#I was raised by hippies so my views are very liberal

[blissfulparker]

I’m 23 and I physically can’t get pregnant rn. I’m on medications to help with my anxiety and insomnia and migraines. Also I smoke weed. So like I have to be clean for at least six months before I plan to start trying to have a baby. I was brown and raised catholic, but I definitely have more liberal opinions on things. If I were to get pregnant within the next few months, more likely years, I couldn’t raise a child. I can barely take care of myself.

This!!! Bc I don’t want people to think the whole abortion not being able to take care of a kid applies to just teens. It applies to any woman at any age.

#kats anons #tw abortion #I was raised by hippies so my views are very liberal

[tintentrinkerin]

nothing on my tongue but hallelujah...

Rating: Explicit

Pairing:

Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles, Jared/various, Jared/Alex Calvert

Warnings: 

Gangbang, Barebacking, Jealousy, Top Jared Padalecki, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Religious Cults, Power Dynamics

Summary: Jared's Cult, the "Church of Grace" is a peaceful and harmonic little community in the South. Then young Jensen appears and rocks the Cult leader's world - moreoever, it rattles Alex awake, who's been sure to be his leader's most loved member.

Written upon request

Word Count: 9.9k

Read below the cut or on AO3

Kudos are love <3

The Divine Five Pillars of “Church of Grace”

Obedience

Purity

Community

Free Love

Kindness

The “Creed”

I believe in God, the Father and the Almighty,

who created the world, the people, the seas, the animals and the trees.

I believe in God’s son, who is his true Vicar on Earth

For he brings joy, love, community, kindness and hope. 

I reject the Devil and his kin. I turn my whole existence to 

the true Vicar of the Holy Father. 

I hereby swear to follow the five divine rules of the Church

and give myself into the hands of God’s most graceful creation.

May He and God’s Angels lead me into Paradise.

Amen.

2 Corinthians 11:13-15 

For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.

Siddharta Gautama

Through true honesty deeply believe that all sentient-beings are one.That all beings have the same true nature, wisdom, virtue.

If people knew how much effort it took to get an orgy going, they probably wouldn’t even bother and settle for porn instead. 

Jared and Alex had to plan every monthly “gathering” very thoroughly, especially, when new recruits and adepts arrived. The new boys and girls would maybe chicken out at first, but that wouldn’t be punished. Later, yes. At their first time? No. Jared was very kind to those he found. In other communities they’d be punished right on spot. But Jared, no no, he wasn’t that barbaric. He wanted everyone to feel happy and included. Everyone had to use the headquarter’s communal showers or baths after they had an extensive cleansing plan, to purify their body and also a very intense work out session. All for purity’s sake. Jared loves purity. 

The garden behind the Church of Grace’s headquarters was around 400 acres, enough space to celebrate free love, the holy spirit within all of us, and most importantly, worship the true Vicar of God on Earth. Forget Jesus. 

Jared was pleased when he saw his usual very busy adepts who were about to be initiated in the second step of Priesthood. They were so eager and they had a fantastic taste in decorating. There will be a bonfire, it’s May 1st after all, one of Jared’s favorite dates for a gathering. Pagans used to celebrate Beltane, well, they still do. In tiny groups, the Wiccans and the Druids. He has no affiliations with them, but as a shepherd of his sheep he needs to be informed. Wise. He wants to be the one who can answer all their questions, give interpretations. His interpretations. His view of the world. And in his world, only his Church will bring them peace and harmony and closer to God’s grace and mercy. 

The bonfire wood is piled right in the center of the garden, the part of the garden that members are allowed to see and walk on. Around the bonfire a lot of big wooden logs are placed for the followers of Jared to sit on. As soon as the fire burnt down a little bit and some chalices of holy wine were emptied and some delicious weed was consumed, the orgy might start. Jared will let the believers start first. There’s always a couple or a single horny person that will start wooing a person of their interest. Jared will join later, when the ecstasy is palpable and the adepts play the drums, letting the mass of naked bodies find their rhythm. Behind the huge pile for the bonfire, there’s Jared’s seat. A massive chair made of dark wood, polished, carvings all over. Still a thing someone could find a little too pagan, but Jared doesn’t care. The truth is what he speaks, not the others. And the truth is, that people still are just the same as in the early Middle Ages. The same things struck them with awe, and it’s not churches in white marble and Jesus hanging from crosses. Nature and it’s forces, the hidden desires. Intimate, primal and authentic. That’s his motto. No nude angel chiseled out of porcelain will make people feel this kind of raw euphoria and devotion as a bonfire and some drums do. Let the drums shake their cores and make their blood rage. This is how you make people feel their primal truth, and then, they’ll realize why doing this once a month is so freeing. They will get back to work, back to Jared’s mass, satisfied and their needs soothed. Then they will happily obey, stay pure, pray and make the community itself a functional unit of people with the same values.

And their money. It’s always gonna end up in such a community running itself, on donations, the members’ money and other things. 

When the sun sets, the members of the community sit down on the wooden banks or logs, or they bring a white towel to sit on. Jared counts the members and everyone is there. Alex sits beside Jared’s chair, obeissant. 

The white flowy cult dresses start billowing in the wind. Jared sits down on his chair, with a graceful flowing movement. He’s dressed in white too, linen, see through even when dry. When he sits all the heads turn to him. In the twilight of the remaining sunbeam, you could think, Jared just descended from heaven. He likes that idea. He raises his arms and in his strong, rough voice he proclaims “Brothers, sisters, it’s time for our monthly celebration. You cleansed your bodies, you prayed and did good service to the community. Now is the time to reward you, my brothers and sisters. Let’s have the holy communion, break bread and offer it to your neighbours, offer wine to your friends. Connect.” There’s faint applause and Jared puts his hand down. “No need to applaud, my dear sister, tonight, we celebrate you and your devotion and purity!”

He turns to Alex, dressed in white linen trousers. “Brother Alex will light  the fire and then, brothers and sisters, enjoy the bread and wine, let your spirits flow and find your matches for tonight!”

The crowd cheers and they end the chorus with a loud and enthusiastic “Amen!”

“Amen!”Jared echoes and his voice layers upon everything else.

When he sits down and Alex lights up the fire he watches all these people, the four new recruits. A young cute redhead girl, she looks like condensed sunshine - a young boy, looks like he’s here because the redhead is here (he’d be weeded out tonight) - another redhead, looking fierce. A snake. He might take a closer look at her - and then, there is Green Eyes. The boy that Jared picked himself. Usually one of his lower assistants would pick them but this time, Jared had to intervene. He needed these assistants to weed out the no go’s just before Jared could even see them. He couldn’t check on every person willing to join, they needed to make a first sighting and then the few ones who might be of Jared’s interest, would be invited to meet the True Vicar himself. Usually, that was 10 out of 200 or even less. And Jared was just as rigorous with ditching the foul seeds. But Green Eyes was his favorite all along. Those eyes… 

Alex breaks the loaf of bread and offers it to Jared. Of course, he’s on his knees and only looks up when Jared takes the half of the loaf and gives him his blessing.

“May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” Jared says very formally. Alex looks up, his face has tiny sprinkles of ash on them already and his robe turned transparent from the sweat. He’s decent. Will he try as the first one today? Like always? 

“May you be blessed by your Father, Our Lord and his Angels,” Alex replies until Jared gestures to him to stay up. 

“Amen.” 

“Amen.”

Jared eats and then receives the wine from Alex too. That’s a golden rule. As his personal assistant, Alex receives the blessings from Jared. Just after him, anyone is able to be blessed by their Master. They share half of the bread, they will need the rest later. In this community it is not necessary to receive Jared’s blessing to consume the holy communion as his liberal practice says that any true believer in their community, on one of the 12 holy days of their community “gathering”, can offer and receive blessings from a brother or a sister. Jared’s happy about that, because blessing 120 people would make him pass out drunk and he can’t have that. He is in control. And he needs to stay in control, too. 

Around him, the wine, the food are eaten and some herbal cigarettes are lit, the thick smell of weed is everywhere. Four cult members responsible for music start playing the drums and flutes now. Quietly still, just a hint that soon, the gathering will start with their original purpose. The physical and mental connection of the members with each other. Jared can already see people who are done eating, wine tipsy and a little herbally relaxed. Hands wander under togas and robes, simple shirts and wide hippie trousers. Alex stays with Jared, looking down on the obedient sheep doing what they’re supposed to do. The fabric in his crotch is tenting. One look in Alex’ face tells Jared everything.

“You won’t give up, huh?”

Alex shakes his head. “No. I will never give up.”

Jared now stands up and stretches like a cat that has just awoken and now is on their way to do some mischief. “Boy, all of you try so hard, but none of you can take it.”

“It’s about receiving your mercy,” Alex says, now sounding a little sulky. 

Jared heads towards the bonfire where some couples (or more) are intertwined with each other, laying on the bare grass, sitting on logs or they found a nice spot on the white towels everyone brought. Right in the center, around the fireplace, it is too hot to sit there. Jared makes his rounds, ruffles some hair here, kisses a girl there, even helps a young girl settle on her lover’s cock.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he coos, “that’s how you show your love and devotion.”

She would be too tight and small for him though. All the women here would surely love to try again and again, but none of them would be prepared for his cock. 

When he is done doing rounds around the bonfire he sits down on an empty white blanket and just like it’s natural, the free members gather around him. The drums start playing a hard and catchy rhythm. 

The psychology behind music and rhythm. His members really know how to play a mass of people and put their bodies in the right directions. Alex joins and everyone respects Jared’s assistant too much to try and get Jared before him. In absolute devotion, Alex pulls Jared’s white linen pants down to his naked ankles, then off his naked feet. The participants murmur and gasp, such a delight every time. Jared didn’t wear boxer briefs or anything else underneath and so, everyone can admire his massive cock. It’s big, the erection growing strong and hard and the tip bounces against Jared’s toned six pack, above his belly button. Even Alex with his long filigrane and very skilled fingers can’t wrap around the shaft fully. 

They all watch, not even Alex dares to touch him yet. 

“You. Alex. Claire. You were such a good team last time. Would you show me how perfectly you harmonize?”

The blonde girl blushes deep red and Alex first raises an eyebrow. It’s clear who he wants, but he would never deny one of Jared’s commands. And that’s what it is. A command. 

Alex pushes Claire on all fours, one strong hand in her hair and presses her down while he sucks on two of his fingers and then penetrates her with them. She squeals and giggles, but before Alex fucks her he knows he has to give his true interest a show, and he will. While fingering her he presses his face between her buttcheeks and starts sucking. The scene gets very loud with pleasure noises very soon and another guy asks to accompany them. 

