#yes we klan

[meandmybigmouth]

Texas raising the bar!

[ipoddymouth]

I agree with everything you said often on the internet people jump to call others all kinds of -ists and -phobes and I’m not saying that these people necessarily aren’t those things but there’s a difference between someone who truly believes these oppressive and harmful things and genuinely has hatred for minorities vs someone who might just be ignorant/ doesn’t really think. On top of that people will bring things from 10 years ago and say that someone is currently that -ist or phobe and it’s like are they? Can’t people change? Not saying you have to forgive everyone and I definitely wasn’t running around saying slurs or anything 10 years ago but, people can change I’m more progressive and more educated about things than I was 10 years ago yknow? I probably said some ignorant shit back then but I wasn’t posting it on the internet which was my saving grace idk like you said things are more of spectrum and have more nuance than the internet allows for.

yeah like if matty doesn't want to be called a n*zi he probably shouldn't be throwin' the arm up like that but also if you see the people he surrounds himself with you can infer he's probs not about to go full HH right wing militia. except some of the discourse makes it sound like he is???? and it's like why are we having such rapid escalations now?

also YES like one time five-ish years ago my bf accidentally misgendered someone and like a group of people unloaded the chopper on him glrjageijajhh. like yes he was defs using the wrong pronouns and should have been corrected but it rapidly went from 'tolerance and acceptance 😌' to 'ah yes another hetero transphobe.' not that everyone needs to be on their 'assume positive intent' bullshit 24/7 but SO much of this n*zi-hunt shit could be avoided if people took a moment to examine the entire situation before labeling someone. like besties im sorry but if we're gonna put matty healy, nick fuentes, and hitler on the same level then we might have a problem

(also like entirely unrelated but i dont think kanye is truly on that level either and instead espouses that shit because he is in a mental health crisis BUT again i do not know these people so maybe he really is!!!! idk!!!!!) (i do think kanye is stupid and easily influenced and genuinely holds right-wing beliefs tho just to clear that up)

society doesn't have a 'bad things' spectrum anymore (if it even ever did)!!!

[wilwheaton]

Rarely have we seen anything like the past few days in Tennessee. Three Democrats, for joining with thousands of students walking out of class and in many cases, going to the Nashville statehouse, after the latest school shooting right in that city, were threatened with expulsion from the chamber. Did they molest children? No, that was a GOPer who was allowed to remain in the state legislature. Domestic violence? Nope, he got to stay. Were they under federal investigation? Yet again, a Republican. Nope, Justin Jones, Justin Pearson & Caroline Johnson were "loud" and "behaved wrong" (read "uppity") by joining with protestors. This same logic did not apply to a former GOP state rep who peed--yes, you read that right--on another member's chair. That was totally cool. And, of course, in the state where the Ku Klux Klan was founded...what do you think the end result was? Here's a video to explain exactly what happened, why, how this will affect the 2024 election and how it fits in with so much else the GOP is up to these days.

Guns, Racists, And Predators: A Guide To Approved TN Decorum

Say it with me, and say it loud: Republicans are garbage.

[darklinaforever]

So...

I saw someone say that Severus was creepy and possessive towards Lily... We're talking about the guy who always let Lily have her own friends and left her alone as soon as she asked him to, just for information.

Oh, and also that apparently he was bullying Petunia thus probably destroying any chance of the bond between her and Lily returning. WTF ?! He accidentally dropped a branch on her when he was, what ? 10 / 11 years old ? I do not know anymore. Also, I remember that it was actually James who completely ruined Petunia and Lily's slim chances of coexisting.

Also, quite simply, Petunia was basically horrible to Lily because she was jealous. Severus has nothing fucking to do with it.

Then obviously say he linked up with bigoted racists. You know... during a period where he was experiencing misery at home, his friendship with Lily deteriorating and him essentially being a reject at school ? Like... It's pretty obvious that the guy is influenced. Are people aware that we can also join this type of dangerous stupidity through manipulation and not just by choice ? No ? All right. Because I feel like people forget that Severus is actually a half blood.

The person went so far as to say that Severus loving Lily, was like a member of the Klu Klux Klan falling in love with a black woman...

Also, to say that apparently he hoped Lily would come back to him by saving her from Voldemort and leaving James and Harry to die, which... is false ? He just wanted to save her because he loves her ? He didn't expect her to fall into his arms ? Where the fuck does this shit come from !?

Oh, and also, the funniest thing, complaining that he betrayed the Death Eaters... because then that would prove that this guy has no loyalty.

Or maybe that just goes to show that he didn't really know what he was doing in this big mess ? Just an idea like that.

And so obviously complaining that he's only faithful to Lily which is apparently very unhealthy.

Also, apparently, nothing makes him gray, his redemption is bogus. Harry naming his son after him is stupid and Lily would probably hate Severus in the afterlife.

And this all came from someone hating James & Lily as a character and romance.

Like... how can you misunderstand a character so much ? The HP Saga has many flaws for me, but the character of Snape is clearly in the top tier and an excellent gray character.

And I don't understand why a lot of people find it disgusting, twisted and sick that he did good things in honor of Lily's memory, still loves her and has the same patronus as her. Like... I really don't understand. Why do people try to blacken and pervert everything ? Oh I know. They are allergic to complexity.

Yes, Snape wasn't the best teacher in the world. Favored his house and let the Slytherin students annoy the Gryffindors but frankly with his past, we can understand why he became the way he is. Not everyone is lucky enough to be able to mentally move on from the horrible things that have happened to us. Especially since adolescence has a big impact on our future life.

[brightlotusmoon]

I was just listening to my husband telling our roommate the story of how when he was young in the 80s living in Prince George's County in Maryland, their new black neighbors were getting harassed by Klan members, so his parents - the only Jewish family in the neighborhood - went over with weapons and his mom sat by an upstairs window with a rifle and his dad (who had worked for the government as a man in black) stood like a sentry on the lawn and put out the burning cross and threatened to stab anyone who came at them. Yes, they all moved out. No I don't have more details. But the conversation sprang from how one of our neighbors, an older white guy, was wondering why we weren't ever going to support Trump.

Punch Nazis. Tell others to punch Nazis. Be loud about punching Nazis. Help your neighbor watch Nazis through a rifle lens. Etc.

[mistyaquaart-oocmustafa]

Mason Madden: Mustafa Ali, famously against the Klan.

—

We interrupt your regular Mustafa programming to give you this gem from MxM.

Yes they are referring to what you think 😭

[jesncin]

I did in fact see your points on how strange it was that MAWS was like a colonizer apologist story if I'm not mistaken! Like, it feels weird to have that as a character, especially a main one! And it makes me sad because I was excited for MAWS! Jimmy was Black and I can't see him in any other way. Are there any Superman stories that don't go this angle? Like, one that is more similar to yours? Yes I read Superman Smashes the Klan! I also like your take on Superman and having him be Jewish also!

Yeah, and same! I was thinking with Lois being Asian American that they were absolutely going for an Immigrant Superman- imagine my disappointment when MAWS went as far from that as possible (xenophobe Asian Lois and colonizer apologist narrative Superman). Right, I was really hoping this show would do right by Jimmy too but that fell flat as well.

Hmm! So this is a tricky question to answer because there are lots of stories that don't go for the Colonizer Krypton route, but whether they go for an immigrant Superman story is another thing (they rarely do). You'll have comics briefly reference Superman being an undocumented immigrant but not really go into what it means to be the alien diaspora and especially linking that experience with human diaspora/immigrants to strengthen the allegory. It's a symptom of most writers who get the privilege to write Superman having to fantasize that experience instead of having lived through it (they'll default to white savior instead). There's a reason it took until an Asian American writer like Gene Yang that we got a definitive Immigrant Superman story with Smashes the Klan! I think from articles like this existing (and Princess Weekes is a far bigger Superman fan than I am) it shows how rarely Immigrant Superman is committed to.

