as their focus not tasks but people.

Why do soft skills matter? Because a large part of the work in leading change is persuading people of the need to leave behind a status quo they find comfortable and comforting, so as to move somewhere strange and unfamiliar, and more often than not make sacrifices along the way as well.

Professor John Kotter of Harvard Business School, who has studied organisational change for decades, uses a fable to illustrate the challenge of change and how to overcome it.

Once upon a time, or so the story goes, there was a colony of penguins living in the Antarctic. They enjoyed a comfortable life; the only problem was their iceberg was melting.

The cracks in the giant hunk of ice that had been their home for generations were, however, underwater and unnoticed by everyone – everyone except Fred, a loner who liked to watch the wind and the sky and who had noticed a change in the climate.

He went on deep dives to examine the state of their iceberg under the water surface and was alarmed by what he saw.

The story then goes on to describe the huge effort to persuade other penguins in the colony of the urgent need to change – fast!

Fred turned first to take-charge Alice who helped him get a hearing with the colony’s council of elders.

Not all the elders believed Fred, so they put together a separate smaller group to lead the change.

Wise Louis built this disparate group into a team, which then worked out a vision for a new nomadic way of life for the colony, where the penguins would no longer become attached to any one iceberg but be ready to move to a better, safer home when needed.

They then communicated the vision to the rest of the colony, neutralised naysayers like a penguin named NoNo and empowered other penguins to help bring change about.

To be honest, there are days when I am pessimistic and worry that Singapore Inc will not make it. So many of us seem to have grown so comfortable with the way things are. We have no desire to leave our iceberg, even though there are signs it is melting. But on good days, I am optimistic. I recall inspiring stories of corporate turnaround – GE, Apple, Nissan and Lego, to name a few.

Since this is a fable, it has a happy ending in which the penguins not only move to a bigger, better iceberg, but also retool their culture so as to become more open and ready to adapt to future change.

The moral of the story? Big change does not happen easily – not in businesses, not in school systems, not in nations.

“Even if an objective observer can clearly see that costs are too high, or products are not good enough, or shifting customer requirements are not being adequately addressed, needed change can still stall because of inwardly focused cultures, paralysing bureaucracy, parochial politics, a low level of trust, lack of teamwork, arrogant attitudes, a lack of leadership in middle management, and the general human fear of the unknown,” Prof Kotter writes in his book Leading Change.

“To be effective, a method designed to alter strategies, re-engineer processes or improve quality must address these barriers and address them well.”

What is also telling is Prof Kotter’s diagnosis that change often fails because of a lack of leadership. That in turn is likely due to past success, which breeds a corporate culture that prizes continuity and nurtures managers but not leaders.

“Unfortunately for us today, this emphasis on management has often been institutionalised in corporate cultures that discourage employees from learning how to lead. Ironically, past success is usually the key ingredient in producing this outcome,” he writes.

And the difference between management and leadership?

“Management is a set of processes that can keep a complicated system of people and technology running smoothly. The most important aspects of management include planning, budgeting, organising, staffing, controlling and problem-solving.

“Leadership is a set of processes that creates organisations in the first place or adapts them to significantly changing circumstances. Leadership defines what the future should look like, aligns people with that vision, and inspires them to make it happen despite the obstacles.”

And only leadership, he adds, can “blast through the many sources of corporate inertia”.

There’s plenty to mull over in those paragraphs, because Singapore as a nation has enjoyed a decades-long streak of economic success, which in turn has spilled over to many of its businesses – both large and small.

Fortunes have been made and many have prospered. But how has this good run tilted the balance in favour of management over leadership? Is it time to reset the balance?

When I speak of leadership, I am not holding out for some strong man – or woman – with the smarts and charisma to push through major change on his or her own.

I am talking about having a critical mass of people who believe that it is possible to succeed at change, brave enough to take the necessary risks and committed enough to work long hours to see it through.

Many people here know in their heads that the Singapore economy must transform. Otherwise, why would the Government set aside $4.5 billion for an Industry Transformation Programme?

Its aim is to bring together stakeholders in each of the 23 key industries to change the way companies and workers operate.

Two months ago, Finance Minister Heng Swee Keat urged employers, the business community, unions and workers to push on with change efforts. “If we persist… we will continue to make good progress,” he said during a community visit.

But questions remain.