Jared supports himself with one arm and the other he uses to stroke his cock, throbbing and hot, he loves it when his followers put on such a show. He’s leaking some precum already and a boy next to him looks at it. Greedy and inexperienced. Jared doesn’t let him taste yet, and instead the nameless boy bends down to kiss Jared’s very muscular thighs. Another follower starts doing the same on the other side, everything with Jared stroking himself slowly. He wants to enjoy every minute of it. His toes are sucked on, submissive followers suck them like it’s his massive member. The first brave adepts gather around them too and Jared can’t help but smile. People stroke his hair, kiss his neck and leave their marks, but what Jared really needs is someone taking his cock like a champion. He knows he’s intimidating. Thick and lock, and even grows bigger when hard. The first adept who is bold enough to come forward is very much welcome. He has himself oiled pretty well, he smells flowery and when he sinks on Jared’s cock (just the tip!), he freezes. 

“Oh… God”, he hisses, “oh my f… so big…” Jared smirks, his hands on the twink boys hips. Such a beautiful boy, Jared would love to fuck him and fill him up, but it looks like he is already failing at the tip. 

“Go slow, my dear,” Jared says nonetheless. A guru can hope. 

Two hands on his shoulders push the boy farther down and he cries out, half in pleasure, but also in pain. The hands disappear and the young man on Jared’s cock looks like he’s about to cry. 

“It’s too much for you, hm?”

The boy nods and gets up, legs shaking. You can tell he never had a guy fuck his ass before, bonus points for using oil as lube. He might try again after he gets used to it with another cult member. He stammers an apology. Jared pulls him down for a second and presses his thumb on the boy’s forehead. 

“I bless you, brother.”

It’s a ritual, it’s a necessity, or the boy will maybe consider leaving. But most of the boys, like Alex, stay close to Jared and try it again and again and again. Some people are overachievers, maybe one day it will be successful. 

The boy mumbles an Amen and then strolls away, looking for another group he can find a place in. Jared still feels the tight ass of this boy and, damn, how much he loves it when they’re tight, maybe an anal virgin even, and he’s the first to fuck them. Another brother sucks him off, but  he also has trouble swallowing more of Jared’s wand than just the tip. His sucking is superb, ambitious even. Drool runs down his throbbing cock, damn, he even makes delicious sounds! Jared’s head falls back and he wishes he could blow his first load, but all these attempts of his followers just leave him just ‘almost coming. The man takes him deeper now but is interrupted by heavy gagging and he has to give up. Now it’s Alex who claims to be next. Alex is the kind of guy who acts like a passionate lover with anyone, even though he only craves  Jared’s attention. He’s open and gaping already, must've gotten into a very nice threeway with Kathryn and the other member. Alex sinks on Jared’s cock, his back pressed against Jared’s sweaty chest. Alex is able to take more than just Jared’s tip after extensive dilating practice or when he’s been fucked already by two or more of his brothers of the Church, but that leaves Jared only semi turned on, too. He feels loose, not as tight as when he tried it the first time and cried for several minutes because Jared’s dick almost tore him apart. It’s enough to make Jared cum and bless Alex with an intense prostate orgasm, but still Jared is not satisfied. When Alex leaves and some others follow him to the pool, he sits down again, crotch still throbbing, his need still not satisfied. Around him the orgy is at its peak, no one is alone by now, everyone is sharing their love and energies. Jared is gifted, his cock is ready again five minutes later and he mounts that ginger woman, the adept. But she winces when he’s halfway in and Jared has to pull out. She’s biter and a scratcher, her thick accent is sexy and he makes her cum multiple times with his tongue and fingers, but he holds back now, he waits for the perfect one. Someone to form a union with. A tight one, but skilled and resilient. A man that can take his cock and even if it hurts a little, push through. 

Jared sinks down on one of the blankets, lies down and stares in the clear starry night, a follower brings him a pillow and others massage his thighs and arms, his feet. God, yes, his feet are so sensitive. Another guy shyly asks if he may be of service and when Jared opens his eyes and looks up it’s Green Eyes. He hasn’t seen the boy since the beginning of the orgy. Jared immediately hikes up and shoos his other followers away. 

“Sure, sit with me.”

The boy with the forbidden pretty pouty lips, the rough voice and piercing green eyes sits down, facing the self proclaimed Vicar of God.

“You want to be of service, what was your name again? I’m sorry that I have to ask, I am terrible with names – most people change theirs after initiation anyway and that’s what stays in my memory.”

Green Eyes looks at him. “I’m Jensen.”

“Hello Jensen. I’m glad you came to our monthly free love gathering. Is that the kind of religious practice you seek?” 

A girl offers them some bread and a chalice of wine, plus some mushrooms on the side.

“It would be an honor, Jensen, to break the bread and drink the wine with you. Mushrooms are not mandatory if you’re allergic to that kind.”

Jensen grins and echoes the girl’s “amen” and gives her a smile. It’s gotten a bit quiet around them, some followers watch Jared and his new recruit very, very closely. 

“I don’t want to break the protocol, who is supposed to break the bread and offer it?” Jensen asks with a shy grin. Jared chuckles.

“We do not have a strict protocol, not on these special nights when we celebrate freedom and harmony. And free love. When we surrender to our primal instinct, you understand?”

Jensen nods seriously. “Yes, I get that.”

He rips off a piece of loaf then a second and offers one to Jared without the ceremonial motto. Jared ignores that (at least today) and receives the bread. “May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” he says, presses his thumb on Jensen’s forehead and mumbles an “Amen”. Jensen echoes again, then takes a bite. When he’s done Jared offers him the wine with the same motto, and this time Jensen copies it, even though the Vicar is addressed during that sentence with “May you be blessed by your Father, our Lord and his Angels”. He will learn that, Jared will make sure of it. 

No one dares to come any closer after they’ve been offered shrooms, bread and wine. Some couples, or whole piles of copulating people don’t care what’s around them but some very devoted followers of Jared’s doctrine watch their Messiah and the new man very closely. Some are envious. Some are in awe of these two beautiful men sharing the body of Jesus Christ (strictly speaking Jared’s ‘brother’, just a few thousand years earlier) in such a manner. Jared’s tanned body glistens in the light and sparks of the bonfire and his hair started curling a little lately. Several people’s eyes turn wet. Given the beauty of their leader. Or given the fact there’s a new boy in town. And this boy is too pretty for his own good.

II

The wine is dry and aromatic, nothing you would just chug down and Jensen and Jared empty four chalices which are refilled by a maid that was brave enough to disturb her leader and the new recruit. It’s gotten chill and the bonfire shrinks and shrinks, some members of the Church try to revive it for a little longer and throw thick and heavy branches on it, along with brushwood that would burn easily and then transfer the fire over to the branches.

Just like in the 16th up to the 18th century – this is how you build a pyre to burn witches.

Jensen carefully, even a little shy now, lays a hand on Jared’s leg. The leader is surprised, given his attitude and behaviour he didn’t count on Jensen to take part in the orgy, he seemed more the watching type. The bonfire reflects in his intense green eyes and Jared feels an aching towards his new recruit. 

Now he realizes that Jensen’s white shorts are tenting. The way he looks up at Jared, through his thick blonde eyelashes it’s absolutely acting. Jensen is not that shy. Maybe a little. 

“The others told me…” Jensen started, “that I should under no circumstances give in to your… advances. You would, how did they say… tear me apart…? I wonder why…”

Jared snorts as an answer. Amused. His followers keep saying this to either see if someone’s brave enough to come forward right in their first few months here or if they’ll chicken out. 

“Well!” He has to laugh again. “Look, I think you’ve… you’ve watched a little without participating in this celebration, right? You’re still dressed, to my dismay!”

Jensen blushes, one hand on his crotch. Now, this reaction is a little more honest. 

“I can, I mean…”

Jared laughs louder now and then lays his hand on Jensen’s, that is covering his erect penis.

“Don’t make it awkward, Jensen, it’s fine. Not many participate in their first orgy and you are not obliged to, either. This is about free love. Father gave us free will for a reason. Because without free will, there is no love on this Earth.” 

There’s one streak of Jensen’s chin long hair, it’s styled but now the hairspray or the gel isn’t working it’s magic anymore. Jared brushes the strand behind Jensen’s ear. He’s closer to the recruit now and Jensen’s hand under his pulls away for the messiah to feel what’s underneath. 

“Regarding your concern about ripping you apart… I would never. But as you can see…”

Jensen’s eyes fixate on Jared’s growing cock and he gulps visibly.

“Yes, I…”, he looks up again, doe eyed and his mouth slightly opened, his pink silky tongue wets his lips. 

“You have the face of an angel, do you know that? I wonder what hides behind that…”

Jared’s voice is low and rough now, he groans when under his fingers Jensen’s cock jumps. 

“Jared, but… what if I can’t--”

“Shush, I’ll prepare you for it. And we have masses of oils. We’ll go slow. Very slow.”

A whisper erupts amongst the witnesses, their leader and idol! – wooing Jensen. A newbie. Some figures in the dark hurry for more oil, whole cans of it, juices, towels and fresh clothes. This is a choreography of duty to care for Jared. Everyone knows this is an occasion they won’t be able to witness that often. So far only one person could take Jared’s cock and fulfill his most aching wish. 

It’s Alex’s now hated duty to bring it all over to the blanket where Jensen climbs in Jared’s lap, panting faintly between two very passionate kisses. There’s fresh bread, more wine, water from the Church’s own well, fresh clothes for both and a big bottle of lube, oil based. It will stain every inch of fabric it’ll meet. Jared doesn’t even look up at him when he retreats, but he throws a ‘thank you’ in his direction. As soon as Alex is out of reach he is forgotten. 

Jared takes his time with this one. His commune members are in such harmony with each other already that prolonged foreplay isn’t necessary, but of course encouraged. Jensen is vocal, moans in their kisses and Jared loves the effort and the devotion he shows already. Jared pulls Jensen’s clothes off and bathes in the glow of this beautiful sight. Jensen’s skin is flawless, soft. It’s a joy touching him. Jensen pulls him in another kiss and arches in the leader’s strong arms - so responsive, in every way! 

“I want to try it,” Jensen then whispers, shakily.

“What exactly?”

“Take you. Suck you.”