Thank you for enjoying my stuff! If I was to recommend anything, while Clark isn't in it, Girl Taking Over: A Lois Lane story is a must for immigrant Superman enjoyers! Best Asian Lois in any sort of canon, hands down. I pull heavy inspiration from it.

[jackoshadows]

It's baffling how this fandom keeps theorizing that Arya's subplots and role in the story can be replaced by any Stark, specifically Sansa, and it would be just the same when the show did replace fake Arya with another character - and then GRRM specifically refuted that change several times and pointed to that change on the show as where show canon diverged from book canon!

This is a fandom talking point that GRRM himself has refuted and said 'Nah, you can't do that. That plot specifically needs Fake Arya. The story needs fake Arya in the North and when the TV show replaced her with another character, the TV show then diverges from the books and becomes different canon' .

Also GRRM is not talking about the writing for show Sansa in season 6, 7 or 8 and the direction D&D took her character on the show where the only support she gets is from Littlefinger and the Vale army he rallies to help her. In fact GRRM does not even mention Sansa in this interview. He is talking specifically of 'Fake Arya' and how Fake Arya is important to that plot point in the North.

They (D&D) started making changes even as early as season one. And I remember I had discussions with them back in season one. When I was more involved in the process, when we’d discuss things and the fact that they removed Jeyne Poole was a very early thing. They actually said, oh no, Jeyne Poole is in it. You see the girl that’s sitting next to Sansa in the one scene in the feast at Winterfell. Yes, that’s Jeyne Poole, but you never hear a name and she’s not in it, but I did tell them. ‘Yes, but there’s the butterfly effect’, as I called it, deriving from the famous Ray Bradbury story, A Sound of Thunder, crush a butterfly the Jurassic and suddenly you changed all of human history from that point forward. Unintentionally. A little change in a long narrative can have big changes further on. And now, Gone with the Wind didn’t have to worry about that, cause those two children that they removed never had any impact on the story. And Margaret Mitchell didn’t go on to write 6 more novels in which the children grew up and became the leader of the Ku Klux Klan. Whatever the hell, you know, she might have done with those two boys.

And I think they were both boys, and Rhett’s daughter was a girl. So she didn’t have to deal with the butterfly effect there. You know, when we remove Jeyne Poole from season one, then you don’t have Jeyne Poole to be the fake Arya, as happens in the book. So what do you do then? The butterfly effect has done that. (---)

The butterfly effect can have that, but getting back to the whole issue of canon, the butterfly effect affects the canon. But there’s also sometimes deliberate changes in a show where the showrunners or the writers or the studio, the network, or wherever it comes from, goes in a different direction. So what we’re doing at this point in the history of A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones, Westeros, whatever you wanna call it. Yeah. We have two canons. We have the show canon, the Game of Thrones canon. And we have the Song of Ice and Fire canon.

GRRM thought Fake Arya was so important he was insisting to D&D way back while filming season one in 2010 to cast Jeyne Poole.

And even D&D realized that the Jon/Arya relationship is so sacred that they didn't even attempt to replicate that with Sansa in the North. They even had show Jon Snow make a suicidal attempt to save his little brother Rickon Stark - which show Sansa advises against because fuck family - but we never got the whole Jon breaking his NW oaths to attack the Boltons for Arya Stark happening on the show with Sansa.

The asoiaf fandom loves appropriating book Arya's plots for Sansa. Jonsa shippers love appropriating her relationship with Jon for their utterly absurd crackship all the while dragging Arya down as 'ugly' 'violent' and 'masculine'.

Non-shippers love to give away all the politicking around Arya to Sansa, take away Arya intelligence and know-how of the North because their sexism only allows them to see one Stark girl as political and leader of the North. It's not about what the author has actually written for these characters, no, it's about which character passes their standard for femininity.

So yeah, one is free to replace Arya with Sansa because one is dissatisfied with Sansa's canonical book story that GRRM has written for the character and instead prefer Benioff and Weiss' show fanfiction or want Arya's book story for Sansa's character because she's conventionally beautiful and a 'real girl' according to the tradfems.

However, keep in mind that GRRM thinks 'Fake Arya' is very important to his story and that's a Northern political sublot that revolves specifically around Arya Stark in the books.

Once again, the Stark sisters and their book subplots are not interchangeable!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Top 5 comics that aren't bat related?

GOD okay I'm admittedly so so behind on my non-Bat comic reading because trying to read Everything Published In A 15 Year Period is fucking TIME CONSUMING, but! but but but!!! I have some fun ones!! also as always these are not in ANY particular order!

Thirsty Mermaids (Kat Leyh, 2021)

first off: yes we are including graphic novels! that's just a honkin big comic! nobody @ me! anyway, I read Thirsty Mermaids in one sitting on an airplane earlier this year and it was delightful. it follows three mermaid besties who turn themselves into humans and go ashore in search of booze, only to get stuck when the party mage can't remember how to turn them back. what follows is a mix of shenanigans and genuinely heartwarming character development as the trio cope with being landlocked and try to survive capitalism. there's a high potential for a story like this to get cloyingly oversentimental, but Thirsty Mermaids struck the right balance for me the whole way through and never went overboard.

also, the character designs are soooooo fun. look at them!

2. My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2016)

MLEWL is one of those books that actually completely lives up to the hype and then some, and it totally knocked me on my ass the first time I read it. I didn't really know what to expect going in, but I was totally blown away by how boldly Nagata's willing to share the ugliest parts of her life through this reflection. it's so much more than romance and yearning (and that isn't even really resolved by the book's end! Nagata continues to struggle with interpersonal relationships in later books, which you should also read!), and it felt really refreshing to see such an honest depiction of how much being depressed and anxious and insecure can just fucking suck. but at the same time, Nagata's ability to turn all of that into art and process what she's experienced in a really levelheaded way as she finds the will to grow and change is really affirming.

I have to give a special note of appreciation to the actual sex scene and how intimacy is negotiated between Nagata and the sex worker she hires, especially the ultimate realization that sex is just an act and losing her virginity didn't really change anything about why she was unhappy in her life. as a sex educator, I really appreciated the honesty and sheer practicality of how it was all framed.

3. Nimona (ND Stevenson, 2015)

hi okay yes basic bitch alert I'M AWARE, but I reread Nimona last year to remind myself of why I didn't want to watch the Netflix adaptation and I was so right for that, because OG Nimona fucks so much harder. it's heartfelt but also chaotic and violent and funny and deeply jaded; I think when I mentioned it in my monthly reading synopsis here I described it as weird art for pissed off queer people by a weird pissed off queer person. and I stand by that! if you haven't read it already or if you haven't in a while, it's right there waiting for you with an open invitation to burn the entire corrupt government to the ground.

I know the word feral is overused and therefore cringe but christ, comic Nimona is feral. come on, man. just let her kill your ex. he's a cop.

4. Superman Smashes the Klan (Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru, 2020)

I had to get one DC comic in here, sue me! it's not Batman-related at all! it's a really rad Superman story that takes place in the 1940s and loosely reimagines an old radio serial, "Clan of the Fiery Cross," the was pretty much a 16-part hit piece on the KKK that was hugely successful in tarnishing their reputation and getting membership to drop. how cool is that? in this version we follow Lee family, Chinese-Americans who have just moved to Metropolis and are met with harassment from the local Klansmen, contrasted with Clark, early in his hero career, still figuring out the full extent of his alien abilities. you get some really nice parallel storytelling between the Lee kids, Tommy and Roberta, exploring what it means to be part of two different cultures at the same time Clark is going through something similar figuring out how to be a representative of two totally different planets, and it all works out in a way that's really sweet. now that I have a friend who's a baby I can't wait until he's old enough to get a copy.

it's an extremely comic book-y comic but in, like, the best way possible.

