#AQI here is ass

[violentbisexuality]

mmmm, stepping outside and it smells like the area i lived at in brooklyn. i am in the midwest.

#AQI here is ass #but i put so many chemicals in my body it's fine #also i got my inhaler so #lore

[lonelyheartsclubhaze]

We Sold Our Souls to Instagram

September 2020 // Chapter 2

“No, I’m not going to pick you up.” I shook my head, visibly and audibly annoyed. “You know damn well that I’m not getting behind the wheel. I’m hanging up, sorry.”

Converting potential energy into kinetic, the iPhone X left my hand, skimming across the wave-front of my bed. My hands ruffled through my hair as I inhaled then sighed, absentmindedly channelling the virtues of cellular respiration.

Tired of this perpetual bullshit, my fingers slithered across the Ikea desk before me, eventually detecting the apple of my bedroom’s Eden: a lychee ice Puff Bar. My fingers honed in on the device, ensnaring it, raising it to my lips. A deep breath saved me from the agony of sobriety, the nicotine buzz lasting a moment. Then, it was lost.

Six soft, knuckled knocks rapped at the bedroom door. “It’s unlocked,” I shouted.

A creak later, the door swung open, revealing Adam. There was nobody else in the house anyway. With a global pandemic at large and wildfires blazing on deep into September, neither Ajay nor Cam had seen Dwight House since March. Just Adam and me.

“Yo, we out,” he said, pulling a reusable, black cloth mask under his chin. “Can’t see shit outside but we still drinking, dawg.” Ah, the charming vernacular of a Korean-American friend from the elite suburbs of the East Bay.

“It’s good. What’re we feeling today?” I had actually enjoyed the past six months with Adam—it had been a good bonding experience. Despite his rough tone around me and the rest of the guys, Adam was quite versatile in social settings, weaving between upper-class gentility at investment banking info sessions and middle-aged rednecks at gun ranges. With classical Berkeley-liberal ideologies and Wall Street Journal-reading, center-right-leaning, finance friends, Adam defied social realities.

Adam shrugged. “Could go for some Chimay. I’m feeling classy.”

“Not a bad idea at all, my friend,” I said. It had been awhile since I’d had a good beer like Chimay, and I was getting sick of Coors Banquets. “On the other hand, your timing just might be—a bad idea, I mean. Air looks cancerous outside.” Marmalade light cast by the wildfires of a fuming Earth engulfed Northern California, held in suspense by cool, Pacific layers of atmosphere. It was like we were on planet Arrakis, from Dune, or trapped in the world of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.

“The air low-key is cancerous. AQI is pushing 180’s right now,” said Adam, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like an N95-kinda day. I’ve got a spare, you know,” I said, gesturing to a pile of three or so N95 masks by the lamp on my desk.

Adam waved it off. “Eh, I’m good. That’s some puss shit. Let’s just run over to Crafts and Grapes or some shit, shouldn’t take long.”

I shrugged. “So be it.”

Tossing on a pair of five-and-a-half inch inseam Lululemon shorts, I joined Adam as he hopped downstairs.

“Got keys?” he asked once we reached the door.

“Yer, we out,” I said, shaking my keys out from my shorts’ pocket to lock the front door.

“Fuck,” griped Adam. “It’s actually hot as shit out here.” Smoky, red air obscured him from sight as he craned his neck to see me.

“Hence the shorts.”

Adam squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, and jutted his head back and forth, mocking me. “For sure. Forgot your MCAT-lovin’-ass could predict the future. But really though—it’s the middle of September, dude. This shit is wrong. It’s hot as balls and California is on fire and the sky is red and fools are straight-up dying off this COVID shit.”

“And you’re still an idiot,” I said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“Are you qualified to diagnose me as an idiot?”

“Maddie would say so.”

“Hence the pet names.”

“Precisely.”

“We gotta do something about this, bruh. This shit pains me to see,” declared Adam.

“Let’s start by drinking these brews. We’ll recycle the bottles after.”

We walked east on Dwight toward Telegraph, dodging cars as we skipped across the one way street. Adam was quieter than usual, for the most part, looking up from his iPhone 11 Pro Max periodically to comment on something he’d read in the news, or the glum weather. He wore a khaki short sleeve button-up, Kapital raw denim jeans with smiley face patchwork on the back left pocket, and a pair of slip-on Nike Janoski sneakers. The jeans were nice—quite expensive, from the looks of it—but looked baggy on him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, all of his clothes  wore a bit loose on him, akin to a fiery adolescent who’d picked out hand-me-downs from an older sibling. Who that older sibling might’ve been, I’d never know—with his unwavering demeanor, Adam always seemed like the eldest in the room.