Jared chuckles and gets up, pulls Jensen along on his lap. Jensen’s hand is big, he has deliciously thick fingers and Alex would appreciate some good fingering from him. He should introduce these two a little later

Jensen slides between Jared’s legs, who’s supporting himself with his arms to be able to watch Jensen try and gag on his cock. Jared senses some of his sisters and brothers coming closer, silently, to not interrupt them in their exploration ritual. He can’t blame them for being curious, and this is the exact purpose of their monthly gathering. Enjoy each other freely. 

Jensen’s mouth waters and when he opens his lips, a thick streak of drool runs down his face and chin. He doesn’t hesitate to bend down and wrap his lips around Jared’s tip.

A moment of breathless silence from everywhere. 

Jensen. slides. deeper. 

Jared moans and his head falls between his shoulder blades, so that he can see the clear starry night sky.

He will stop now, it’s too much. Oh God it’s too much, he can’t do it, Jared thinks, and then he starts praying Please let him go deeper. 

Jensen’s mouth feels tight, soft, and hot and he produces so much drool, it makes it messy. Perfectly messy. Jared’s head falls foward again and he watches Jensen taking him inch by fucking inch. Jared’s cock disappears in Jensen’s tight throat to the root. Jared stays perfectly still and tries to not even move a hair’s breadth. Jensen’s hand slightly presses on Jared’s stomach and then pulls away slowly. Painfully slowly, while working Jared’s incredibly thick shaft with his tongue. As soon as he’s able to look up to Jared everyone can see streaks of tears in his angelic face and his flushed cheeks. He keeps on working Jared’s tip, circling the bundle of nerves under the tip and then, with a high pitched gasp, pulls away completely.

He looks over to Jared and smiles. “Did I do good?”

Jared nods. It’s been ages since someone took him completely. It takes all of his willpower to not grab in Jensen’s hair and force his mouth down again to suck him off.. and then fuck his recruit’s face. He would gag and whine so pretty…. Jared needs a moment to breathe in and out very deeply, call himself to reason. 

“You are perfect,” he says, his voice shaky. “By the Angels, you are the best.”

Jensen blushes even deeper and looks away. He notices the other believers have gathered around them. Jared combs through his hair. He feels that Jensen now really is shy.. that’s not a show.

“Don’t bother, my dear. They won’t touch you if you don’t want to. I’m here for you and only you. Okay?”

Jensen nods. “So I really did good? Did no one before me take you that deep? I mean it’s a bit tricky but -”

Some of the watchers moan. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“They all tried, dear. And failed. I guess you just earned yourself a title.”

Some of the watchers lurk in the dark, some are illuminated by the fainting bonfire. The sound of drums is gone. Jared watches Jensen look around and get used to it, after all. Then he turns to Jared and grins.

“I will work to keep the title then…,”

Jared pushes his delicious mouth on his cock again, and yes, fuck, holy fuck YES, Jensen can take him. He takes him so deep that Jared can feel his throat tighten and contract, but he’s not gagging in the bad way. Tears fall and drool runs down his reasonably thick shaft. Jared’s hand grips in Jensen’s hair and pulls. Jensen utters a surprised but pleased moan and keeps going faster and faster. One hand sneaks around Jared’s balls and massages them. Jared’s hips buck up and Jensen needs a break for a second, deep, hectic breathing, his teary eyes, the rest of the bonfire glistens in his eyes. Jared has a hard time holding back his possessive nature when Jensen just worships him like that. Faint and aroused moans around them show Jared that the others enjoy Jensen’s show as well. Some couples even have started fucking. Girls stand close by, rubbing their swollen and wet parts. 

“Look around,” he orders Jensen, “look around, how much love you spark.”

“Your voice… so deep… so much deeper,” Jensen is still fighting for breath. It makes Jared only crazier. 

“That’s you, you do that to me.” 

Jensen’s hand is still stroking him. Jared would be ready to come just now, preferably he’d shoot his massive load right in his throat, but what he wants even more, what’s the source of the deepest aching is the longing to finally be inside someone fully. He wants to ram his cock in Jensen up to the root and make him come first, then Jared could let go. 

“You’re close,” Jensen whispers and presses a kiss on Jared’s lips. “I swallow if you’re into that…”

Jared’s answer is a low and growl. “What I really want…”

“Let me guess… you want to fuck me? Here in front of all these people?”Jensen sounds out of breath, thrilled, over excited. His hands are shaking when he pulls himself on Jared’s lap.

Jared holds him close, his raging, painfully hard cock pressing on Jensen’s asshole. It’s slick from all this spit, but he wouldn’t dare to just enter him now, without warning. Without giving him something to chew on while Jared has to push his way in. 

“Free love. My pleasure is their pleasure,” Jared manages to say. He’s very proud to have that uttered in a manner that makes him seem still in control of himself. 

Jensen laughs quietly and then climbs down Jared’s lap. He stands up. And everyone can take a look at this beautiful body, shaped by God to strike people in awe. His own cock is thick and looks just delicious, Jared might want to get a taste one day, too. Then Jensen turns around and lowers on all fours, his perfectly shaped ass in Jared’s direction, head down, almost submissive. 

“Make your pleasure my pleasure,” he whispers, only Jared seems to hear it. 

Men and women formed a crescent around them now, the opening pointing to the dying fire. Jared licks his lips while he squeezes a very lavish amount of oil in his hand. He doesn’t cover his cock yet, he will help Jensen first. He enters him with one finger and Jensen bucks away first, in surprise but then lowers himself on the finger, starts fucking himself with it. His broken and sweet moans make Jared’s blood boil and also the participants around them start jerking harder. One hand gesture from Jared, and his followers stop. They shouldn’t finish before Jensen does, that’s just and right. 

“More,” Jensen demands, looking behind him with big teary eyes. His pupils are tiny and the iris of a thick and rich green. Jared gives him more. Jensen literally sucks the second finger in and when Jared starts massaging his prostate from outside with his thumb, Jensen cries out, stretching more and swallowing Jared’s long fingers to the root. He gasps tiny “oh god’s” and “fuck’s”. And then Jared isn’t able to hold the urge back and test if Jensen really is what Jared needs. Someone who fits him. He covers his long member with a lot of oil and also spreads generous amounts around Jensen’s anus.

“You think you’re ready, yeah?”

Jensen nods. “Positive.”

He even grabs his buttcheeks and pulls them apart, Jared has perfect sight of his slightly mouthing, dilated hole and all he has to do… He gulps violently, but then places his tip on Jensen’s entrance and sloooowly pushes in. Inch for inch. Jensen has to let go of his buttcheeks and his hands press on Jared’s hips.

“Holy… sh…”, Jensen huffs, “Is swearing even allowed?”

“Too much?”

“It’s a lot, but not too much… fuck…” 

Jensen breathes heavily but slowly, as slowly as Jared goes, his hands don’t push against him anymore and Jared can slide in even deeper. He’s amazed by how Jensen’s hole just swallows him, inch by delicious inch. He’s tight, extremely tight, thanks to the thick oily lube he won’t be hurt. Quite the opposite. Jared pushes in, freezes and rubs over Jensen’s back, soothing him. Jensen doesn’t need that much soothing though, after a few seconds of Jared holding perfectly still and just twothree inches away from going inside all the way he sinks against Jared’s hips, taking him fully with a low, needy moan that seems to last an eternity. 

“Please… move…” he moans, while Jared still holds Jensen’s hips and stares. Just stares in awe.

He really did it.

Jared can’t believe it’s really happening, that he feels so close to someone, again, finally, after such a long time. As he doesn’t start moving, Jensen rolls his hips back and forth, his back stretches and his hands clawing in the blanket. He just fucks himself on Jared’s member, doesn’t wait any longer and the moans he utters are - there is no other word -- they’re downright vulgar. It shows how much he lets go and it washes Jared away, his fingertips dig into Jensen’s hips as he meets his recruit’s pace. Now Jensen cries out, the words and moans just drop from his lips, he wants more, and Jared can feel how greedy he is. 

The audience around them is a choir of pleasure sounds, each of them takes Jared up so high he feels like he’s more than drunk. More than high. He feels like he’s elevating.

“Jared… Harder!” 

Jared fucks him harder. Jensen around him stretches and clenches like he wants to milk him dry, make him cum, but not now. It’s too good to let it end too early, he’s been starved too long and he wants to enjoy every second of fucking this angelic but oh so slutty adept. No one ever met his pace, wanted to be fucked harder and harder, no one asked to be sore, but Jensen does.

His moans are so loud his voice breaks and trails off, chokes on his own sounds. Jared loses it at this point, he grips in Jensen’s glossy hair and pulls him on his knees, closer to his body. Pounding his ass now makes beautiful wet sounds. Jensen leans on Jared’s chest and reaches for the prophet’s ass to push him deeper. And deeper.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”Jared growls, his hand in Jensen’s hair is pulling stronger, the other on Jensen’s hip holds him steady. “Want every inch of me?”

Jensen nods, sobbing. “Yes, never been fucked so good… just how I need --” He can’t even finish the sentence, Jared’s mighty deep thrusts make his voice fade into a cry. “Oh, God!”

Jared needs to slow down just for a bit, give himself time to breathe and hold back the orgasm that’s building up. He’ll shoot a massive load for sure, he wants it to be worth it. He bites Jensen’s neck and feels the violent shudder. They cling onto each other, hands in hair, fingernails scratching and leaving red trails. 

“No, no, don’t stop now… I’m so close,” Jensen huffs, turns his head to Jared, their lips meet and Jared kisses him until both are too breathless, too close to be gentle or patient. 

When Jared picks up his pace again it’s only a matter of a few seconds until Jensen cries out and sinks back on all fours, hiding his face in the blanket. He doesn’t have to touch himself to cum, with a loud and guttural sound he spills. And spills. It’s such a mindblowing orgasm. Everything about it is perfect. Jensen’s moans, how he pulls out handfuls of grass. His clenching asshole around Jared. The amount of cum he splatters on the sheets. Jared bends forward, pulls Jensen’s face up and turns it to the crowd.

“Let them look at you,” he hisses, “share the love.”

And then Jared cums, grunting and thrusting as deep as he can. His cock pumps and pumps masses. He’s never come so hard, so long, so satisfying. For a couple of seconds he doesn’t know anymore where he ends and Jensen begins, that’s how good and intimate it feels. Jensen’s tightness squeezes him tight and makes it impossible to move or pull out. 

Jared collapses on Jensen’s back. He’s dizzy. He needs a moment.

Around them the noises turn from moans to grunts. Heavy breathing. Jared gestures to the watchers to stop jerking. He wants to have Jensen for himself for another moment when he pulls out. Jensen winces underneath him but his face just shows blissful exhaustion. Jared loves to watch his cum pouring out his partner’s holes and it’s no different tonight. Not after this divine intervention. Not after he’s been blessed with such a partner. 