Are businesses changing fast enough? Do they and their workers have what it takes to compete in the face of disruption? What if the hoped-for transformation fails to work its way through the economy?

But on good days, I am optimistic. I recall inspiring stories of corporate turnaround – GE, Apple, Nissan and Lego, to name a few.

I think of how well resourced Singapore Inc is today, in terms of its well-educated workforce, financial reserves and established brand.

It is my hope that this present testing time of disruption will forge a new generation of leaders, pushed by circumstances to imagine a new future and take risks to bring it about.

Speed, though, is of the essence. The pace of change globally has accelerated to a punishing degree and that looks set to continue. Those who would lead change cannot tarry.

Future prosperity hangs in the balance, and Singapore’s whole way of life.

#Price of Plenty #Singapore

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oldguardaudio · 7 years ago

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PowerLine -> Tragedy in Charlottesville prompts criticism of President Trump and The Week in Pictures: Googleplex Edition

Heil Google at HoaxAndChange.com

Powerline image at HoaxAndChange

powerline at HoaxAndChange.com

Daily Digest

Tragedy in Charlottesville prompts criticism of President Trump

The Liberal Crackup

Green Weenie of the Week: Gilkisonism

(DHS) Magical mystery tour: Doing the work the Star Tribune won’t do (3)

The Week in Pictures: Googleplex Edition

Tragedy in Charlottesville prompts criticism of President Trump

Posted: 12 Aug 2017 04:08 PM PDT

(Paul Mirengoff)

I’ve been watching soccer all day (the first full match day of the 2017-18 Premier League season), so I’m just hearing the awful news about the violence in Charlottesville, Virginia. As I’m sure nearly all of readers know, the violence erupted today when white nationalists trying to hold a rally clashed with protesters who objected to their rally.

The worst of the day’s injuries occurred after the rally dispersed, when a car plowed into counter-protesters, killing at least one person and injuring at least 19 others. As I write this, police officials haven’t determined that the driver acted with intent to kill or injure. However, there are indications from eye-witnesses that this may well have been the case. The driver has been taken into custody.

President Trump condemned the violence. Naturally, however, he’s being criticized by Democrats and their friends in the media. They say he didn’t tweet about the goings on in Charlottesville quickly enough. The New York Times sniffs that he “remained silent on the violence for most of the morning.” Maybe he was watching soccer.

On a more serious note, Trump has received criticism for not singling out the white nationalists for criticism. Instead of doing that, Trump said:

We condemn in the strongest possible terms this egregious display of hatred, bigotry and violence on many sides. It’s been going on for a long time in our country. It’s not Donald Trump, it’s not Barack Obama.

Trump then called for the “swift restoration of law and order” and for unity among Americans of “all races, creeds, and colors.”

I don’t see a problem here. By condemning all sides, the president clearly condemned the white nationalists.

David Duke, the white nationalist who led the demonstration, understood this. He lashed out at Trump for his remarks, a fact the New York Times neglects to note in its article about the criticism of the president.

Should Trump have included a denunciation of leftist hatred, bigotry, and violence? Absolutely. The “antifas” have been rioting and attacking peaceful protesters across America. Reportedly, there were some in Charlottesville, and they engaged in fighting.

If the driver of the car that killed and injured counter-protesters acted intentionally, he deserves special condemnation. However, at the time Trump spoke, the driver’s intent had not been determined.

It would be interesting to know whether the Democrats — e.g., Chuck Schumer — who are attacking Trump for not singling out white nationalists had anything to say about the left-wing thugs who rampaged through Washington, D.C. on the day of Trump’s inauguration, or about any other instances of thuggery by these anti-Trump radicals.

In any event, there is no event, no matter how tragic or how remote from the control of Donald Trump, that Democratic politicians and media hacks can’t convert into an attack on President Trump almost instantaneously.

The Liberal Crackup

Posted: 12 Aug 2017 11:45 AM PDT

(Steven Hayward)

The Wall Street Journal ran an excerpt from Mark Lilla’s new book, The Once and Future Liberal, coming out on Tuesday that we mentioned here yesterday. Here’s a link to the whole piece if you are a WSJ subscriber, but if not here are two of the better paragraphs in it:

As a teacher, I am increasingly struck by a difference between my conservative and progressive students. Contrary to the stereotype, the conservatives are far more likely to connect their engagements to a set of political ideas and principles. Young people on the left are much more inclined to say that they are engaged in politics as an X, concerned about other Xs and those issues touching on X-ness. And they are less and less comfortable with debate.