5. Hawkeye (Matt Fraction and David Aja, 2012-2015)

I can't believe I almost forgot to list tumblr darling Matt Fraction's Hawkeye! what do I even say about this series that hasn't been said already? I love the way Clint Barton is a sadsack piece of shit who's repeatedly ruined his own life, and I love rooting for him anyway because he's just trying so goddamn hard. and also because there's a teenage girl who stole his name and gimmick bullying him the whole time. (Kate Bishop you are everything to me and you will always be famous.) there are costumes and crime fighting but it's first and foremost a slice of life about a life that fucking sucks but keeps on trucking anyway, and that's so up my alley it's not even funny. a lot of the humor probably feels dated now but fuck it, the series is iconic for a reason.

MCU, eat your heart out.

bonus because I wrote out the whole thing and then decided I wanted to include a different one: Paper Girls (Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang, 2015-2019)

I'd be lying if I said that the thing about this series that I love first and foremost wasn't the art, because Chiang's art is breathtaking and I'll read anything ever if he does the art on it. but it's also just a super cool twisty, time-bending story about four girls getting roped into some high sci-fi bullshit when they're just trying to finish up their paper routes the morning after Halloween and having everything go to hell around them. I really respect a series that is committed to being weird and doesn't really care if you don't understand what's going on for a decent chunk of the plot, especially because it all comes together in a way that's pretty satisfying. waiting to read the whole series in one big run once it was all published so that I could track all the little hints and clues and things coming together across time travel bullshit was mwah, delicious.

also more than anything it's a story about how you Do Not fuck with 12 year old girls, especially in packs, because they're metal as hell, and I'm really about that.

[redjennies]

it finally happened. I always said it would happen, and it finally happened. after years of dancing around saying "all Mediterranean people are actually POC," the Dragon Age fandom finally resurrected the old white supremacist "Italians (particularly Southern Italians) aren't really white because of the Moors" talking point.

sincerely, here's a pro-tip for not sounding like the fucking Klan: if there's historic weird European racism involved, saying a group of people aren't "white white" is always going to sound like you're validating that racism. and that's because not being "white white" is exactly what the racism is about, arbitrarily deciding who is and isn't white by the supposed purity of their European lineage.

it's fine to say "there are, in fact, lots of Italians with darker skin tones, who have been historically discriminated against and excluded from whiteness because of their potential Moorish ancestry. Sicilians, in particular, have been targets of this racism." but if we don't want to sound like a dyed in the wool Nazi, we do not start questioning how they aren't really white. the same way we do not start questioning if Ashkenazi Jewish people are "really white," or the Irish or Spanish or Greeks or Slavic or yes, even Turkish people. and I know you might be like "well obviously, the Irish are white but Turkish people? Sicilians? most of them are pretty brown to me." trust me. unless someone from these groups tells you they specifically do not identify as white, you should not presume and start calling them not white unless you want to sound like a big old white supremacist, my God.

[the-lisechen]

~5.7k. copia/f!oc. rated gen. she's a bride-to-be of christ. he's sworn in service to satan. they have dinner. 2/2

(banner and unwavering support by @enjoy-my-swearing)

find part one here and here!

say it slow and perfect, chapter 2/2 - ao3

Copia slid in the other side, and Sophie turned her head to look out the window, unprepared for just how close he was on the faux-leather bench seat. Two handbreadths away. She wasn't actually seeing anything outside, her brain gone to static and an alarm both formless and very loud. He was saying something to the driver, her brain couldn't quite process what, while old soul music warbled on the radio. Sam Cooke? Something smoother than Otis Redding, in any case. It was the perfect Lynchian touch to her unfounded panic. His sudden proximity. That cologne, leather and smoke, with an underlying sweetness that could have been vanilla or myrrh. 

He'd been speaking. He'd been speaking to her.

"--Have you been to Charleston before?"

"No." She thought she'd recovered without the lapse being immediately obvious. "No, not here. I'm from Appalachia, this here's low-country. Different flavor of south."

"Appalachia?"

"No, no. It's Apple-latch-uh. You say Appa-lay-chia, I know not to take your opinion seriously."

"Your American South, this is a strange place, I think. A country in and of itself. Certainly it is where we get the most trouble. Yet you speak of it as if you love it."

"I do. I do love it, it's home. Even if it wasn't, there isn't anywhere in America I'd rather live."

"Even with the continual human rights violations, and the racism, and the outright hatred?"

"Even with that. But that isn't--"

"--isn't all that it is, you are going to say?" His smile was sharp, but fond, she thought. 

She had to turn to look out the window, a little rueful. "Hate to be predictable, but yeah." Maybe she should have stopped herself from talking, but it was a familiar topic, and with him so close, she didn't have quite enough nerve left to restrain herself. "It fails because it's been failed. After the Civil War, the collapse of Reconstruction fucked it up real good. Things were looking up there for a little bit before the Klan really got rolling, we had a bunch of Black legislators, reparations might'a been a possibility, and then Grant backed down on his way out of office, and-- poof. But I love it. I do. The food. The history. The music. The land. The legacy of struggling for something better."

"I sense a pattern, with you," he said, and she looked back to see him watching her with mingled amusement and respect. 

"I'll allow that you might," she said, amicable and implacable. 

He took his eyes off of her, watching the city slide past, and it was a little easier to breathe. "Beautiful and beyond repair. And you won't cut your losses."

"I mean, I figure that if you're committed to harm reduction, makes sense to go to the places that've had the most harm."

"'The least of these.'"

"Yessir, that's exactly right." She sank further back into the seat. Yes, that was definitely Sam Cooke. Swing Low? or was it Mr. Soul? She couldn't place it. "Where you taking me, anyhow?"

"A restaurant, unless I am fundamentally mistaken. It should be close now, I believe it is attached to the hotel in some way."

"Sounds fancy. I don't-- am I underdressed, here? I didn't think to bring--"

"No, you're perfect," he waved her off, thankfully missing how that small turn of phrase hit her. 

She recovered after half a breath, glad he was looking off down the street. "That's kind of you. I clean up pretty fair, though this ain't cleaned up. But if you're sure."

"Ehh, I am quite certain. Ah, yes. Here." The taxi pulled up, and Sophie had a brief stutter of surprise as Copia again got out first, stepping around the cab to open her door. He made an odd aborted little movement, and Sophie realized he had meant to actually hand her out of the car, as if this was some kind of fucked up Austen novel. She found herself both charmed by the intent, and warmed by the restraint. 

She fell into step beside him, and he led her to an old storefront building, a red lantern completely overshadowed by an old hotel with an elaborate awning. The antiquated gaslight spilled over the cobblestoned street, through palm trees, magnolias. 

"Oh, this looks interesting. Where'd you find it?"

"You must let me preserve a certain air of mystery, Miss Turner."

"Would you say that you move in mysterious ways?" she asked, with a grin that could only be described as shit-eating. He groaned and she outright cackled, too delighted to be embarrassed by her decidedly inelegant laughter. Nobody was ever going to describe it as musical. 

"You are too much, signora." But he was still smiling as he held the door for her, and she had to smile back. She stepped through that leather and smoke. Best not to think about it. She took in the restaurant as he spoke to the hostess. Low light, exposed brick, pressed tin ceiling, Peggy Lee on vinyl. A whole Vibe. She decided she liked it. 

A voice broke through her woolgathering. "--have your reservation. If you'll come this way, sir?"

Copia reached out to her, stopping short of cupping her elbow. "You will like this, I think."