Banking right onto Telegraph, we bore the full brunt of the veiled sun, which, though hidden behind dense clouds of smoke, now revealed its penetrating UV rays. We ducked under corrugated foam polycarbonate sheets, which lined the rooftops of mom-and-pop Telegraph shops, fending off the sun’s cancerous radiation. The insanity of the world mingled with the smoky, copper air, making me delirious. I imagined I was Mel Gibson or Tom Hardy in Mad Max, feigning off flashbacks in the Wasteland. At the corner of Telegraph and Blake street, Adam pushed and held open the door to Crafts and Grapes. Nodding my head at him in small thanks, I entered, squinting my eyes as the light shifted from hazy red to bright white inside. It was a tiny store, with two aisles directly ahead lined with candy, nuts, and other inconsequential (unless you ate too many) snacks, followed by two refrigerators: one in the back, the other on the far right. Cool, wispy air emanated from the cold storage, contrasting with the late summer atmosphere only meters behind us. A bell rang as the door squeaked to a halt, prompting the middle-eastern cashier, directly to our right, to rise from his stool and greet us. We nodded back silently, all three of us clad in masks.

Per usual, Adam took the lead, striding toward the fridge directly back. He popped open one of the see-through doors with his left hand, mapping his way through its items with his right pointer finger. Finding my eyes, Adam shook his head, indicating a lack of Chimay.

“Blue moons?” I suggested. “Mango wheats?”

Adam screwed up his face. “Fuck that. Let’s go with Lags.”

“Sure, why not.”

Adam kneeled and looped his hand through the cardboard handle of a Lagunitas StereoHopic IPA six-pack. We walked over to the register where Adam made small talk with the cashier. Eventually, he tapped his iPhone 11 to an Ingenico payment terminal, finalizing our transaction. Drinks acquired.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind us once more. We hurried home, eager to crack open our drinks, intent on droning out the blistered yonder. Adam tried to explain his enthusiasm for hoppy beers while I pretended to listen. He was distracting me, though; we both knew I couldn’t care less.

Arriving home, my keys found their way to the door, and we found our ways to the couch. A tenor beep resounded through our living room as Adam’s iPhone connected to an old speaker via bluetooth. “Street Lights” by Kanye West filled the air, followed by carbon dioxide bubbles freed by an unlikely liberator—the bottle opener.

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain’t always set in stone

That be known let me know

I found myself back in the hand-me-down BMW 330i, with her, the white wire packed into the lightning port of my iPhone, transmitting cosine waves that replicated the robotic voice I was listening to in my living room.

“Stop!” she cried, thrusting herself back against beige, leather seats. She wanted me to press the brakes. I had to stop the car, right, stop the car. Where were the brakes?

She was beautiful, of course.

Dark, brown hair fell over eyes of the same color, guarded by double-lids that I wish she hadn’t paid for.

Hardly anyone would notice the difference, but I did, and it hurt to know that she didn’t love them.

I loved them, unconditionally, but she loved the brakes.

Needed to find them.

We’d shared a large bowl of Marafuku’s acclaimed Hakata Tonkotsu DX ramen. I’d let her eat most of it, sneaking my chopsticks in for bites at intervals.

“Pennsylvania?” I shook my head.

“What, you’ve never been?” She tilted hers. “You’ll love it. Come with me.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, smiling. “My MCAT summer is coming up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll help you study for it. Duh.”

“I’m sure Brandon would love that.”

“Will he? All the way from San Francisco?”

“He’ll make the trip.”

“Not if you do,” she said, melting my mind.

I was dizzy, sleepy, lost, a newborn. Vulnerable. And I couldn’t seem to find them.

I’m just not there in the streets

I’m just not there

Life’s just not fair

Life’s just not fair

Sonorant chimes reverberated in my ears as Adam clinked his glass bottle to mine. “Cheers,” he said with a nod.

“Cheers,” I echoed. Leaning my head back, I swallowed, allowing the cool liquid down my esophagus and into my gut.

“You good?” he prodded.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking a little. I cleared my throat.