Over the past decade a new, and very revealing, locution has drifted from our universities into the media mainstream: Speaking as an X…This is not an anodyne phrase. It sets up a wall against any questions that come from a non-X perspective. Classroom conversations that once might have begun, I think A, and here is my argument, now take the form, Speaking as an X, I am offended that you claim B. What replaces argument, then, are taboos against unfamiliar ideas and contrary opinions.

This phenomenon, I submit, is why conservatives have the advantage out in the real world, and why conservatives are more likely to win political battles in the long run, despite the left’s near monopolistic control of academic, the media, popular entertainment, and corporate human resources departments.

Two further notes: What Lilla describes as having burst the bounds of academia into the media mainstream now also applies to large parts of corporate America. See Google. I’d love to see a study some time of how many graduates with degrees in Gender Studies or related politicized fields end up in corporate human resources department jobs, or consulting companies that put on “diversity” training seminars for corporate America.

Second, I’ll wait to read the whole book to see Lilla’s complete judgment, but one question the early excerpts raise is whether “progressive” students are in fact not liberals at all (and not actually in favor of progress for that matter: I saw Harvard’s Steven Pinker give a great lecture in June on the question “Why are ‘Progressives’ against progress?” He has a book coming out in March that will explore this question.) If it is the case that today’s so-called “progressives” are in fact anti-liberals, does it not require then that liberals go into explicit opposition to “progressivism,” and—horrors—ally with conservatives?

Green Weenie of the Week: Gilkisonism

Posted: 12 Aug 2017 09:18 AM PDT

(Steven Hayward)

Last week we noted in “Climate Shark Jumping” the musings of one John Gilkison at the website EV World, which is otherwise a site devoted to electricity technology innovations, but where Gilkison speculated on the death penalties to be handed out at the prospective climate criminal trials of 2029. The list of people to be executed included all of the usual suspects, including the Koch brothers naturally, even though Charles and David Koch will be over 100 years old in 2029.

What what do you know? Gilkison’s post seems to have been taken down at EV World. Wonder why? But not to worry: Gilkison has several other posts in a similar authoritarian mode still up at the site, and if Paul Ehrlich had to retire some day, Gilkison might as well take his place.

For example, take in Tikopia IV, which offers a schematic for a world government on a new planet after we have finished trashing this one. Here are some of the main features, with commentary:

1: This government would have to be declared to be a secular government run by science and data and not religion. In point of fact religious based views would have to be kept out of any law or rule making and all laws and rules would have to be peer reviewed.

2: The total population of the planet must be controlled and not be allowed to grow beyond a certain preset number (500 to 750 million people) assuming the new planet is much like Earth (similar land and ocean areas, and resources). All corporations are limited to 80 year terms and must behave or have their charters revoked.

Well, I can see some upside here. At least we could finally get rid of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, etc. But notice, as always, the authoritarian impulse to control the reproductive choices of individual human beings? And just how is that to be enforced? (See point 8 below for one problem with this.) And why the hostility toward individual conscience about things transcendent? Maybe Gilkison is just trying to make himself employable at Google or something.

5: Fractional reserve banking shall be closely controlled and the monetary system shall be based upon units of primary energy. The total money in the system shall be regulated to certain limits and not be allowed to grow beyond a point based upon per capita needs. Because of these limits the total amount of wealth accumulated by any one individual or entity shall be also regulated so that a basic guaranteed livable income is available to all regardless of their status.

6: High speed electric rail and maglev transportation shall be available to all around the planet. Personal transportation and trucking is to electric drive also. Airplane travel shall be reduced to the minimum necessary. Any liquid fuels shall be derived from biomass. ICE, turbines, and jet technology can only be used in limited application run with biomass fuels. Cars, trucks, bikes, motorcycles shall be electric drive in so far as practical. Some hybrid electric applications shall be allowed for range in certain situations.

I’m sure if we only put smart people like Gilkison in charge of all these variables everything will come out just fine. (Hayek, call your office.)

8: Everybody votes, in person, electronically, or otherwise. Fines shall be levied against anyone not voting without a valid reason (medical or other incapacity). Elections are funding from public sources and limited to a six week period.

But what if they vote for Donald Trump? Or vote against Gilkison’s policies? Suppose a majority vote that it wants to allow more people to have babies?