She followed, scoping out elaborate cocktails and elegantly plated dishes, stunning artwork on the walls-- bright florals on stark black backgrounds, a whole series of them. The hostess led them up a wrought iron spiral staircase that had to be a bitch to carry cocktails through. Up, and out onto a rooftop filled with fairy lights and trellises draped with sprawling lilac, honeysuckle, jasmine, all framing a stupidly gorgeous view of the harbor. 

Sophie gawked. She'd never been good at controlling her face, but when she caught him smiling at her dumbfounded expression, she pulled herself together. Her cheeks felt hot. It never failed. She'd make a lousy poker player. Well. At least he didn't make any smart-ass comment, other than looking supremely smug, which was comment enough. 

Once the hostess had walked away, she kept her eyes demurely on the menu. "You made a reservation, huh? And you didn't think I was coming?"

She was proud of herself for containing her glee when he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat a bit. "Ehh, well. We wait in joyful hope, don't we?"

"You really do think you're funny." Hard, now, to bite back her grin, but she managed. Somehow. Turned her attention to the menu. "My goodness, where have you taken me? 'Blue cornbread, chicken confit, cheddar cheese and blueberry reduction.' Good God almighty."

"I believe the phrase is, eh, don't knock it," he said, keeping his eyes on the wine list, "until you've tried it."

"I'll admit I'm intrigued. What the hell, I'll give it a shot." She tossed the menu down lightly, and sank back into her chair. Absurdly comfortable, odd for outdoor furniture. The space had a couch as well, a low coffee table, scattered chairs, and-- was that a chiminea? She took in the warm lights, the crosshatched trellis, the hanging flowers, the view. Jasmine and lilac. "This is," she said, "incredibly nice. I'd never go somewhere like this on my own. So, y'know," she darted a sidelong look at him, a little shy. "Thank you."

"Hmm." He smiled, and something in it made her safe. "You are very welcome, Miss Turner."

She nodded, once. She was safe, here, with him. It was as if something had been decided, and-- 

--the waitress came for their order. Pork shoulder for him, the blue cornbread chicken monstrosity for her, and she kept her face fairly steady when he quietly asked for a bottle of a Paso Robles '17 Zinfandel. So they were going to be here for a while. That seemed alright. 

"Where were we? Mysterious ways, I think."

"Just so. tell me-- Dominican, was it not?"

"That is correct, yessir. By way of the Maryknoll Sisters."

"Hm. what is the process like? The-- how is it. Formation, I believe it is called? I understand that this takes some time."

"It does. It certainly ain't for everyone. Different orders do different things. Jesuits, they take seventeen years sometimes. Masters degree just in theology, not to speak of whatever other kinda specialty they got going on. Jesuits are hardcore. Dominicans ain't so bad, in comparison."

"Ah, but we aren't speaking of the Jesuits. It's you I'm interested in, Miss Turner. The Dominican order. You said Maryknoll? Your formation, your process. How did you come to this?"

"Well. Me personally-- discernment took a while, but that's different for everyone. I was in the congregation for a year, communal living, you know? And that was a learning curve, right there. Formation itself generally takes two years," she smiled, a touch wry. "I needed two and a half. Not always the brightest bulb, but if you can pound a concept into this thick skull, it tends to stick."

"I highly, highly doubt that. There is a level of modesty that borders on disingenuous, you know. And you haven't answered my question. Why this? Why a Rule. Couldn't you find an easier way to serve your God?"

"I found it, I dunno. Elegant. It's spare, but in that spareness there's room to maneuver. Like a sonnet, you know? The inherent structure of the thing makes a framework, but within that framework you can do anything. It's the structure that holds it together, and it seemed to me that-- in that way, you could make your life art. Into prayer. You understand? It's like--" and she gestured at the hatched trellis holding the jasmine vines up-- "you see this? How it grows on this framework. It seemed to me that the best way to get closer to God would be to climb a ladder that other people had found to be reliable. And I think that all my life, I've really wanted nothing more than to be closer to God."

"Are you?" he asked, his eyes soft but assessing. "Closer to your God?"

The waitress came with their order. Sophie was grateful. Copia leaned back, letting her go, for now, with murmured thanks to the waitress. He poured the wine while Sophie took the first dubious bite of this blue cornbread concoction-- and froze.

"This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth."

Copia blinked at her and grinned, as if she'd made a particularly good joke. "Is it, now?"

"Oh, yeah, here, you gotta try this." She pushed the plate at him, gratified when he picked up his fork, and even more so when he stared at her. "Right? This was a great choice, well done."

"You see why I am known for my impeccable taste," he said, wiping his mouth with great gravitas, as she barked a laugh. "This is, what? You call this collard greens?"

"Yeah, that'n might be more of an acquired taste, you'll have to let me know what you think."

"Hmm." He busied himself with fork and knife, and they applied themselves to the very serious business of food. Which was, as bitter as she could be about a certain class of gentrification, phenomenal. She just about thought she'd gotten away with it, when-- "I do notice, signora, that you have dodged my question. Do you feel closer to your God, in your discipline?"

She chewed at that really marvelous blue cornbread dish, giving herself time to solidify an answer. "I think," she said, carefully, "I would say that I most clearly feel God when I am acting in service to His children." She sat back with her glass of wine, and at his raised eyebrow, she continued. "Look, if you're asking me if I hear His voice or something, I dunno what to tell you, except it's not for the likes of me. That's for mystics and possibly schizophrenics. All I know about God is love for His creation. Anything else is above my pay grade. What, you gonna tell me Satan speaks directly to you every night?"

"And what if I did?"

"Then I'd thank you kindly for the meal and a lovely evening and back away slowly till I got far enough away to run."

"Yet you will dedicate your life to this, eh? A nun. A bride of an intangible Christ you will never hear, or see, or feel."

"You wanna get technical about it, I'm not gonna be a nun-- that's for the contemplatives. I can't imagine spending my life in a convent. That there's a level of discipline I can't even wrap my head around. No, I'll be what's called an active sister. Out in the world."

"So you are not a Julian of Norwich, contemplating from your cell, merely tugging on the strings of the outside world."

"No, not an anchorite. I'm not much of a theologian, be honest with you-- more about praxis than theory." She picked up her glass and stared into it, swirling the contents as if she'd find an answer or an out there. "No. I am-- will be-- a missionary." And why had that word been so hard to get out?

She dared a look up to his face and saw why. Something like loss, or horror-- she had such a hard time reading him sometimes-- but the dismay was there before he wiped it away. "Ah." It was his turn to look down, although he recovered admirably. "Laying aside the, eh, colonialist implications--"

"Thank you for that."

"--a missionary to where?" Was she imagining the tension in the tilt of his head?

"Colombia, probably. Healthcare, food insecurity, that sort of thing. Not a lot in the way of conversion, if that's what you're thinking. Already a Catholic country, not much there to convert. I'm going to learn, not to proselytize."

"No, that doesn't-- it wouldn't seem to be, ehh. Your objective." His eyes wouldn't stay on her face. He fussed with the stem of the wine glass. "It is far from home."

"Yes. It will be that."

"And yet you are not afraid."

"Oh, I'm terrified, I can't even get my head around it yet."

"That, I would not have guessed." He looked up from under his lashes at her, oddly coquettish. "You do not think your God will protect you?" And by now she could catch the smile he was biting back. 

"Don't be an ass. Ain't like that."

"What are you afraid of, then?" It seemed an honest question, not unkind. 

She turned the glass under her fingers, a quarter turn, half. "...failure, I guess. There's a certain amount of trust implied, job like that. One tries to keep one's word, you know? And there's a degree of responsibility that you take on."

"Of course. But how are you defining failure? I have a hard time picturing you shirking your duties."

"Mm. That's kind of you. It comes back to service, I suppose. I wouldn't want to not be able to take care of the people I'm there for."

"Service I understand. Responsibility for your people. They've been entrusted to your care, yes? Your-- is it a congregation if you are not officiating the liturgy?"