It’s a lot. Jensen turns his head to Jared, his face puffy and red, strands of wet blonde hair on his forehead. And now there’s the hint of a smirk. 

“Did I do well?” he asks.

“I think you know…” Jared replies.

His hand strokes Jensen’s still half hard cock and Jensen moans. So sensitive. Next time, Jared might return the favor and suck that pretty cock.

“Your brothers and sisters want to show you how much they enjoyed watching you.”

Jensen looks around, then back to Jared.

Now the smirk is undeniable. 

“Let ‘em come.”

Jared gets up, his muscular body beaming in the light of the moon and embers of the fire. He feels like he’s about to rise above anything and anyone. This union has given him the deepest peace he could ever feel. He still feels painfully hard and when he looks down he still is. His glossy cock perks up, but he won’t take Jensen a second time and risk really tearing him apart. 

Jensen is on his knees, arms stretched forward like a satisfied lioness, sticking out his freshly bred ass to the audience.

“Children. Time to welcome Jensen in your midst.”

Alex approaches Jared to wash him off with a fresh wet cloth and a sponge while the others gather around Jensen. No one touches the recruit, after Jared united with him, but he will be showered in attention and much more.

Two days later, Jensen is still a bit sore. 

He didn’t sleep much on the night of the celebration, he’s been too hyped, too high from the rush of alcohol, adrenaline and sex. Especially the sex. He can still feel Jared’s massive pole in his ass and everytime he gives in to the memory he shudders and feels his white robe tent. 

Everything in this commune is white. The community houses in which the members live, white. The Church, white. Jared’s residence, white. The only thing that seems to be different is the massive wooden chair in which Jared sat during the celebration and watched his followers unify. 

The blankets are white, the towels, the plates. Purity is an important pillar of this group, and everyone who’s not familiar with the customs might argue that collective orgies aren’t really pure, but Jensen knows better already. Purity is based on keeping your body healthy. The diet here isn’t vegan, but the community has their own farm. 120 people need food and water. Most of them live and work here. On the farm where vegetables and fruits are grown seasonally, or they take care of the cattle, pigs and chickens. Others help keep the houses intact. 

Days are warm, the nights are pitchblack, there’s a lake and a river closeby. Women wash the clothes of the community. There is no “mine” and “yours” in the Church. There is only “we” and “us” and “our”. 

Jensen has his own room, because the morning after the orgy, after the morning prayers and morning sports, in the great hall at breakfast, Jared proclaimed that Jensen was indeed heaven sent. Chosen by the Angels. That makes him special enough to have his own room for a while and it helps him acclimate in this environment. Most new members need that. They come from their picket fence life in the suburbs or the pulsing lives of a big city. They had day jobs, night jobs, family, addictions and almost everyone of them has been materially wealthy. 

Everything that keeps them away from living a pure, devoted life with God is taken away here. Jared provides everything they need. 

Some take a week to find their place in the community, some struggle for years. Some pack their bags as soon as they realize that the sense community here also consists of freedom in love, friendships. Children are born in this community and are raised by everyone, not only their genetic parents. No one here claims to own someone or something.

Well.

At least they say so.

Alex’s room is - as it’s appropriate for his position - in Jared’s residence. This morning he decided to cut his shoulder long, honey blond hair and trim his long beard.

Purity doesn’t mean to be shaven clean or have short hair. Purity comes from the heart, free will and the ability to love. Alex doubts he is quite pure at the moment. The community is free of the toxicity of a material life - in the community, you don’t aspire to climb up ranks. There are simply only three ranks. The community, Alex, Jared. Jared is their natural leader, it is supposed to be like that. Alex is chosen. Alex is confident.

He was. His heart is full of love for the cause and for Jared. 

Until a few nights before he looked in the mirror every morning and smiled at his reflection. Because the reflection showed him a confident young man of faith. Full of love, not bound but blessed with free will. 

Then, his heart started to hurt. 

Now he hates his blue eyes, he hates his long hair, he hates the beard. He hates that he isn’t able to provide Jared the one thing he ached for.

It feels like an inconsistency of Jared’s teachings. Or Alex just isn’t at the point of enlightenment he always thought he was. He finds the fault in himself rather than Jared. But he likes it most thinking that it’s Jensen’s fault.

Jensen with the dazzling green eyes that tantalize Alex. And his damn ability to merge with Jared. Something no one in the community ever could provide. 

Alex hates that someone other than him satisfies Jared in any way.

When he looks in the mirror he sees the man who came here all these years ago when Jared’s predecessor was still alive. The man who crashed here after drugs and sex addiction ruined his life.

Growth is something that never stops. And any day you don’t work through your struggles puts you one step further away from divinity and back into the life of materiality and toxicity.

Jared mustn’t know.

Alex stares blankly in the mirror while he shaves his beard off. Completely.

It takes a few days generally for the community to calm down after such a night. Jared knows that. He feels sore himself, but in a good, satisfying way. His community is thriving, they have new members. Fresh blood. The prayers are inspiring. Jared insists on holding the divine services all by himself. These days he’s beaming with love and the rich and satisfying feeling of being connected. This is Jensen’s merit. His sensuality, his sexual aura, everything about him reminds Jared of the Archangel Michael, the fiery son of God who guarded Eden. Everything about Jensen seems to set Jared on fire. And not only Jared. The others feel it too. The women, the men, everyone stares when he passes. It takes Jared a lot of introspection, prayer and exercise to not just drag him back in his bed. Jared is known for being considerate, kind, and balanced. He leads these people on their path to God and divinity, he is their idol. The true Vicar of the Holy Father. Preferring Jensen in his first month here would weaken his own strong will. He’s sure this man is sent by his Father to heal his hurts, but he needs to care for his community first. 

Jared must not be selfish. He obeys the Lord and he will follow His guidance wherever it may take him. When he knows that his community is safe. 

After morning’s prayer and exercise Jared retreats to the communal bath. Alex prepared everything like always. He’s shaven clean and his hair is way shorter than before. While Jared sinks in the hot tub, Alex hesitates to accompany him. He looks bitter. Some of the old worry lines reappeared. Jared makes an inviting gesture.

“Come in, Alex.”

Today, Jared notices, it sounds like more than an order. 

Alex first shakes his head, but then looks up and his face softens. The lines disappear. He undresses and joins Jared for a bit.

Jared pulls him on his lap, it’s unusual for Alex to be physically distant. He recognizes his assistant has a razor cut on his chin. He runs his thumb just right under it and Alex inhales sharply.

“Why did you shave your beard?” he asks.

Alex looks away, bites his lip. His tooth gap is adorable. 

“I didn’t like it anymore.”

Jared frowns. 

“Do you doubt yourself?”

A scoff. Jared knows he just hit a nerve. Alex never scoffs at him.

“It’s just hair,” he replies. Now he even sounds a bit defiant. 

“Alexandros.”

Alex stiffens. Jared has a habit of calling him by his full name when he fucks up, just like a mother would.

Jared cups his face and looks straight in those bright blue eyes and he sees the vulnerable boy that Alex still is. His progress is phenomenal, but part of him will always stay in the darkness he escaped. 

Alex writhes but doesn’t honestly struggle against him. 

“Your looks are not important. Be careful with your heart.”

A faint nod. Jared kisses his forehead, then his lips. Suddenly no writhing, no defiance, no stubborn behavior. Alex is pliant. Good.

“I have to go”, Alex mumbles, “I have to prepare our departure to Seattle… Our original flight was cancelled…” 

Jared nods. Actually he has no desire to attend this event, but as the leader of this religious community, he has to fulfill some duties. Like going to charity events. It’s not that he hates charity, quite the contrary, as a son of God, it’s his pleasure and deepest wish to make the world a better place, but he hates the whole attention. He hates being compared to apocalypse cults or worse. His teachings are as pure as they can get under given pretenses and the struggle of humanity to overcome the Great Tribulation. 

Alex knows. “I know you don’t want to go. But I will make it worth the trip.”

“You always do.”

Alex gets up with slightly shaky legs and a very impressive erection. When he jumps back in his clothes he even turns away. Suddenly he is so shy. When they’re back from Seattle, Jared will have to hold some very intense prayer and service sessions with Alex. He seems in need of healing. And that’s what Jared was chosen for. Provide for people like Alex.

Alex isn’t gone for five minutes when Jared hears a shuffling behind him.

“Did you forget something, Alexandros?”

Someone’s clearing their throat and it’s not Alex. When Jared turns around he sees Jensen standing in the entrance, blushing and looking at his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… umm, am I disturbing you?” 

Jared’s face lights up and he turns around fully, crossing his arms on the brim of the pool. Jensen is in his white robe, bread crumbs along his collar. He probably just ate breakfast. His hair is messy. 

“Not at all,” Jared replies, “usually, I don’t have guests when I bathe but you’re welcome to join today. You’re new, you can’t know.”

Jensen frowns. “Alex doesn’t count as a guest?”

“No. He is wherever I am, unless he doesn’t want to be.”

Now Jensen’s eyes glow. 

“Like now?”

Jared grins. 

“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” he asks.

Jensen stands there, looking at him like he’s about to say ‘yes’, but ultimately doesn’t. 

Jared gestures. “Come in already.” 

Ruffling of clothes tells him that his recruit followed his wish and now gets undressed. A moment later Jensen slides in the water beside Jared, about an arm’s length away. His cheeks turn pink.

“Are you well?”Jared asks, just as the caretaker of his people, he is always worried about them. Always ready to provide care if needed or wanted. 

Jensen’s teint turns even brighter. Ah. The orgy. It was surely his first time.

“I mean, I think I got a little rough with you there,” the leader admits.

Jensen shakes his head a little, a shy smile and a dreamy gaze show that Jensen might indeed be well. It would be reassuring to hear it though.

“No, no, it wasn’t rough at all but I would lie if I said I don’t still feel you inside me. It was a very world-shaking experience.”

“Uh-huh,” Jared replies, “it was.”

The memory alone makes Jared’s body fill with a need to do it again. Just right here. His pliant and slick body, how hot and tight and damn, how responsive and eager he was to take his cock. And that he succeeded!

Jensen turns to him, comes a little closer to get in touch, physically and Jared is very fond of the idea to have him close. Without a word, Jensen’s hand under the water’s surface, lays a hand on Jared’s thigh. Very close to his member. Flaccid. Yet. And still very big. Jared knows he’s gifted with this large cock and people who can take it, they won’t want anything else after they’ve tried it.