There’s more where this came from. A good representation of the apocalyptic authoritarian mind of environmentalism.

(DHS) Magical mystery tour: Doing the work the Star Tribune won’t do (3)

Posted: 12 Aug 2017 06:30 AM PDT

(Scott Johnson)

I set forth the chain of events that sparked my interest in the 2016 MSP International Airport tour for Somalis only in the post “(DHS) Magical mystery tour (and why I need a lawyer).” Last year I sought information from the Department of Homeland Security Office of Civil Rights (OCR) under the Freedom of Information Act. OCR provided a few heavily redacted pages and rebuffed the administrative law judge when he requested an explanation of the redactions.

Theresa Bevilacqua of Dorsey & Whitney’s Minneapolis office answered my plea for help. Theresa has filed a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) lawsuit against the Department of Homeland Security Office of Civil Rights (OCR) on my behalf in federal court in Minneapolis. Thank you, Theresa.

I thought at the time the lawsuit was filed that the Star Tribune might take an interest. If asked about it, I had planned to respond that we are only doing the work the Star Tribune won’t do. However, the Star Tribune hasn’t asked.

Because the Customs and Border Protection (CBP) official to whom I spoke last year directed me to OCR, I neglected to file a separate FOIA request with CBP. On Ms. Bevilacqua’s advice, I have now done so and CBP has formally responded. CBP has produced 29 redacted pages (posted below via Scribd) with claimed FOIA exemptions stamped over the redactions. An extremely helpful guide to FOIA exemptions is posted online here. I don’t think the cited FOIA exemptions apply, but we shall see. The CBP is also withholding 31 pages in their entirety. I have administratively appealed the CBP’s response to my FOIA request.

I attempted to follow up on CBP’s response to my FOIA request by email. CBP spokesman Kris Grogan told me by email: “Every year CBP conducts numerous events and programs around the country in which civic, religious and community leaders, as well as interested residents, are afforded an inside look at how CBP secures the border at and between ports of entries. CBP is committed to fostering a positive relationship within the communities we live and serve.”

I asked these follow-up questions of Mr. Grogan: Can you tell me what other groups receive annual tours of the secure areas at MSP Airport such as this one? How can I get myself invited? Do you have any reason to think that invitees who don’t pass vetting (such as the disinvited imam) don’t get information from the vetted guests?

I also asked these questions in a separate email: When did these annual tours begin at MSP? Did one take place this year? Does CBP or DHS conduct other such tours at airports around the United States? If so, what airports?

I told Grogan that I was “working on articles based on the information provided to date and ask for your prompt response to these basic questions or some indication that you decline to respond.”

Grogan has failed to respond in any manner. Stone-cold silence. Something tells me that they really don’t want us to know much of anything about what’s happening here.

Among the redactions in the documents provided are the names of every OCR and CBP officer on the email messages, the names of every Somali guest on the tour and the draft invitation. The documents even redact the name of the CBP Area Port Director, a name that is otherwise easily available — for example, here and here and here. The Area Port Director is Jennifer De La O.

We do have this, however, in an email from someone to someone dated January 13, 2016: “I hope you are staying warm. After much some [some] anticipation, the cold front reached us today. For the airport tour, February 18 would be great from our end. Would between 6pm-8pm work? This would accommodate prayer times well.”

2017-068244 JUL 19 2017 by Scott Johnson on Scribd

The Week in Pictures: Googleplex Edition

Posted: 12 Aug 2017 05:04 AM PDT

(Steven Hayward)

“Googleplex” used to mean a 10 followed by 100 zeros, but as of this week it is the new analog to “perplexed.” It will henceforth be used for liberal faceplants in the following way: “Man you must really be Googleplexed by that!” Meanwhile, although Google’s headquarters is also apparently known as the “Googleplex,” when rendered into numerical notation it will have to be 10-100.

Coming soon to a Google diversity seminar near you.

Barron Trump, Mike Pence, and their IT guy begin the attack on North Korea.

Headlines of the week:

What planet does the Puffington Host live on?

Women are the same as men. Except when they’re different.

What is this thing?

Greatest back-to-school sale ever.

And finally. . .

PowerLine -> Tragedy in Charlottesville prompts criticism of President Trump and The Week in Pictures: Googleplex Edition PowerLine -> Tragedy in Charlottesville prompts criticism of President Trump and The Week in Pictures: Googleplex Edition…

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