"We can call it that, for lack of a better word." She watched the candlelight, took a slow sip of her drink as she screwed up the courage to look him in the eye. He'd been watching her, intent, and meeting those mismatched eyes with sincerity left her feeling exposed. "They love you. Your people. That crowd."

"They do."

"Your flock."

"'Flock' implies sheep, Miss Turner. And we are not that."

"As you like. Still, the responsibility of it-- it must be a strange weight to carry."

"It is. But there is also, I think, gratitude. For the trust, just as you say. I care for them as best as I am able." Being the focus of that incisive and mismatched gaze wasn't going to stop being unsettling, she thought. Even if he was smiling. Maybe especially then. "Are you asking a Satanist for advice on pastoral care, Sophia?"

"Just because it isn't my ministry doesn't mean I don't recognize it for what it is. You're good at it." She watched him react to that, the infinitesimal widening of the eyes, the drop of his mouth, before he filed it away. "You are. I just got done watching you taking care of your people. I wouldn't bullshit you, not on this."

"I think you are perhaps incapable of bullshit." Dry, and a little arch. He wouldn't meet her eyes, shifting in his seat. "You know, a focus on the individual does not exclude one from taking responsibility. They belong to nobody but themselves, of course. But as you say, you've seen them. How can I not give what I can, in the face of that?"

"Because you're a good person, probably. Look, I--" She was drawn up short by the look on his face, the plain bafflement. "What? What is it?"

"It is-- not what I would have suspected, from a committed Christian."

"Why on earth would you think that? I think you're wrong, that doesn't mean I think you're bad. When did I ever say otherwise?" She sat back, surprised at just how badly that stung. "Did you really think so little of me?"

"Ah." Whatever the look was on her face, it made him drop his eyes. "I--. Ehh, it, it may be that I have some-- preconceived notions. Not so little of you, no. What it is that you represent. Your Church." He glanced up at her, briefly, and then back down, took the glass in both hands, maybe just to occupy himself. "You are-- you have been a surprise to me."

"I can't say that I was expecting this, myself," she said, a little dry, still smarting from the implication. "Certainly not how I pictured the tail end of my postulancy." She took a sip from her glass, buying herself a little time. It really was a good Zinfandel. 

"And yet. You do think I am damned to Hell. Don't you?"

"Is this some kinda self-flagellation thing for you, right now? Because I feel like you're horning in on territory my people traditionally occupy."

"You are unusually open-minded, but surely, there are some things you cannot  condone. I don't understand how you can believe what you believe and still be here."

She tapped her short-cut nails on the wine glass. "...you heard of Gregory of Nyssa?" He shook his head, and she continued. "You'll like this one. Or you'll be so offended you'll throw me out, not sure which." She took another sip of the wine, leaving perhaps a swallow left in the glass. "So he has this theory, yeah? A little logic exercise. If God's love is infinite, and if eternity is infinite, then, it just stands to reason-- 'no being created by God will fall outside of the Kingdom of God.' Universal reconciliation. In the fullness of time, everyone gets saved. Just might take some folks longer than others."

"That is. Tremendously insulting," he said, but his eyes sparkled at her. It made her nearly as warm as the wine did. 

"Yeah, pretty sure it's heresy. And free will is kind of an essential part of the doctrine. I think he mighta meant it as a thought experiment more than anything else, but it's a warm and fuzzy thought, isn't it?"

"That everyone will come to your Christ?" He took up the bottle, topped her off with an efficient movement of his wrist while she raised her glass. "I cannot say that it is."

"I don't think that a God that would throw anyone to eternal suffering would be worth following. If that's what I thought, I'd have a duty to rebel." She flicked her eyebrows up at him, mollified by his slow half-grin. "Laying aside that I think that's a pretty mean and shitty and shallow way to think of God-- also I might circle back to this wretched conflation of punishment with justice, though I've been guilty of it myself-- think we're getting a little further afield." He propped her chin on her hand, watching him. "You really need my approval for what you're doing? The pastoral work."

"Need? No. But I would not mind, say, comparing notes."

"I haven't done the damn thing yet, all I got is theory, just at the moment. Also I kinda feel we might have some differences here."

"You think so? How is that?" Maybe it was the wine, or maybe she was finally catching on to one of the kinds of social cues she'd always been abysmal at identifying, or maybe she was just getting a feel for the man-- the way he was watching her, the tension at the corner of his mouth, the banked amusement glittering behind his right eye-- she still couldn't read the white one at all-- he was enjoying this. Winding her up and watching her go. Playing with her. "Other than your God being a tyrannical despot and your Church being the source of incalculable suffering and the true author of every imaginable evil. Aside from that?"

"Tell me, once you get done sacrificing infants and bathing in their blood, is that when y'all start the orgies with the goats? Or is it the other way around?" She did manage to keep a straight face, but it was an effort. 

"Orgy, then sacrifice. Blood gets everywhere, dries sticky, and you very much do not want it near your, ehh-- bits. It is not sexy."

"I'll keep it in mind for the next time I find myself at an orgy. I always wind up so confused at those." She shook her head, tracking the corkscrewing flutter of a bat diving for bugs in the wash of the streetlight below. "Jackass. No, but this is where we actually get to praxis, right? And different situations are gonna call for different approaches, different priorities. How you deal with someone suffering from malnutrition is different from how you deal with someone suffering spiritual malaise, but also one of those things is gonna be a lot easier to detect. I don't get the impression you deal with a whole lot of hungry kids in your day to day practice, so how do you approach it? What's your biggest challenge?"

"Hm." He leaned back, hooking an elbow over the back of his chair, glass in hand. "Day to day?"

"Yeah. Other than whatever crazy shit happens while you're on tour, I imagine that's its own particular brand of difficult."

"It very much is. You would not believe." He rolled his eyes, witnessing some internal horrors, and took a drink of wine as if to clear his thoughts. "In the day to day-- we have a Ministry, yes? And our own kind of monastics. This is where I spend the bulk of my time, when I am not doing," he gestured expansively with the wine glass, "all of this. I think I would say-- Hm. Most people are not raised by Satanists. Primarily my charges are converts, and there is so much internalized-- guilt, I suppose. Shame. Even when you know you have nothing to be guilty about. There is much to deprogram. We do not have confession, as such, but I do serve as a spiritual advisor. They come to me with their fears, their uncertainties. Their... needs." He raised his glass to his lips and lingered, expression neutral, watching her. His right eye was very dark. "I find I spend a great deal of my time helping my people unlearn the idea that there's anything to be ashamed of about desire." As if he didn't know how he looked, with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed just so at the ankle, his arm sprawled over the back of the chair, the long lean languid line of him. 

Sophie hoped that she kept her face still. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't look at that eerie white, how it burned, how it seemed to see so much. The weight of it was almost physical. She focused on his hairline, and kept her voice even. "That must be very challenging." 

"...Yes. Well." He looked down at his glass and she could breathe again, with his eyes off of her. He leaned forward slowly, folding in on himself, to set it down, almost apologetic. "It becomes reflexive."

"I see." It was too much for her. Nicotine was suddenly imperative. A small sharp noise as she set her glass down on the table between them, and she pulled her purse to her, reaching past her sunglasses and a bottle of hand sanitizer for her cigarettes. "How do you-- it's gotta be tough. What I'm having trouble getting my head around, what I'm worried about fucking up, is-- how do you build that kind of rapport? That they feel safe enough to come to you with their problems?" At least she didn't have to look at him, fishing the pack out of her purse. 

"That was not easy. You must seem enough of an authority that you are capable of solving these things, but also approachable enough that they will not think of themselves as-- ehh, bothering you. Or a burden. It is a delicate balance. You must project confidence, yes? Don't let them see you sweat. That was a challenge. Is still a challenge. But people? Trust? There, it is--" He spread his hands. "You just-- pay attention."