“Pretty hoppy, huh?”

I took another sip, licking my lips after. “Quite. I suppose we knew what we were getting ourselves into. You know, given the ‘StereoHopic’.”

“You right.”

“Yeah.”

“Yo,” said Adam. “On another note—might be going in on an addy deal with Grace if you’re tryna hop in.”

I scratched my head. While I wouldn’t have any major exams in the near future (although midterms for my biochem course [MCB 102, for my fellow pre-med students at Cal] were slated for October sixteenth), I certainly had errands that might be eased by a twenty milligram dose of extended-release Adderall. There’s nothing like a thorough room-cleaning session when you’re high on stimulant drugs.

The first time I ever tried Adderall must’ve been during my freshman year, back in 2017. Midterm season was approaching—come to think of it, that was around this time that year—and our generous friend, Grace, was kind enough to grant me a ten milligram pill of instant-release Adderall. Grace and I, along with Adam and perhaps Ajay, too, were partaking in a midnight study session at Moffitt Library, which was open twenty-four-seven—prior to the pandemic. I popped the pill, chased it down with a Javiva drink from Peet’s, and got to work.

Twenty minutes later I began to feel its effects as the amphetamine altered monoamines in my brain, releasing surplus dopamine into my many synaptic clefts. Optimism filled me to the brim and my vision bent inward. I saw nothing but the iPad in front of me, my mind enamored by golgi apparatuses and various protein structures. The stimulant saturated me with a profound appreciation for all thoughts that meandered into my head; a giddiness originated in my heart, spreading down my arms, my legs, and outward across my skull, contracting then expanding once more. It was artificial love.

Eventually, I was distracted. Grace’s dilated pupils stared into mine as she chattered away  about Lin-Manuel Mir-something and a hurricane in Puerto Rico. After a second or two, my attention snapped away from cell membranes, landing instead on her words. The words of a girl from Colorado with a soft spot for the snow. I’d met Grace via Adam during Orientation Week and she’d quickly become one of my favorite people.

Gingerbread specks stippled her face like a George Seurat painting, fractal constellations arising as my eyes outlined her cheekbones. Gaps between long, chocolate locks revealed sepia collarbones, lined with descendants of the freckles on her face. A white Nike Alex Morgan soccer jersey overlaid the loose sweatpants that hung from her hips, held up by drawstrings I almost hoped would fail, concealing proportions that emulated golden ratios. Stained, white, laceless Vans hugged unpainted toes that tapped together when she spoke. Lips that scorned the artificially enlarged mouths of Instagram influencers communicated messages I was only barely beginning to listen to. She was the love interest of a nineties’ coming-of-age motion picture. But she wasn’t mine.

You know, I thought Adam might’ve loved her, but it was hard to tell when he was cycling through hookups with three different girls at a time. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if Adam loved anyone. A talker, yes; a charmer, certainly; but a romantic, I really didn’t think so.

He spent a lot of his time with her, no doubt. And she cared for him—anyone could see it. But she knew as well as I did that his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t looking for love. He wanted to graduate, make money—to be someone. Sex seemed like nothing more than a physical need to him. I don’t think anyone would’ve described Adam as an emotionally vulnerable guy, and I don’t think anyone thought that emotion was what he kept those girls around for.

But at the same time, anyone could’ve seen what I saw in the way he bounced when she was around. Anyone could’ve heard the way he spoke about her. She meant something to him. But when you asked him about it, he’d brush it off; she wasn’t his type, or he had commitment issues (jokingly—but hey, grain of truth in everything).

Maybe she was his distraction from ambition—his distraction from latex-wrapped, emotionally removed nights and Wall Street Journal mornings, just as she was my distraction from cell structures.

For a good hour-and-a-half, Grace entertained me with conversation regarding natural disasters across the West; Broadway musical comparisons between Hamilton and Sunday in the Park with George; and the latest updates on Cal’s women’s soccer team, of which she was a huge fan. The Adderall certainly kept me focused, although not necessarily on my coursework.

“Let me know,” said Adam, tipping the bottle into the corner of his mouth. “I’m boutta text her back.”

I looked up from my lap at Adam. Right, I thought. “Sure, I could be down. Why not. Think you can pick me up two? I have some errands to run.”

“Twenty milligram XR work?” he asked as he tapped along the screen of his iPhone.