“I wondered, why, umm, everyone treats me like I’m super special, you do too…” Jensen’s eyes are fixated on the tiny waves his hand causes when he strokes along Jared’s thigh. “What makes me special?”

That is a very interesting question and Jared needs some time to think about it. Take deep breaths. It also shows that his new member has not ingrained all of the lore of the Church of Grace. That’s normal. No one knows it by heart after joining so recently. 

“Being special is a gift from the Lord, my Father. Everyone is special in their unique way. Take Alex. He’s devoted and tough, loyal and very good at organizing things. Ruth and Judith, you probably crossed their paths already, they’re the best cooks I’ve ever been blessed to taste. Also they are very skilled in sculpting. Everyone is special. Some special things seem to be common, like, so many people on this Earth are talented cooks, tailors, musicians, yogis. And you, you are special, because you give me a feeling of unity in such a primal way, it may seem succinct or superficial. What is it worth, being able to take me? It might not be special to others, but to me this is a thing that brings me peace. And this peace, I can multiply, share it with my people. And by the Lord, it’s not only your physical perks. The way your brothers and sisters here look at you. Some are jealous, but most see in you the most important addition to the community in years. You have a spark in you and you will do great things for the Church. I’m sure of it.”

Jensen stares and Jared notices the slight squint of his deep green eyes. His utter beauty is a gift to humanity already. He radiates purity. If he knows that?

“Is that understandable for you?” Jared asks. He lays a hand in Jensen’s neck and gently squeezes. Pulls him closer. Just an inch but it’s enough to feel Jensen way better and catch his vibes. 

“Yes, it is,” Jensen says, “I’m glad this community welcomed me, I’m glad I met you.”

Now he wraps his hand around Jared’s shaft, which is still too much and he won’t be able to embrace it completely. 

“I was worried, I am worried, it will be the only time to be close to you.”

“You will be close to me every day. At the service, at the monthly celebration. We share everything here.”

“But, can I be alone with you, just like now?” Jensen huffs, his grip tightens. Jared is just a man, his body reacts and he grows hard, so big that the tip would break the water surface now if Jensen let go. 

“I’m a man of my people, I will not deny you. To be honest, yes, I invite you to be with me.”

It would be so easy to lift Jensen up and let him sink down on his cock. It would be amazing to feel him right now. But he is still a little sore. Complete physical unity has to wait. 

“Jared…” A sigh. “What you made me feel that night… I think I felt closer to my true self than ever.”

“I’m glad this is helping you. There will be a lot of occasions for you to discover your deepest self, your fears, your worries… Everything will come to light and I know, you will overcome, you will shine and rise above your plain human being.”

Jensen’s hand moves now. He knows how to touch a man, strictly physical. It's a mechanical reaction after all, but when Jared looks deep into these green eyes he discovers his own need and how much he suffered without a mate that would be close to him. 

“Tell me, how do you like it… I feel it, I need it… you need it…?”

“I long for it.”

Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s to guide him with the strokes.

He wants it to build up slowly, and his hand on Jensen’s neck holds him steady, whispering his instructions to keep eye contact, when to slow down and when to get faster. And Jensen is all in with it, he’s passionate, his tiny moans and curses, just from seeing Jared, make it extra hot. Actually Jared doesn’t need to climax here, because the mere anticipation of his partner is more than satisfying. They sink in a kiss when Jared’s instructions turn into a breathless staccato of ‘yes like that’s. He’s noisy when he comes and jerks in Jensen’s hand, forceful first but rapidly turning lazy and soft. 

“Teach me more,” Jensen whispers, his face burning red, making his freckles pop even more.

Jared's head sinks on Jensen’s chest. 

“About what?”

“About, what you like, how you like it… how we… connect… unify… Physically, I know… I can do that,” Jensen bites his lip.

“But you don’t know how it works spiritually?”Jared asks, placing a kiss on Jensen’s freckled shoulder. 

“Is that a stupid question?”

A headshake. Why should it be? But Jared knows, Jensen is insecure, he longs for answers and guidance. 

“Believe me, you didn’t ask a stupid question so far. You crave unity?”

Jensen nods.

“Just like you do.”

“I would love to show you more of it. But I will have to go to a congress in Seattle in three days. Alex and I will be gone and you’ll be on your own for a couple of days,” Jared replies. There is indeed some longing in his voice. 

“Oh, that is… it will be long and I’m new, I…”

Jared clicks his tongue while he combs Jensen’s hair. “You don’t have to worry, everyone will take care of you. They will do what I’d do. You will be shown around.”

Jensen shakes his head. His muscles stiffen just lightly.

“That’s not my worry, but- I wish I could be with you.”

This causes Jared’s eyebrows to raise. He wants to be with Jensen, too. Show him the world that Jared lives in and help with the settling. It’s hard to find a place in a community. Jared also fears (and hopes) that Jensen found a way in his heart.

“You are with me. And you will be. You belong to the community now.”

Jensen winds.

“I mean… could you… I would like to go to Seattle. With you…”

“And Alex,” Jared corrects.

“And Alex,” Jensen confirms.

There is no reason to say ‘no’, but there is also no reason to say ‘yes’ that is justifiable. Jensen is new. But he’s shown commitment and he wants to learn. They would bond. Jared wants it. Badly.

“Will it put your heart at ease when I say yes?”

Jared smiles and it’s a knowing one. Jensen smiles. He also knows. 

“Yes, it would.”

The way Jensen smiles and blushes is cute, maybe a little staged. Jared’s not an idiot, he knows that Jensen is wooing him. Trying to impress. Wants to appeal. He already does, there is no need to be overly pliant. Jared enjoys the attention though, who would judge him for it? He presses a kiss on Jensen’s lips and their hug turns closer, just like the last minutes of touching didn’t exist. Jared wouldn’t complain about that, either. 

“Thank you,” he utters before he can think it through.

“For what?”

Jared squeezes Jensen’s growing cock. 

“For giving me - peace.”

Peace is not the only thing Jared wants to thank his disciple for, but Jensen’s soft moan drowns any further thoughts. He wants to merge. Now. He doesn’t want to wait. Not for them to be in his room or Jensen’s. Just take him here.

Alex listens to the quiet conversation that turns into moans and splashing, Jared’s deep and ground shaking grunts. He would be a big fat liar if he claimed to be untouched by it, even Jensen’s soft noises make him rock hard. But what he feels in his heart and what he feels in his body, these two things diverge wildly from each other. He shoves a hand in his pants and hates himself for it. But who he hates more is Jensen. He will take Jared away from him. 

That mustn’t happen.

Alex has to do something about it. Soon.

#j2 #j2 fanfic #sin is sinning #supernatural rpf #part 1 of 3

[arrozaurus]

Hi! I wanted to ask, what are your thoughts on SU's view on motherhood? Cause, rewatching some ep, I think there is a dichotomy between Rose/WD. Rose is a subjective being with her own agency and as a mother figure understands her children's needs as subjective beings and takes them seriously (am i right¿??specially with ame?) While White is kinda the opposite, cause she doesn't have a sense of self but also she projected herself into her "children"/gemkind ¿? (hope u having a nice day btw)

Oh yeah, I agree White/Rose are two opposite poles in some aspect of motherhood.

This spectrum does not necessarily tell you whether the parenthood style is good or bad, even though the show prefers the overly idealistic but loving parent that Rose is, but rather it speaks in relation to the dimension of Control vs. Freedom, which in terms of identity it refers to the need for comformity against the right to self-expression but in terms of organization, it means the enforcement of the rules against the complete rejection of them.

(Thinking bubble: Wow, now that I think about it, this really looks like a political spectrum... but if it does maybe it is because motherhood kind of is, political in nature? The show winks at you with that, I mean, both Rose and White become heads of a family, both are literally leaders and/or rulers. MMmh... Interesting how structures of power at a smaller scale repeat in such gigantic structures of social organization.)

Sure, White’s way of leading is outstandingly toxic while - to my judgement - Rose’s is not, but that doesn’t mean that Rose’s caring is necessarily balanced as well. Rebecca speaks about how everything about the diamonds is leaning on extremes. White thinks she’s right so much that she is wrong, Yellow is so convinced she’s strong that she’s very brittle, Blue sees herself as sensitive but she’s actually very inconsiderate, and Pink is completely unaware of the true impact, power and influence she has on others.

But this idea of imbalance doesn’t come out of nowhere, it is actually a symptom of the terrible dynamic they have: ‘’Pink is powerless’’ because at Homeworld the trauma-inducing supercriticism and neglect from the Diamonds has conditioned her self-judgement, to view herself as small; ‘‘Yellow is strong’‘ because, she has to be for the Empire, she had to set the example, she has to make sacrifices... Etcetera, etcetera.

Why do I talk about this? Because it’s the bully household that Rose lived in since birth, what gave her the literally traumatic determination to be EVERYTHING that the Diamonds weren’t. Do you all understand the consequences of this? What truly means for a child like Amethyst with a parent that is scared of becoming their parents and avoids everything that has to do with them? And therefore is associated with their childhood trauma?

Rebecca thinks Amethyst’s fluidity was encouraged by Rose, and that she protected her from having to know troubling truths. Amethyst is basically a kid who was raised by hippies. She was sheltered from knowing the full truth of her origin and therefore she was not free to build on that aspect of her identity. Both the advantages of freedom and the disadvantages of lack of structure manifested in her. Rose didn’t want Amethyst to have restrictions of the Gem society they rejected, but that meant she didn’t get a chance to rebel against or choose to follow anything associated with them. Especially with regard to her relationship with the Kindergarten, they compare Amethyst to being raised with a liberal upbringing–everything is fine now, even though it’s apparent that NONE of this is actually fine in the larger context.

Steven Universe Podcast, Volume 2, Episode 2 [EXTRACT▶]

I don't need this song! I need...I need what you had! [...]

Maybe your parents weren't so bad. Maybe they gave you curfews and chaperones and meatloaf for a reason! —Steven, Mr Universe

Rose coming from a home that subjected her to impossible standards, knowing what it did to her and how it made her feel like, refuses to set any kind of structure as a leader, and it is this lack of direction and guidance what ends up neglecting Amethyst in a way she couldn’t consider.