"And attention is the highest form of generosity." 

"Just so. Is that... Simone Weil?"

She had to stop, with her cigarette halfway to her lips, utterly delighted. "Copia. Did you actually read Gravity and Grace in between here and Asheville?"

He looked down, straightening the edge of his suit. "Ehh. There was time, on the bus. Not all of it, it is fairly dense, but some."

"I'll be damned." She shook her head, sparking her zippo and bending her head to the light. "Believe I said this before, but it bears repeating: you are very good at your job." The smoke drifted towards him, and between that and the strange expression on his face, she couldn't look at him. She got up and moved to the ledge, downwind, leaning her elbows on the railing, looking over the Charleston skyline, such as it was. Live oak and Spanish moss, streetlights like fireflies in the gloom. It all seemed very Southern Gothic to her, ostentatiously so, the faint sounds of conversation and traffic floating up, a glass breaking and a chorus of drunken laughter. The wine hit her in a rush, warm all the way through and a little unsteady. 

Copia had moved to her elbow, following in her wake. He reached for her cigarette and she passed it, a thoughtless and fluid motion, and it was only after he was taking a drag that she realized she'd done it like they had been doing this for years. It scared her badly, much worse than his heavy-lidded eyes when he had spoken of desire, and she couldn't articulate why. 

"You really think this," he said to the skyline. 

"Why does this surprise you? I'm missing something here, I just don't know what."

He tapped ash off the cigarette, a little fussy. "Most of our people are converts."

"So you said."

"I am not. I was-- it was expected, that I would go into the clergy. I was not called, as you were." And at her look, "I do enjoy it, I am fortunate, as I have said. But it is not, ehh. Second nature."

She took that in for a moment. "I wouldn't have thought you were a man given to much self-doubt. What would you be doing, if not this?"

"Ehhh." He gestured expansively with her cigarette, passed it back to her, and she took it without thought. "Honestly I do not know what. I am, largely, content. Truly, I am, you don't have to look at me like that. But I wonder, from someone who was called-- what is it that makes you say so? That I'm good?"

"Good at this, or just good?"

He shrugged, laced his fingers together, looking out at the city as if he couldn't meet her eyes.

"It comes to the same. It's attention. You pay attention. To your people. To me, and you have absolutely no reason why you should pay attention to me. You're leading them, and it looks to me like you don't even have to think about it, and I don't know if that's because you're a natural, or because you've worked really hard to look like a natural." She took one last drag on the cigarette, resolutely not thinking about how it had been between his lips a moment before. This wasn't the time. "I have seen bad at this, and you ain't that. The leadership-- I don't understand that at all, and it's probably where I'm gonna fuck up."

"Believe me when I say that I have every confidence in you. You will be just fine. Sophie." Something in his voice made her turn to look at him, and his eyes broke her heart. "You are going to be magnificent."

He was so close, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. It ought to have scared her more than it did. "I. What makes you say that?"

"You care. You care about things so much. You are on fire with it. The light you give off-- I could find you from miles away.  You are so-- you're so warm." The way he was looking at her. And then she was afraid, suddenly. "Who wouldn't want to come in from the cold?" Those mismatched eyes, seeing so much, catching her like a butterfly under glass. 

She had to turn away, before she did something she couldn't take back, put space between them, and never mind that it felt like running. "That's kind. Thank you." She dropped herself on that elegant little couch, feeling shaky. 

Copia was leaning back on the railing, watching her. "Kindness has nothing to do with it. I am right, is all. You'll see. I have faith."

She had to laugh, running her hand through her hair. The drive, the show, the wine, whatever strange thing she'd narrowly avoided, it was all catching up with her. She dropped her head back onto the couch, and closed her eyes. "You are funny."

She felt the other end sink under his weight. "And here I was under the impression that, eh. I only thought I was funny."

"Didn't wanna inflate your ego too much, there." Whatever danger he had posed had passed, and now she was just tired. Tired, and safe, and fading fast. 

"Sophie?" Her name in his mouth. Strange. Vaguely, she had the thought that she liked the sound. 

"Mmm?"

"Are you falling asleep?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"As you like."

The sound of crickets, distant drunken laughter, cars going by every so often, a faint Etta James song. She drifted. 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, someone draped something over her shoulders that smelled like smoke and leather and safety. Turning inward, she  laid her head on something warm, and slept. 

*

Sophie woke gradually, soft peach-colored light the first thing she was aware of. Sunrise over Charleston harbor, ridiculous piles of fluffy pastel color, pink and purple and that orange sherbet that seemed unreal, a frame in a Miyazaki movie. The water reflecting the color of the sky, framed by the scant few blocks between here and the waterfront. It had been an impressive view at night. In the morning it was ridiculous, absurd, a feeling of total unreality. 

The second thing she was aware of was that the warm surface under her head and hand was moving in a slow rhythm. And, it seemed, snoring very softly. 

Carefully, she did not freeze. 

Giving up sex was one thing. It was fine, sex, pleasant enough but not a harrowing loss. You could do without it. At times she would have spells of arousal so intense it was like a thunderstorm rolling in-- impersonal and connected to no actual human or image or sound, passing through her internal landscape with the insensate, thoughtless force of a natural disaster-- but these things passed away just as easily as they had blown in. And anyway she had two good hands. She could take care of herself. 

But this. 

This warm body under her cheek, the tidal rise and fall of his breath displacing her weight by millimeters, a cycle perhaps a third of a second slower than her own. The steady and organic cadence of his heartbeat in counterpoint to her pulse. The smell of him, wool and sun and leather and myrrh and a trace of something sour, like wine, or maybe sweat. The weight of his arm over her rib cage, pressing her closer into him, anchoring her. 

To give this up. The simple animal comfort of being half-held. He didn't even know he was doing it--! To wake up curled into the side of a person you knew you were safe with, who held you in some sort of regard-- intolerable. An unimaginable sacrifice. Too much. 

Well. She didn't have to give it up this instant. 

She lay there, listening to his heart, and watching the colors change in the sky, and carefully did not think about things coming to an end. Until, at last, she heard a sharper intake of breath underneath her, a stiffening of muscles. He froze, and held his breath. She heard his heart rate pick up, felt a featherlight touch over her hair. It lingered, the barest suggestion of pressure, and then she felt him beginning to try to extricate himself. 

"No," she said. 

He went absolutely rigid. "Signora, my apologies, I did not mean to--"

"No, I mean. Can we stay like this? Just for a little while longer."

He settled under her, a slow unspooling of tension. Tentatively, he put his arm back around her shoulders, cautious, as if she were a wounded bird that would try to thrash away if startled. "Anything you wish, Sophie." She felt his voice as much as she heard it. What a thing, to feel a voice. "Nothing you do not."

Together, they watched the light spill back into the world.

[infamousbrad]

You Need to Stop Kidding Yourself about Why They Hate Democrats

Long ago, Chicago labor attorney Thomas Geoghegan spent months at time, over about a decade, studying the German economy for a good book that came out in 2010 called Were You Born on the Wrong Continent? And I've spent all morning trying to find a quote that apparently isn't in the book, it must have been from an interview during his book tour. Here's the relevant passage in the book, with my emphasis added.

At the SPD headquarters, I met people on the left, the best and brightest, who can at least think in this framework. They grasp what their job is: to protect the way of life of a largely high school-educated middle class. That way of life is what constitutes the crown jewels. The protection of the crown jewels is a fiduciary responsibility. I hate to say so, but Democrats and Kennedy School-types (with honorable exceptions)—certainly Democratic politicians—really do not think seriously about how, in a practical way, to raise the standard of living of the non- college grad population, who happen to be, well, 73 percent of the adult population.