“That’ll do.”

The room went quiet for twenty to twenty five seconds as I was confirmed as an accomplice in the drug deal.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“Hm?” he noised, raising his eyebrows without looking up.

“Grace,” I said. “Haven’t seen her much.”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. Drinking a solid amount though, from what I’ve seen.”

“Makes three of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, feigning a smile. “What about yours?”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath—inhaling, holding to the count of four, exhaling. “Not much of a difference, to be honest.”

“It’s not her fault, you know.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Then talk to her.”

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

Adam paused.

I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He squinted. “The fuck you sorry for?”

“You know.”

He waved his hand aside, brushing it off. “I’m not tripping. Talk to her. Before I do it myself.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s better off that way.”

“Here,” he said, handing me a two-foot-tall bong and lighter from under the coffee table. “Take it.”

Couldn’t stay away. My fingers gripped the paraphernalia as he withdrew. My heart quickened as the impending drug interaction approached. When it reached my lips, I lit, then inhaled, holding to the count of four, and then some. Blurry feelings rushed my mind as states of sufferance gave way to sedated nebulas, teaching me forgetfulness.

#writers on tumblr #my writing #fiction #writers #writing #mood #vibe #original #original fiction

[diarrheaofthekeyboard]

Destroyed

10.4.2020

Day two of “The Crash” and there’s been no improvement as I start typing this. I went through this last year and it’s how I finally went to therapy (I originally wrote that as “ended up”. But that’s my inner failure dialog.) I can’t control my emotions. I’m hot all the time. And well, my ass hurts (I did go to the doctor and changed the cream I’m using. It hurts both more and less). 

I can’t get out from this feeling of impending existential doom. It’s not anyone’s fault and I’m doing everything I can not to take it out on anyone. I want to cry but there’s no tears. I want to kill myself but that’s ridiculous. I want to write or sing or something but I’m embarrassed people will hear/see me do something that’s not perfect. 

Part of this is the internet. I have mostly stopped posting on guitar forums. I unfollowed every politics related poster on Twitter. And I have been unfollowing the source posters of my Facebook friends. Though Facebook pisses me off because you can block any post you want but if it still thinks you want to see it, it’s going to show it to you. 

I’m still reading everything like an addict. And it’s not just the phone. It’s when I’m on the computer too. I need to make an effort on my own behalf to keep a book with me at all times. Yeah, I might only get a page or two here and there and have to read it over later. But I can’t keep exposing myself to human stupidity for a significant portion of my day. 

The guitar stuff is uber stupid. Taylor comes out with a new guitar and these cantankerous fucks who haven’t even seen one in person yet already hate it because of marketing, bracing, wood, you name it, they hate it. Heritage’s new owners commit to changing the line for the better and these assholes either want them to innovate in a way that’s outside of the brand or can’t get over that the headstock doesn’t look like a Gibson. And that’s just the on-topic bullshit stuff that’s been going on for years. Nevermind the thinly veiled politics. I’m just over it. There was a time when there was something to be learned in these places. That time has passed.  

And just because it needs to be said, I have no sympathy. If he dies, he dies. And Pence had better die too, because he’s worse. While I’m at it, religion is just fairy tales told to teach us a lesson or mask political commentary. None of it happened and very few of those people actually lived. Certainly none of them lived as written. So if that’s your basis to vote for impending fascism, and that’s why you won’t wear a mask, or you’re just a “but my freedoms” idiot, you deserve to die too. 

This is all Inner Critic. I hate myself but I hate you more. I actually do think those things and that’s the part of the Inner Critic that is me. But getting red in the face while typing it is not. At this point, I’m just at input overload. With that as my baseline, it’s no wonder I need peace like Frank Black. I sang that song last year when I was at my breaking point and it’s no wonder the first Catholics record has been on my mind the past week. 

Then, last night I had an argument with my wife. Usually our arguments are about me not helping and I’ve made a concerted effort during my unemployment to do more of the daily chores. We’re not talking about huge things here, just daily stuff that needs to be done. I seem to like to do those things at 3am while she does things as they happen. Call that more of not wanting people to see me. 

Yesterday, I was putting away the laundry and she didn’t like how I did it. So she took over and I went to read to our son, who closed the door to his room. She burst in, furious, and went off about how nobody was helping her. I told her I was helping and then she took over. Then I told the boy to wait 15 minutes and went downstairs to do the dishes. So that’s the setup. 