#rose quartz

[docbe]

So I’ve been making/preparing to make changes to my diet, and I wanna talk about food politics a lil bit...so basically I’m planning on going gluten free to manage autoimmune symptoms, and with all of the issues around climate change, I’m planning on cutting back as much as possible on beef/dairy. I think there’s a lot of problems with factory farming ethically as well, BUT this isn’t exactly what I want to talk about, but rather like...some of the internal war I have about veganism culture vs meat-eater culture and the way food is produced 

The thing is, there IS a problem with factory farming, but I’ve also been rather uncomfortable with the way PETA-esque protesting/boycotting has been going about it, and I’ve spent a long, long time trying to figure out how to word exactly why. Part of it, I think, is that there is a certain divide in the perspective between urban, city-raised people and rural, country-raised people, and the lack of actual, productive communication about that divide. Urban people seem to view a lot of rural people and communities as backwater, cruel, conservative idiots, while rural people seem to view urban people as self-centered, ignorant, entitled do-nothings. That, of course, helps no one

The thing is, there is a lot of very good arguments to cutting back on animal products, both ethically and for the environment. There’s also a lot of good arguments towards ethical animal husbandry and plant-based alternatives. But one thing that urban people sometimes don’t understand is that not every farm is a factory farm, and many farmers would much rather do things in a way that is in-line with ethical practices. Farming is a large-scale industry with a lot of complicated ins-and-outs, and meeting demand while also turning a profit can be incredibly difficult. Of course, one can argue that that is no reason not to do things morally, and imo, they’re right. But the issue is that solving problems like that are not easy and sometimes take a lot of time, innovation, and resources, and the explosion of modern populaces and more decadent, ready-made lifestyles has not been easy to keep up with 

And again, one can argue that that is not an excuse. But here’s the problem, the reality of boiling things down too ideologically: for industries where things have rapidly changed, especially industries that pushed back a lot against those changes, it’s not always just about profits. If you look at communities that were once manufacturing, coal, etc., many of them are suffering high levels of poverty, drug problems, lack of infrastructure--problems that a lot of liberally-minded people are also empathetic towards and fighting against. In those areas, the push-back is not just to maintain profits, but also because there often isn’t much else to turn towards, and entire communities are left without ways of recovering. A sudden upheaval for moral purposes may sound like a good idea, but at the same time, the world is not a closed system, and blindly cutting down one problem may leave a host of other difficult problems in its wake

In the case of farming, a lot of farms have been passed down generations and span large areas of land--and if those farms went out of business, those communities are often in the middle of nowhere and don’t offer a lot of alternatives. A lot of people in rural areas hate liberal (sub)urban-dwellers simply because they feel like those (sub)urban-dwellers are demanding things without knowing what they’re talking about, without understanding the cost and impact on them and their communities, and frankly, they might be right in that assessment, at least partially. If you talk about making a huge economic change but don’t consider the fallout, leaving the communities to rot and call that “morality,” that’s not very convincing. Money sucks, but resources/currency are vitally important to any society, and not considering that in your crusade towards a morally pure world may do more harm than good. A lot of rural people may not think about it in quite those terms, but the whole “stupid hippie” thing has a lot of roots in those sentiments 

And I think one of the things that bugs me about extremist vegan-type mentalities is this notion that if you don’t go 150% in on it, it’s just as bad as not doing anything at all. It’s good to cut back on meat/animal-based products, esp. cattle-based, to whatever degree you can, even if it’s just a little--that’s still less demand for the product. But putting your money towards ethically-sourced products is also helpful, as that causes that market to grow--and the more profitable something is, the more viable it is to actually do on a larger scale. To treat eating vegetarian/vegan as something that HAS to be done in a full vegetarian/vegan diet may turn people away who might otherwise make smaller, daily changes and cut backs, and on the scale of millions/billions of people, that’s a huge loss. It’s better to go meatless Monday than not do anything at all. And of course, there’s also the ableist/classist/etc problems that make it difficult for some people to maintain those diets all the time, but would still like to try cutting back

Basically, it kind of sucks that there’s this moral purist thing that has painted “liberal” “diets” like veganism as fads, that gives people a negative connotation about things like plant-based alternatives or making smaller, less “impactful” alterations to their lifestyles. And it sucks that rather than discuss the reasons why there’s that communication breakdown, there’s just more mudslinging...It’s a complex problem, and it’s going to have a complex solution

#is there stuff I probably didn't consider? ye #but I was thinkin about it while doing dishes earlier so this is mostly just to get it off my mind #also sorry mobile users #long post #animal rights #food #politics #idk what else i should tag this? idk what ppl would blacklist w a topic like this :x

[captainmazzic]

So every now and again I get a message in my inbox asking about what I thought about such-and-such a thing in new canon, or if I’m intending on writing any meta or analysis on a particular subject in Star Wars. And sometimes I keep those messages sitting in my inbox for months (one has been sitting there for a little over a year), because I think, maybe I will feel comfortable doing in-depth meta again and I’ll wish I’d remembered what this message had asked. But as time goes by I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Okay. Real talk for a minute here. Bear with me as I’m long-winded and I don’t really have a concise way of communicating this. Potential political views and personal opinions on certain points in cinematic history below.

Short backstory first. I’m an older Star Wars fan. I was a tiny child when the last of the original trilogy came out, and both my parents are sci-fi nerds so I was practically raised on Star Wars. They are also tabletop RPG nerds so I was also raised on D&D and the like. So naturally when Star Wars tabletop RPGs were floating around I snapped them up and consumed them like candy. The novels were a natural extension of the RPGs, and I consumed those just as enthusiastically. The Expanded Universe was my bread and butter, and to this day I’m very nostalgic and fond of it even if most of it is quite laughably terrible.

Where am I going with this? Everything is a product of their time. The original trilogy was created when George Lucas was a young liberal-minded fresh-faced director looking to change the world and make his mark. This was the 70s, war was awful, the government was evil, hippies and protests were everywhere, and the only thing that seemed to have any hope of changing the world were small bands of spunky misfits with a mission and a message. And that mentality is one that shows, in the original Star Wars films. Lucas designed the Empire as a representation of the United States circa the Vietnam War, just dressed up in the fashion and ceremony of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. (Sources: Chris Taylor, How Star Wars Conquered the Universe, Pp. 87-88; Michael Ondaatje, The Conversations: Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film, p.70) The message of the original trilogy boiled down to “the ability of a small group of people to defeat a gigantic power simply by the force of their convictions… no matter how small you are, you can defeat the overwhelmingly big power.” (quote: Walter Murch). He really struggled to get Star Wars onto the big screen, with a lot of setbacks and rejections, and many times when he thought it would never happen. But it did, and it was wildly successful. And I think in part it was because that message really spoke to people, and it didn’t hurt that it was wrapped up in a package with cool laser swords and explosions and space battles.

But then the 80s happened. And the 90s happened. And through that, what happened to Lucas is what happens to many people as they gain success, wealth, and fame as they grow older. The system started to work for him instead of against him. Suddenly the Powers That Be weren’t trying to suppress his ideas from getting to an audience; suddenly all those organizations that seemed so hell-bent on keeping him out were now enabling him to get and stay in, to conserve and gain influence; suddenly his opinion counted for so much it almost seemed god-like, especially in this galaxy far, far away that was unflowering under his direction and all-seeing eye. I guess the system isn’t so bad after all, eh?

And thus we have the Prequels. They can be a rollicking good time, but their message is muddled. Before them the books and the RPGs seemed to try as best they could to hold on to that earlier message of underdog vs. the powers-that-be (with the RPGs succeeding more often, imho), but they couldn’t continue in the face of their Ultimate Creator coming back in to make more SW movies. With the Prequels, suddenly the Old Republic is portrayed as noble and struggling instead of corrupt and dying, with a lot of hand-waving and “something something well actually” in regards to the role of the Jedi, the nature of the Senate, etc. There’s mixed messages where sometimes we get the old Star Wars back, with energetic groups of activists and freedom fighters trying to bring down the oppressors, but there’s also a lot of storytelling awkwardness where the audience is implored to trust the authorities and rely on the judgment of those with power over you within the same breath. This trend continues throughout the Clone Wars animation, and it is there that it becomes often so cognitively dissonant one wonders how you don’t get whiplash trying to follow whatever garbled message they think they’re communicating. And I think that’s where the Star Wars franchise really began to become a monster in its own right. Big businesses are hulking entities unto themselves, functioning like capitalist plutocracies within their host nations, and the Star Wars franchise is no exception. Whatever garbled message Lucas tried to send out with the Prequels grew amplified and even more confused with the Clone Wars, spread into the video games and the books, and continued to infect Star Wars as the franchise was turned over to the quintessential mega-plutocratic-empire, The Walt Disney Company.

And here we have the Sequel movies, the New Canon, and all of the disasters that come with them.

Disney walks a fine line between well-meaning family-friendly sugar and spice, and ruthless all-consuming hypercontroller of everything from arts and entertainment to food and clothes and government lobbying. Their bottom line is the dollar and the influence on – and power over – people’s lives that the dollar brings with it. Handing them a story whose original message was about people resisting the very kind of mammoth force that Disney embodies, and hoping that they will try to stay true to said original message, is hopeless and foolish at best and utterly disastrous at worst.

With the Sequels and subsequent movies, Disney pays good overt lip service to the original trilogy with things like Rogue One and the Rebels animation, which on the surface certainly do look like the same sort of message as the original trilogy. But scratch just below that surface and Disney is all about communicating that submitting to the authority of, say, higher Rebel command and following their orders even when it goes against your gut feeling (ex. Ezra Bridger in the Rebels animation), or that rebelling against an unjust government is only valid if it is done according to a strict but nebulous set of arbitrary rules and only if it is done in the service of a different unjust government that just happens to be slightly less evil than the one you’re trying to overthrow (ex. any iteration of the Old Republic ever, but I’m especially and particularly looking at you, Sequel-era Republic/Resistance and SWTOR Jedi/Republic).

And here is where I balk about ever doing meta on Star Wars again. I hate that this is the direction Star Wars is taking. I hate that New Canon feels like propaganda to me. I hate that I can’t enjoy any of this stuff if I take it for what it presents itself to be. I hate that the only way I truly can enjoy Star Wars now is by cherry-picking all of the tiny bits of window dressing that was pretty enough or interesting enough for me to want to look at it again, and very deliberately and consciously throwing out all the rest.

The experience of Star Wars that I create for myself is escapist and isolating, because it is so very tailor-made to what I can enjoy out of it now. When I go see a new Star Wars film or play a Star Wars game, I don’t actually see whatever story the franchise is trying to actually tell. I see bits and pieces that I can put together into something I can cope with better, something I can actually enjoy.