During an interview about this passage (that I apparently can't find) I remember him being asked about this, and as best as I can reconstruct it, he said that the SPD campaign organizer who pointed this out to him also said that once the OPEC crisis and resulting global recession back in the 1970s was over, the US decided to try to monopolize all the college-educated, high-wage jobs in the world, and to push every future head-of-household in America to get at least a bachelor's degree.

And the German said to him that nobody anywhere else in the world thought we could get our college graduate rate as high as we now have. But at the same time, the German government and its private sector as well set out to try to monopolize all of the skilled labor jobs in the world, because those jobs can, if that's who's available, be done by people with a high school education and a little bit of manufacturing experience.

In the 1992 Democratic Party primary, Bill Clinton, spokesman for the Democratic Leadership Council (or as my side of the party called them, the "Democrats for the Leisure Class") were explicit that they were literally throwing away any interest in supporting a living wage or any other protections for people with a high school diploma or less. They unashamedly said there was no future there, the real future was in the college-educated outer-ring suburbs.

So, he said, yes, life in America for college-educated whites is wonderful compared to most of the world, but that left him with two questions for this American labor attorney:

Do you have any plan for ever making it possible for any young man without a college degree to ever be able to afford to have a family? And ...

If not? Why do they let you get away with that?

Yesterday, Geoghegan's question was answered. They aren't going to let us get away with that. Not any more. Even if Trump is lying about his tariffs bringing back the working-class jobs, even if he also has no plans for those jobs paying a living wage, he says he hates the global trade in manufacturing with companies in China and Mexico that don't even allow private-sector independent unions.

As could have been entirely safely predicted, hell, as Eric Hoffer predicted way the hell back in the late 40s when he wrote The True Believer about the foot-soldiers for the Bolsheviks in Russia, the Klan in America, and the Nazis in Germany, there is nothing more dangerous than telling lots of young men from the dominant ethnic group in your country that they will never be able to afford to have a family. And now the chickens have come home to roost.

[dollarbin]

Kristofferson:

A Dollar Bin Primer

I saw an obligatory "ten essential songs" list alongside the very nice NYTimes Kris obituary following his passing yesterday. Suffice it to say that the assembler of that list doesn't dwell with you and me in the Dollar Bin. Rather they live in Obvious Town, otherwise known as Spodify.

But Kris is a true lord of the bin: he sold tons of records in the 70's that no one listens to any more except me and my famous brother.

And now you! Here are nine deep tracks (plus a tenth from Willie!) in chronological order, one from each of Kristofferson's fairly-easy-to-track-down-for-a-square-buck-each 70's albums...

(Yes: incredibly, Kris put out nine separate solo albums in the 70's, plus three more with his wife-for-a-decade Rita Coolidge, not to mention starring in a half dozen films. Nine plus three is twelve. I doubt Radiohead have issued that many albums in their nearly 40 years of existence...)

Casey's Last Ride from Kristofferson

Kris's self-titled first record is a downright mothercuddler: every song is titanic, funny and terrifying. Casey's Last Ride gives him room to swing from violent to sensitive; this perfectly miniaturized epic sounds like a blueprint for the film Peckinpah should have made with Kris instead of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid...

Jodie and the Kid from The Silver Tongued Devil and I

Kris could write a weeper alright. I don't know if he ever really got over his first failed marriage and the ways it affected his children. Every time I was around Kris - he was a distant cousin - I'd see that he was most interested in the children at our gathering; the first time I ever met him he seemed literally covered in diapered offspring from his third marriage and he looked downright thrilled about it.

Jodie and the Kid was one of my grandmother's favorites of his songs - he loved her dearly and she loved the sensitive, ah shucks side of him on display in this perfect short story of a song.

Little Girl Lost from Border Lord

Kris always took a lot of pride in his band: guys stuck with him for decades and he made room for their songs and their voices on all of his records. Little Girl Lost is really three different songs artfully shuffled together: there's brooding Doors-like intro followed by a honky tonk stomp that fades into a prayer. Kris and the boys ride the changes with concise poise.

Jesus Was A Capricorn

He was just so good with words. Sure, this title track from his fourth solo record is a tossed off hoot. But there are poetic depths here, especially for a guy who was busy drinking himself to death. Just check out the verse work: he rhymes food and shoes and makes it work; he boils down an eight page paragraph from Dostoevsky about the return of Christ into about 6 words and then he lays this little nugget on us, all with a chuckle:

Some folks hate the whites who hate the blacks who hate the klan; most of us hate anything that we don't understand...

Lights of Magdala from Spooky Lady's Sideshow

Kris was also an occasionally brilliant interpreter of other people's songs. The drunkest of his records, 1974's Spooky Lady Sideshow, verges on unlistenable at moments but it also contains the fitting closure of what I consider his great Freedom Trilogy.

Buried in the mix is also one of the bleakest pleas for salvation ever issued by a white male on record. For me, Drake's Black Eyed Dog, Young's Borrowed Tune and Kris's Lights of Magdala work together to chart out the depths of hell. They also make us want to reach out and help everyone we see.

Stallion from Who's To Bless and Who's To Blame

Kris was always the first to put down his own singing and musicianship. Yeah, so he was no Mickey Newbury - but he knew his range and he knew enough chords to work with and there was never a truly dull moment in songs like Stallion. Indeed, it's hard to imagine a world where white dudes with oddball voices - think everyone from Michael Stipe to David Berman to Ira Kaplan - ever turn into rock and roll icons without the benefit of Kris's rickety but oh-so-cool foundation.

You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine) from Surreal Thing

Occasionally, however, he'd write something he really couldn't sing. The ridiculous, tequila soaked chorus for You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine) is a good example.

But Kris had an ace up his sleeve: his version features a heavenly choir led by his wife Rita Coolidge; and alternatively, he could always just let Willie sing it...

The Saber and the Rose from Easter Island

You can probably note a decrease in quality going on. As an old man, poor Kris couldn't remember too much about his life from this period. The guy had boxed too much, flown too many helicopters, surely blown out his hearing and drank way, way, too much - and none of that helps in the memory department - which is why I don't fly helicopters.

But in 1978 he made a concerted effort with Easter Island to reclaim some kind of high ground artistically. I have no idea what's really happening in this song but the piano pounds nicely and the storytelling is beginning to reemerge.

Come Sundown from Shake Hands with the Devil

Happily, he survived it all: he sobered up, met a rather perfect human being and talked them into being his wife for the next 45 years. Did he ever write a song again that matched the glorious initial tracks on this list and on everyone else's? Heck no!

But Come Sundown is sure lovely...

[rgr-pop]

been doing a lot of work that is functionally genealogy to power map several catholic developer dynasties who have been a historical anti-abortion base here. this is parallel to, but separate from, the story of the urban-based catholic organized opposition to integration (busing) as the foundation of organized opposition to abortion. this peripheral story is extremely useful from an organizing perspective: five families whose names we see plastered over every construction site in the city, and they’re all on the boards of anti-abortion nonprofits? trying to decide what our city is gonna be like from out there in grand ledge, st. john’s, dewitt? easy.

in the parallel, internal story, what we look for is a name attached first to anti-busing then to anti-abortion— that’s the formula, and michigan perfected it. (in 1970 we amended our constitution to ban state funding for religious schools—parochiaid, our catholics’ lost cause; in august 1971 the klan blew up ten school buses in my hometown pontiac michigan; in summer 1972 the state supreme court overturned our worst abortion criminalization law, but on november 7 our liberalization ballot measure failed, and on that same day lansing voters recalled the pro-busing school board.) i know you’ve heard this from me lots of times, but i like to keep saying it in different ways. the idea is that soon everyone is going to know this is how it went.