I’m putting the clean dishes from the dishwasher away and my Inner Critic just starts going off. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck it let’s get divorced. Fuck that, let’s walk out on the freeway and get run over by a car. That’ll show her. I mouthed “STOP” as loud as I could while vocalizing nothing. A silent scream. 

This because my wife, who has been trapped in the house for over a week due to asthma and bad air quality, is going stir crazy. As you can imagine, she apologized later, and I apologized as well. We agreed we aren’t mind readers and need feedback before things explode. That’s how we’ve made it nearly 15 years. That’s how we’ll get through the next 15. We held each other for a long time. 

The thing that bothered her most about the exchange was it happened in front of our son. He hates conflict and just wants everyone to be happy. She has flashbacks to her father screaming at her, and apparently, he was intimidating and sometimes physical, though I don’t think he ever left a mark. That said, those are traumatizing memories and she doesn’t want to pass those kinds of things onto our son. If you’ve read anything here before, you know I don’t want to either. My parents probably still spanked me at his age. And there was lots of yelling all the time. But they never left a mark either. 

So she was more worried about him seeing us fight than anything else. And in my mind, yes there were raised voices, but there was no screaming. There was no cursing. There were no threats. There was “I hear you and I want to resolve this with you”. We de-escalated, we hugged, she stripped and made the bed, I did the dishes, and I went back into the boy’s room to read to him again and put him to bed. We agreed that we do make an effort not to argue in front of him. We can’t hold it in and let it explode later when that’s supposed to be downtime for everyone. If he never sees us disagree about anything then he’ll not only have a false sense of who we are, but won’t have an example of how we resolved conflict with our loved ones as an example. Those things matter. 

So the situation is resolved and I’m still beating myself up about nothing today. And the only thing I have is this is my version of stir crazy. But instead of getting micromanagey and taking it out on others, I lock myself in a small room with no natural light, and stew until my inner dialog turns on me. This is why walking has been such a help. And I haven’t been able to do it recently because it smells like smoke outside. 

This afternoon, the AQI finally dropped into the moderate range. So we ran errands. And all of us kinda went crazy walking around Target. It was just good to get out of the house. We came back and the boy and I played whiffleball. We came back and my new neighbor accused me of leaving a note on his car about parking, which I didn’t do, nor do I care about. That got my temperature to rise. I wrote a new riff with my new partial capo, this time on the A side instead of the E side. Then I beat myself up because my timing wasn’t spot on with the metronome. 

We ate dinner and I helped the boy get ready for bed. Part of that was it was his turn to read. He saw the word “sit”, guessed at what it was, and gave up. I told him to sound it out and he said “sat”. I said “no, but close, replace a with i” and he just flopped over and said he couldn’t do it. So I told him “ok, well, I’m disappointed you just gave up. Say goodnight to your mother and go to sleep if you won’t try.” He did, and on his way back up the stairs, he asked me if I was mad. I said no, but I was disappointed. To which he replied, “do you still love me?” I said, “of course I still love you. Nobody is perfect and you can’t know everything on the first try. I’m here to help you but you have to put in the effort too. Mommy and I will never stop loving you” That seemed agreeable to him. He went to his room, I picked Ralph Towner’s “Anthem” for him to listen to, and he fell asleep. 

It’s really interesting to me how writing this has brought me a sense of calm. Not because it hasn’t in the now three months I’ve been writing. Because, like everything else, it took me so long to do it. I never wanted people to see any of this and only post it because of the anonymity of it all. Maybe someone will get something out of it. The simple act of getting it all out really does help. It’s not pretty, not well written, and just a document of triggers and the reactions of my negative inner dialog. If you read this and say “yo, this dude is fucking stupid” well that’s the point. It is all stupid. But it’s pent up stupidity that’s been trying to kill me for my entire life. I may not be able to prevent the Inner Critic from speaking, but I can slowly deflate and weaken him over time.

#frank black #catholics #peace #suffering #trump #pence #fuck #ralph towner #anthem #guitar #taylor #facebook #twitter #tumblr #heritage #trauma #argument #aqi #stir crazy #reading #nobody is perfect #calm #anonymity #stupid #inner critic

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

(IMPORTANT: PRAT SUMMARIZES IDLIB PROVINCE AND THE REBEL THREESOME LOL)

Four Rebel Factions (JTS; Suqour al-Sham, Jaish al-Ahrar, Jaish al-Azza) Preparing To Merge in Idlib as part of Turkish efforts to extend influence in the last major rebel territory in Syria

body of the text via google translate:

Four military factions operating in the Idlib province are preparing to integrate into a new military body, days after the formation of the National Liberation Front.