Examples include:

In Rebels, when the official franchise’s story killed off Maul. I cannot and will not acknowledge that, or function as though it happened. And I can’t really give my opinion on how not having Maul around will affect the future story, because I very literally do not care at all about any Star Wars where he is not in it.

In The Clone Wars, there are so many instances of Anakin Skywalker having agency and making decisions independent of the Jedi Council or without having their insipid code squarely in mind, where if he had made those decisions in a more realistic setting they would have turned out quite well, but what we get on screen is ominous background music and FoReShAdOwInG.

In The Last Jedi, I cannot fathom any reason why Yoda would be given the role that he was given, and find it a complete affront to Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker, who had every motivation, every reason, every right to have that role instead. So I can’t see that scene without him in it. I just… I don’t see it. It didn’t happen that way, and I find I cannot discuss it as it’s presented on-screen. I have nothing to say.

In the Sequel media, both books and movies, Supreme Leader Snoke is portrayed as a one-dimensional Saturday morning cartoon villain whose intended role in the story is blurred as the story progresses, and his death is completely nonsensical in regards to the buildup of information that we as an audience have gleaned about him. We see pieces of evidence that he could have actually cared about Kylo Ren that go nowhere in the actual story, and he ends up just being a scapegoat that gets thrown away halfway through the second sequel movie. I choose to see more in his character than what we were given in Actual Canon™, and thus see him very differently than what common discourse would allow. Because of this, if I discuss Snoke in mixed company I know that I will be called out as someone who advocates for only the limited cardboard-character that is portrayed on screen, instead of for the internalized view that I have personally built for him.

I know everyone’s personal view of a character or characters is different, because we all have different points of view. But there is often some sort of vague common ground in their portrayal that the author or storyteller was originally going for, that most people usually pick up on and base their opinions around. But what if some of the key characteristics that make up a character are just… things you choose not to see or are incapable of seeing, and your own personal view of that character becomes almost entirely different from the “original”? Probably the most benign example I can think of is Hera Syndulla. If I take what I see of her in canon, she infuriates me with how she treats her crew. But if I just decide that such-and-such a conversation never happened, or her decisions on such-and-such a mission were different than the on-screen one, she essentially becomes an alternate-universe version of herself. Only that this version is one that I can tolerate, and it is the only version I see anymore.

How does one communicate that my entire experience of Star Wars is as an AU?

And on and on it goes. Discussing meta and Actual Canon Events™ as portrayed on screen and on printed page has become nothing but a migraine headache to me. I cannot engage in discourse, because I am very much not seeing what everyone else is seeing and talking about, nor do I care to. I just… I can’t keep talking about the same stupid things over and over again. I can’t keep screaming into the void about the unsustainability of the Sith or the Jedi, about the complete inequality and corruption that would have to be absolutely omnipresent in the Republic for it to even be remotely realistic even by cartoon standards, about the inevitability of the Republic turning into an Empire, about the weird dissonance given to the concept of the Force that would end up making both the Jedi and the Sith’s case baseless and weak, etc. etc. ETC. It’s exhausting, it’s stressful, and for something that I’m here to try to enjoy, it’s not even remotely enjoyable.

The very core of the matter is that I love the Star Wars universe. I love the worlds, I love the aliens, I love the ships and the droids and the technology and the concept of the Force. I love the characters. I love all of these things, and sometimes I even love the plots and stories (thank you Chuck Wendig and Timothy Zahn). But I just can’t enjoy digging into the meta of it anymore.

So if you like what I post of my own personal Star Wars-brand AU, by all means dig right in. But I don’t think I can do anymore general meta or discourse. I’m sticking with fanart and fanfic.

#sarc speaks #long post #text post #sarc talks about star wars #star wars meta #kind of #this thing is extremely unpolished and I'm not communicating what I want very clearly #but this is the best i can do

[thewildheroine]

Meet Me In Between |Part Three| An Infinity War Spoiler Story

Warnings: Language, underage use of drugs and alcohol, vomiting, death, major spoiler, anxiety, nightmares, angst

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Honestly I'm super surprised by how many notes this series has received as well as the number of people asking to be tagged in it!!! Thank you so much loves and I hope you enjoy part three!❤️💛💙❤️💛💙

|Masterlist|

|Part One| |Part Two| |Part Four|

People surround me, attempting to get a few words in with the adventurer at Lily’s end of the world party. It is in no way the end of the world though. In fact, it’s like everyone has returned to their normal everyday life, or they’re trying to. That’s the reason Lily is even throwing a party tonight. She believes it’s better to cope while drunk on your parents' whiskey rather than actually understanding what is going on. Maybe I would be doing the same thing as her if things like drugs and alcohol didn’t affect my abilities so much. Hang on some random junior from the Academy and pass around a joint. God. I wish I could get lost in it all.

The cup of beer in my hand is still full though and I haven’t laid a finger on any sort of drug since the incident two years ago. I intend to make sure I never do again. Suddenly, I swat a hand away from me but it isn’t an in-betweener’s. In front of me is a sophomore boy, drunk off his ass with a smug look on his face. He says something but I can’t be bothered to listen. Deciding I don’t feel like dealing with him I swerve past the lowerclassman and begin making my way towards where Lily is. Clouds of vape burst across my vision and I cough, bothered by the saccharine smells.

“Baby!” Lily hiccups as soon as she sees me through the crowd of our peers. Just as I thought she has slung her body over a juniors lap who seems especially happy about the situation. I smile and roll my eyes, still finding it in me to adore my best friend in a bubbly state such as this. Moving past high teens I make my way across the room and to the couch where she sits mimicking the posture of some sort of goddess.

“Hey beautiful,” I wink at her jokingly, throwing her into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “I think I’d better get home.” As soon as the words leave my mouth Lily’s giggling is replaced with a frown and she stares up at me with wide green puppy-dog eyes.

“But, Y/N,” she laments while pulling herself off the boy’s lap, “I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk to you. Also, you haven’t even finished your drink yet.” Lily points down at my red cup to make a point.

“You know I can’t drink. Not with my gift,” I remind. Lily watches me sadly for a moment, sobering up so she can sympathize with me. Abruptly she pulls me into a hug that is tight enough to make my spine crack. I chuckle and tuck my nose into her warm brown skin that smells like honey. She pulls away abruptly and makes direct and unnerving eye contact with me.

“Text me the moment you get home,” she asserts and I feel myself shrink a bit under her harsh gaze.

“Of course,” I promise and hug her again. She sighs, her breath somehow not filled with the scent of the strong liquor she was drinking only moments earlier. “I always do.” Finally, I pull away from her body and grin to comfort her. In Lily’s eyes, I can tell she knows somethings up. For as long as we’ve known each other she’s been able to read me like a goddamn book. I think that may just be her superpower. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Lily responds sadly. As I’m backing away I shoot a glare at the boy who tugs my best friend back into his lap. He meets my eyes in a moment and looks down fearfully, not wanting to incur the wrath of the ghost girl. I smirk to myself when I turn away and begin walking towards the door. People call out my name so that they can talk to me even for a moment but I ignore each and everyone, just desiring to get home at this point.

Finally, I push past the double doors and enter the night. The pale moon shines a light on every single blade of dewy grass, creating an ocean of pure white. I giggle and move down Lily’s front walk and towards my car. Even outside I can hear the hollering of the students enjoying the part. A piece of me hates them for that. That they all can go about and do what they please without nearly dying. At least most of the time.

An image of hospital lights flash overhead and I have to lean against my car to keep from falling at the sight of them. Like a bird swooping in and out of view, the vision is fleeting, and as soon as it has disappeared from my mind I walk around my car and get inside. The dashboard automatically lights up and drive away.

As I’m driving home I find that the streets are empty for the most part. The only exception being the very few people driving home from their late shifts. I find comfort in the unusually quiet streets. Seeing that no one is behind me and my mother hadn’t texted me a specific curfew besides be home by the time I wake up tomorrow I take my time driving home so that I can enjoy the way the light emitted by the intersections look in the thick mist that has settled upon Greenwich suddenly. Slowly, I come to a halt at the last stop light before I reach my neighborhood. Enjoying the feeling of the cold, wet air when I roll down my window down, I drop my head against the back of my seat.

All of the sudden, pain bolts through my chest though and I gasp for air. Lurching forward, my hand hits the wheel and causes a long drawn out horn to break the silent air. I cry out and clench my jaw. My body stays paralyzed for a good five minutes, adjusting to the pain and pure anxiety I just experienced. The light had gone through a full cycle three times until the emotion disappeared enough for me to move again. Hesitantly, I look down and at my chest where the pain rooted from. My heart stops when I see the dark purple bruise branching up from my sternum and over my collarbone. I touch the bruise and wince.

“What the fuck?” I question. Looking around wildly, I try searching for an in-betweener who may have inflicted the injury upon me. All I find is a completely empty car though. I lift a hand to my face and run it through my hair, pulling at half of the strands that were pulled into a bun.

“HEY!” someone shouts at me. I look in my rearview mirror and see a car waiting for me to move behind my own Audi. Gulping down my fear I press down on my pedal and move to the right side of the road. As the person passes they lift their middle finger at me and speed away. I groan and rub aimlessly at my chest, wondering how in the hell a giant bruise like that just appeared.

The moment I see my house I’m relieved which is definitely a first. Haphazardly, I park my car in the garage and walk towards the front door. I pray that when I come in Max doesn't bark at all. Knowing my mom won’t be angry if he does though I swing open the door fearlessly only to be met with the Australian Shepherd who is lazily stretched out on the wooden tiles. He offers me a dopey smile which I return as I kneel down to his level and scratch his ear.

“Hey big boy,” I whisper. “How come you’re still up?” Max stands with me and shakes his thick brown, black, and white coat. We wander down to my room together, ignoring the overhead lights as they turn on when they sense our presence so that we don’t trip over each other. At the end of the hall, I can see my mother and father’s bedroom door that is barely cracked open enough for me to see the light of someone’s phone. For some reason, I feel the need to look away in shame.

I push my door open and Max immediately rushes in and jumps on my bed with a wagging tail, making me giggle. Lazily I toss my keys onto my desk and drop my jacket on the floor. Max watches curiously as I pull off my shirt and look into the mirror.

I'm shocked when I see my reflection. Only ten minutes ago there was a giant bruise covering the entirety of my chest up to my collarbone. Now, I am only met with my chest that has no purple, yellow or green marks on it. I run my fingers over my ribs to see if I can feel any pain from the contact. There's nothing though. Just the feeling of skin lightly brushing against skin, a touch that I never really appreciated until this moment. I press my hand against my sternum and sigh.