I have mixed feelings about the stock narrative about the anti-abortion movement being delivered from brown v board—it’s true, but i don’t think people are thinking about how it is true, and what it looks like. it very quickly became something people say. there’s a tendency to collapse this story with the debate about whether to focus on evangelicals or catholics— too simple, names too few names, not asking people to think enough. makes people less able to see where catholics and evangelicals collaborate, which is the elision that keeps making americans stupid.

anyway if you’re doing this work in a city anything like mine or bigger: i promise you have a CPC that’s been there since the late seventies, or at least you can find evidence of ones that old, and with a little bit of work you can pin a public segregationist on them. easy easy and an easy pill to swallow. you got it.

but that’s not what i’m going find about these rural catholics whose opposition to integration looked like enforcing a wide periphery—they were not mobilizing themselves around sites of integration because they were not at risk of being visited by integration. these guys just sat it out until the eighties, taught their men to care about social services in public, let the urban irish look bad. but i found the most delightful little flourish: right to life clinton county was founded by a woman from one of those big name catholic dynasties, yes, but, in partnership with an evangelical woman, the daughter of bob jones’s elmer rumminger. guy blurbed in every article that taught americans the phrase “segregation academies” five years ago. bob jones segregationist right here with our german catholic developers. what a blessing!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Smith at The Guardian:

Donald Trump has complained bitterly to Jewish donors that a majority of Jews vote against him in US presidential elections, suggesting that the Democratic party has a “curse on you”. The Republican presidential candidate made the remarks during a speech on Thursday at the Israeli-American Council national summit in Washington, where he used hyperbolic language to warn that victory for his opponent Kamala Harris would result in Israel being wiped off the map. Airing grievances at the end of a disjointed speech, with US and Israel flags behind him, Trump claimed that his support among Jewish voters went from 25% in 2016 to 29% in 2020. “And based on what I did and based on my love – the same love that you have – I should be at 100,” he carped.

Trump asserted that he had been “the best president by far” for Israel but a new poll shows him still below 40% among Jewish voters. “That means you’ve got 60% voted for somebody that hates Israel. And I say it – it’s going to happen – it’s only because of the Democrat hold or curse on you. You can’t let this happen. Forty per cent is not acceptable, because we have an election to win.” Trump has been criticised for associating with extremists who promote antisemitic rhetoric, such as the far-right activist Nick Fuentes and the rapper Ye, formerly known as Kanye West. When the former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke endorsed Trump in 2016, Trump responded that he knew “nothing about David Duke, I know nothing about white supremacists”.

But during his four years in office, Trump approved a series of policy changes long sought by many advocates of Israel, such as moving the US embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, officially recognising the Golan Heights as being under Israel’s sovereignty, and terminating Barack Obama’s Iran nuclear deal. At Thursday’s donor event, entitled “Fighting Anti-Semitism in America”, Trump told the mostly supportive audience: “My promise to Jewish Americans is this: with your vote I will be your defender, your protector, and I will be the best friend Jewish Americans have ever had in the White House. But in all fairness, I already am.” He criticised Harris over the Biden administration’s handling of the Israel-Hamas war, and for what he branded antisemitic protests on college campuses and elsewhere. “Kamala Harris has done absolutely nothing. She has not lifted a single finger to protect you or to protect your children.”

But the former president returned again and again to what is evidently a political sore point: his persistent struggle among Jewish voters. He repeated a talking point that Jewish people who vote for Democrats “should have their head examined”. He went on: “I will put it to you very simply and gently. I really haven’t been treated right. But you haven’t been treated right because you’re putting yourself in great danger and the United States hasn’t been treated right.” He claimed that Israel “will cease to exist” within two or three years if he does not win the election. “I have to tell you the truth and maybe you’ll be energised because there’s no way that I should be getting 40% of the vote. I’m the one that’s protecting you. These are the people who are going to destroy you and you have 60% of Jewish people essentially voting for that.”

Rabid antisemite Donald Trump whines about the lack of support from Jews and attacked Democratic Jewish voters at Thursday’s address in front of the Israeli-American Council.

See Also:

HuffPost: Trump Says He’d Blame Jews For Loss, Claims Democrats Have ‘Hold Or Curse’ On Them

Daily Kos: Trump threatens to blame Jews if he loses the election

[iruthomlogs]

World of Warcraft Yeehawgust undead cowboy

A World of Warcraft fanfiction for @yeehawgust event Yeehawgust 2024 day 10 undead featuring my forsaken characters Ansgar, Thorsten, Raphael, Hulbard, Amelia, and Celene.

A group of four cowboys and a pair of cowgirls arrived at a town in noon and a lot of town folks turn heads at these new arrivals as they smell bad. They soon saw that these folks are undead as their leader, a man wearing all black, said to his gang, "Let head to the saloon for a few drinks." and one of the men said, "Okay, Hulbard." The six undead cowboys then walk to the saloon as the scared town folks run to their homes.

As the undead cowboys take a seat in the bar and the people in the saloon look at the six undead folks, one of the undead men turn to a man sitting next to him at the bar and said to the human, "Hello, Robert." and Robert said in shock, "Thorsten? Is that you?" which Thorsten reply with a smile, "Yeah, I'm back from the dead." Thorsten then shoot Robert in the leg and one of the girls said, "Thorsten couldn't wait a little longer for his revenge." and the other girl reply, "I understand his thinking, Celene." Thorsten got up from his seat and said to the bleeding Robert, "You shoot me and left me for dead, Roobert. Now, I've come to get my revenge with my new friends. Each one of us has been killed by a friend of your ghost gang." and then shoot Robert in the face.

Sheriff Hatwing arrived to arrest the undead gang in order to bring justice only for the two women to walk up to him and said to him as they show their faces to the sheriff, "Hello, Sheriff Hatwing." and the sheriff's face turn grim as he said to the women, "It cannot be... Amelia... Celene..." and Amelia said to her lover, "Look at that, Celene. He remember the women that he has hung due to our live and our rejected of him." Celene ask her lesbian lover, "How can we killed him? Should we hang him?" and Amelia said, "That is a great idea, Celene." and then ask the others, "Boys, can you help poor undead ladies carry the sheriff to the hanging stand?" and the four undead men grab Sheriff Hatwing by his limbs and carry him to the hanging stand.

After the sheriff was hanged, the town was in a panic and both men and women start arming themselves and get ready to fight the undead six. As the six undead come onto the street, the adults start firing at them, but many of the bullets didn't hurt or even kill the undead gang and Hulbard wait until the living adults stop firing and he then said to the town people, "We don't want any trouble here. I understand that we bring terror to you, which we didn't mean to. Just hand us the men that we are going to named and we will leave town." and he start naming the men, "Thomas Lylodfuse, for the crime of killing his hunting partner Raphel for a woman. Edward Ragowl, for the crime of killing a mix wagon train overseen by Ansgar, when he was a man of God. Finally, Dean Kingsten, for the crime of killing me for silver." Once the three men are named, they are forced by the scared town people to face the men they killed, as the town people are willing to hand off these wicked men in return for their lives. Soon, the undead gang unload their bullets onto Thomas, Edward, and Dean, killing all three men. After the six undead got their revenge, they leave town and walk far from the settlement as the town people were shocked over what they just saw on this day.

Miles from the town wait a African American man whose lost his family to the infamous Ku Klux Klan and he use the power of Voodoo to bring back those whose were killed by the same Klan members whose murder his family. Soon, the undead six arrived to him and the African American man ask them, "Are those men dead?" and Hulbard reply, "Yes, they are dead. Old Nick will deal with them in Hell now." The master of the undead nod that revenge has come to them and he told them, "I have dug graves for you six. Go to these graves and I will return your souls." and the undead did as they are told before the African American man break the jars that hold their souls, allowing the undead gang to finally rest in peace and then burry their bodies.