A military source said early Wednesday (June 6th) that the "Syrian Liberation Front" is preparing to merge with factions, "the Hawks," "Free Army" and "Army of pride."

The source added to the grapes of my country that the expected integration parallel to the integration of factions, "the Free Army," noting that all factions "free" that did not join the "National Front" will be part of the new formation.

According to the source, did not oppose the Turkish side of the efforts of the factions mentioned integration, stressing his knowledge but did not support him.

The talk about the formation expected after a week from the declaration of the factions "free army" in Idlib for the formation of the "National Liberation Front" led by the faction, "the Levant" backed by Turkey.

The "liberation of Syria" includes the "Ahrar al-Sham" movement and the "Nur al-Din al-Zanki movement", and was engaged in military confrontations against the "Sham Liberation Organization" ended with a complete cease-fire agreement between the two parties.

Idlib is awaiting what it expects after the deployment of the monitoring points under the "easing tension" agreement, and the subsequent developments, most notably the internal military movements by the factions operating there.

And depends on Turkey in Idlib to organize the next phase of the province, especially the service reality and civil life and military structure, the same scenario applied in areas of the "Euphrates Shield" in the northern suburbs of Aleppo.

Turkey had the largest role in forming the National Liberation Front (FNL), which receives substantial military and financial support, and is trying to start a new military structure for Idlib.

Earlier, my country had received information that the "liberation of Syria" had received additional support from Turkey after its formation and that new steps had been taken with regard to the organization and numbers of fighters.

The movements of the factions in Idlib coincide with the security situation in the province, which killed dozens of civilians and military in the past days.

It did not specify the main source behind the chaos, but "liberation of the Sham" has confirmed repeated periods of cells to organize the "Islamic state" and behind.

First thing i wanna mention, Nur al-Din al-Zenki, one of the mentioned groups, is the faction that infamously recorded themselves beheading a 12 year old child for allegedly sympathizing with the Assad government

Zenki, like many members of this upcoming merger, are what remains of the surrender negotiation green bus population/fighter transfer to Idlib from previous rebel hold outs like Aleppo, Damascus and Hama.

Zenki merged with local hardline islamist group, Ahrar al-sham, to form JTS. Ahrar al-sham was at one point the second largest rebel faction against Assad after the FSA early in the revolution, 2013. It is Ahrar al-sham that pundits and observers of the war would primarily point to in highlighting that the revolution was not “moderate”

The sudden influx of rebel factions to the area from other parts of the country has destabilized it greatly (more than it ever was when it was al nusra/jabhat fatah al sham versus the FSA and Ahrar al-sham), where a new “Tahrir” titled faction sprouts up every other month and some even fight over it, as was the case between HTS (Tahrir al-Sham) and JTS (Jabhat Tahrir Suriya) when they began hostilities in February 2018 the day after the formation of JTS, lasting until late April. Al Zenki was especially called out by HTS, saying Zenki a little bitch betrayer of the revolution who wouldnt come to sharia court for a laundry list of shit like sending YPG recruits against HTS and killing HTS leaders. JTS in response produced a slur for the HTS akin to the one produced for the Islamic State, Daesh. The JTS now calls the HTS “Hitish”

Oh look, a map of that conflict last february:

The Al Qaeda dominated salafist HTS (Tahrir al-Sham, Syrian/Levant Liberation Front) exerts the most influence in Idlib besides the JTS (Jabhat Tahrir Suriya, Syrian Liberation Front), who are second in power and influence.

Anyway, back to the article topic, this recent announcement of the growth of JTS into a new faction includes FSA factions like Jaish Al-Izzah (Army of Glory) who online mujahideen and rebel fanboys saw as being treacherous for not joining other perpetually disorganized FSA groups in their 11 group merger late last month into Jabhat al-Wataniya lil-Tahrir (National Front for Liberation) aka NFL, lol

This is notable because NFL is squarely a Turkish coordinated effort to bang much of the remaining FSA brigades together into a proxy army. The NFL includes Faylaq al-sham, which is an extremely close proxy of Turkey as it not only participated in the “Euphrates Shield” operation to capture Al Bab from the Islamic State, but also the Turkish invasion of Afrin as one of the frontline FSA proxies in the offensive there to conquer YPG held afrin canton. What’s more, Faylaq al-sham’s leader, Colonel Fadlallah al-Haji, is now the overall commander of the newly formed NFL, meaning that the primary FSA faction in Idlib is squarely in the pocket of Turkey

So with that in mind, here’s the situation in Idlib:

Each one of these observation posts looks something like this:

So, if it isn’t clear yet, Turkey is intent on asserting it’s influence over Idlib. Most of these observation posts rest on JTS or FSA/NFL held territory. As the article states, Turkey is entering the next phase of forming the “service reality, civil life and military structure” of Idlib province. Turkey gives support to JTS but NFL is wholly their project as part of a grander vision to coordinate the rebellion akin to how they ran shit in the Euphrates Shield and Afrin operations.

All in all, the absolute state of Idlib is as follows, ranked by strength:

1. Tahrir al-Sham, aka HTS

The independent al qaeda affiliate which is the recent amalgamation with lesser groups from previous iterations such as Jabhat Fateh al-sham, Jabhat al Nusra before it and indeed, al Qaeda in Iraq. Important perennial note: AQI split into al nusra and ISIS, the islamic state, so we can say that HTS is the radical islam faction in Idlib. There is a reason why JTS, an islamist salafist organization in their own right, calls HTS “criminal” and derisively as “HITISH” as Syrian rebels previously called ISIS “DAESH”

2. Jabhat Tahrir Suriya, aka JTS

The gulf state supported JTS is a formation of the successful salafi islamist factions of the revolution who split from the free syrian army early on, like 2013. They include the various forces who were dumped into Idlib over the last year and a half by syrian government green buses after the SAA managed to kick their barrel bomb wounded asses out of urban centres like Aleppo and Damascus. As such, JTS was bolstered with veterans of acute urban warfare against the elite Tiger Forces and Hezbollah. This is partly why JTS made immediate gains against HTS when hostilities erupted last february.

3. Jabhat al-Wataniya lil-Tahrir, aka NFL

This is the most recent merger, third smallest coalition in Idlib and wholly Turkish coordinated Free Syrian Army proxy. There ain’t much left to say besides that they have many conventionally named free syrian army components like 1st Infantry Division, 1st coastal division, 23rd Division and other cutesy AHHH SOUNDS MODERATE ENOUGH TO ME titles to a western listener even though many of them have committed war crimes such as the looting and selling of civliian property to Turkish black markets, the indiscriminate shelling of civilians within Aleppo particularly in Sheikh Maqsoud, an isolated Kurdish suburb of the city under neutral YPG control. In spite of this, many parts of the NFL pledge a moderate form of ideology such as “Islamic Democracy” or even “Syrian nationalism” as is the case with the Free Idlib Army. The 1st coastal division is officially vetted by the United Nations formed “Friends of Syria Group,” so at least within the NFL there are elements that are generally “moderate.”

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So in conclusion, Idlib is now shared between the HTS, JTS and NFL with each respectively being radical al qaeda islamism, salafist islamist and moderate islamism to secularism.

But in real terms, that means that Idlib is split between an independent radical islam rebel group known as Al Qaeda in the Levant with hostility for rivals that nobody outside of their group likes and two groups allied with Turkey. With turkish aspirations in the area, it is possible for JTS and NFL to merge, as is likely the goal for Turkey in forming what they have signaled is their personal spit of Syrian land. this will inevitably put Turkey, JTS and NFL on a collision course with HTS to decide who controls Idlib.

There will be blood.

#syria #syrian civil war #idlib #turkey #HTS #JTS #NFL #Tahrir al-Sham #Jabhat Tahrir Suriya #Jabhat al-Wataniya lil-Tahrir #Organization for the Liberation of the Levant #Levant Liberation Committee #Syrian Liberation Front #National Front for Liberation #SAA #syrian arab army #turkish armed forces #afrin #YPG

[tuyetthienduong]

K

Haiz uy duc cua tao dau co de an vay cung

H hu het r behe

Cheers kingh

Le that ne

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Hons

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Dungb detected

All

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2h14

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Karma taker

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No

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Help teo new students

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