“Okay,” I mumble. “We're okay.” After I peek in the mirror again I waddle over to my bed and fall onto the soft mattress. Right away I snuggle into my comforters and close my eyes, willing sleep to envelope me before the nightly event begins.

I'm younger here. A sophomore with hope coiled inside of me like a child's slinky before trying to make it leap down the stairs. Lily sits across from me at the lunch table. I scroll through my Instagram feed, seeing what people have been posting about the Avengers most recent battle.

“Y/N.” I lift my eyes when I hear Lily calls me only to be met with her skinny juul. I stare blankly at it and raise an eyebrow.

“What?” I wonder with furrowed brows, not sure what she wants me to do. Lily rolls her eyes and pushes the item close to me.

“You should try it,” she encourages. I just scoff and look back down at my phone.

“Thanks but no,” I mumble and double click my home button to switch to Twitter. “You know I don't do anything like that.” When I glance at Lily through my hair I see her rolling her eyes while taking another hit. She leans in towards me and blows the steam right into my face. I choke on the faux smell of peaches and turn away.

“Dude,” I cough.

“Come on Y/N,” she moans and offers it to me again. “It's gonna happen sooner or later. Might as well get used to it.” I nod sarcastically and swag it away from me.

“You can't know that,” I hiss. Lily's stubborn though, and the little black thing stays right next to my lips.

“You go to a hippy liberal school in New York,” she informs me. “It's gonna happen.” I spare the juul another look hesitantly. I know better. I know that doing anything unusual may disrupt my connection with the in-between, but the begging look in Lily's eyes is enough to make me take the item from her. She smirks victoriously as I turn the mouthpiece towards my dry lips and take a shaky breath.

“One hit,” I reaffirm. Hesitantly, I put it in my mouth. The moment the drug hits my tongue I feel repulsed by the feeling and pull it out of my mouth. Coughing out loud I toss Lily's juul back to her. She laughs sweetly as the steam sputters out of my throat.

“Like it?” she chuckles. I roll my eyes and flip her off while grabbing my phone again.

“God no,” I tell her while gritting my teeth, the peachy taste still stuck in my throat. She pats my shoulder hand softly. The moment her skin meets mine I'm jolted forward through the day until I'm in my sixth-period class. I tap my finger paranoidly on my desk and glance around.

Hundreds if not thousands of hands run around my body by I can't make out any in-betweeners. I flash in and out of this world uncontrollably despite how hard I cling. Beads of sweat drip from my face and my teacher stares at me blankly.

“Y/N sweetheart, are you okay?” The moment she asks it I stand from my seat and shake my head. My chair falls backward and onto the linoleum with a loud thud. I stare down at my hands which fade in and out of sight and I nearly faint when I realize that they remind of the warped space when in-betweeners are around.

“No,” I mumble, suddenly feeling sick beyond belief. Hurriedly I sprint over to the trash can and vomit into it. I cling to the bag as I continue hurling into it, feeling weaker and weaker as more is released from me.

The dream doesn't continue as it should though. Abruptly, I'm taken from my dream and placed on an entirely different planet. The ground beneath me is course and the color of rust. My fingers dig into the rough sand and I lift it to my face. I study the material as it falls through my nimble fingers and hits the planet’s crust.

“Something's happening,” a woman announces. I twist around wildly to face her and demand some sort of answer about where I am. When I meet her wide eyes that stare straight into mine though I'm shocked. Whoever she is, she is absolutely not human. I step closer to her, taking in her pale skin, pure black eyes and skinny antennas. The moment I open my mouth to question her she begins turning to ash.

I watch in horror as what remains of the woman brushes past my face as though it is one last scared attempt to cling to life. My vision flickers away for a moment. When it returns there is yet another alien figure in front of me, only this one has grey and red skin with broad shoulders. He stares right through me, obviously not realizing I'm here with him.

“Quill?” he mumbles before fading into ash as well. I turn slowly to where he was looking and find myself face to face with a man who I believe to be human. He, just like the other, doesn't notice me as he looks down at his hands that begin turning to ash.

“Oh man.” Just like the others, he disappears, his ashes whispering along my skin as I begin to cry. I begin hugging my body desperately to try and quiet the whimpers that escape my already raw throat. My eyes shut, not wanting to see any more death.

“Tony…” another voice begins but I keep my eyes closed, unwilling to watch as another person dies. “There was no other way.”

“Mr. Stark?” For some strange reason, this is the voice that completely breaks me. My head snaps up and I look at a young man, dressed in a metal Spider-Man suit who hugs himself like I'm doing. He looks up and I understand that each of us knows what is going to happen next.

I stand on my weak legs, staring right at the boy who can't even see me. My stomach is in hurtful knots when I realize he's the boy Ned promised I would meet one day. God, I don't want to meet him like this.

“I don't feel so good,” he slurs his words. With a choked gasp I begin backing away. I can't find any sort of courage in me to watch him of all people disappear and stain my body with ash. All of the sudden he falls forward and into my arms. A sob escapes my scratchy throats as he wraps his arms around me and begins to cry as well. Despite the voice in my head telling me not to I wrap my arms around his torso and pull him closer to me.

“I don't want to go,” he bawls into my chest. “Please, I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go,” he repeats. I bow my head and look down, finding that not only is the boy I'm holding turning to ash but so am I. I hide my face in his chestnut curls and cry out, scared beyond belief.

“I’ll go with you,” I promise, hoping he may just hear. “We’ll go together. We’ll go together.” Suddenly, the boy falls back and I go down with him.  He stares tto his right as my body begins to disintegrate more and more. I find that my vision becomes blotchy with dark spots and soon enough the only thing I can see is his calming brown eyes as he turns back towards me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. I place a hand on his face as I begin fading away with him.

“Me too.”

I shoot up from my comforters that have become damp with sweat. My hands cling to my sides as I make sure I’m still pieced together. Much to my relief I haven’t turned to ash or disappeared but that doesn’t make what I just experienced any less real. Searching for solace after such a terrible nightmare I look to my hands. I only find more horror etched into my skin though. Tucked into the creases of my palms are flakes of ash. A silent scream escapes my throat as I glare down at them.

Because of my sudden outburst, hundreds if not thousands of in-betweeners come to me. Despite my efforts all of their own fear and pain and suffering bleeds into my head, making what I’m going through a million times worse. I hyperventilate while holding my hands far away from me. Just like sophomore year, hands begin stroking my exposed skin. I grind my teeth to trap the sob that bursts through my throat.

“Please go away,” I mumble. “I can’t do anything for you. Go away.” The hands and emotions stay persistent though. “I can’t help any of you. I can’t save your souls. Please, please, please go away. Please-” my head lulls to the side slowly when my breathing becomes too short. Achingly I fall backward and onto my bed when my breathing stops completely from having such a severe panic attack, allowing me to fall back asleep.

Hours later I wake to the shining sun bouncing into my room. I have to squint my eyes because of such an extremely bright sunrise. After I few minute of adjusting to the light I yawn and stretch out on the bed, running my hands through my tangled hair and across my messy comforter. Something weighs down on the mattress next to me but I just figure it’s Max. Smiling to myself I turn around on my bed and run and drop my arms around him, finding comfort in the fact that he stayed throughout the night.

“Max,” I begin to wearily open my eyes, “you’re such a good-” my words get caught in my throat when I find myself staring right at a sleeping boy who had covered himself in my sheets. My mouth drops open and I stare at him blankly for a moment, unsure of what I do in a scenario such as this. My heart skips a beat when his eyes crack open, forcing me to realize this is actually happening. He stares at me tiredly, obviously still unable to differentiate reality from his dream. My heartbeat picks up again and I can’t help the frightened shriek of horror I let out right next to his ear.

And god, if he wasn’t awake before then he is now.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed and as always if you’d like to be tagged in series please send an ask to me or leave a comment! Requests are open! ❤️💛💙❤️💛💙

Tag List

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#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker soulmate au #spiderman #spider man #spiderman imagine #spiderman fanfiction #spider man homecoming #peter parker slow burn #spiderman slow burn #slow burn #slow burn imagine #imagine fanfiction #spider man imagine #mcu imagine #infinity war #infinity war spoilers #the avengers infinity war #iw #aiw spoilers #spoilers #iw spoiler #spiderman x reader #reader #spider man x reader #tom holland x reader #readers perspective #enhanced reader

[fromthebottomoftherecordbox]

Laura Jean Anderson goes down-home and rips up the blues

Laura Jean Anderson returns to the show and blows us away with her soulful, bluesy, gospel-inspired White Stripes cover and finally wins over Richard. Her track is tantamount proof that she is an incredible vocal talent and her new EP Live From Studio Hotel Earth is bursting with more vocal prowess. The initial track off of the EP Lonesome No More is dripping with jazzy vox chops from yesteryear. There's more, there's a live one-woman-and-a-guitar rendition of Thinkin' 'Bout You which featured previously on the show. Go explore that EP, it's an official FTBOTRB Recommendation. We've got more than just Laura Jean Anderson however. Firstly we have a beautiful bookend from elfish songstress Rachel Ries, two eloquent and tender recordings showcase this poetic, compassionate songwriter at her best. Secondly, we have a Krautrock classic from Michael Bundt; insidious synth futurism that's a great introduction to this genre if you're new to it. Tobin is a massive fan! Wait... there's more New Music from Kalaido transports us eastwards to the lush tropics of Vietnam, via Portland, Oregon, USA. Motorbikes in Sapa is a wonderful foray into the world of Eastern musical instruments and delights with every note. Furthermore, we play the Jack Bruce classic Theme For An Imaginary Western as performed by Mountain. Straight from the vinyl. It's the first instalment of our monthlong celebration of the 50th Anniversary of Woodstock. We play tracks from the world's most famous music festival throughout August. Talking Heads are our Record Box Classic this week and we top everything else off with Royal Jelly Jive and the track Pteryophora. Join us for an eclectic show full of music that requires much further investigation! And last but not least, welcome aboard Young Chris, keep listening, especially when you shouldn't be. Rock 'n' Roll Chris, pure Rock 'n' Roll. Today, Los Angeles-based artist Laura Jean Anderson has released a new EP of live in-studio tracks titled, Live From Studio Hotel Earth. The EP is a stunning showcase of Laura Jean's raw powerhouse vocal, all recorded in one-take. The live EP is out now via B3SCI Records, available everywhere here. Live From Studio Hotel Earth includes tracks from her debut Lonesome No More EP alongside a brand new cover of The White Stripes' I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet). Speaking on the live EP, Laura Jean notes, Making a record and having the vast possibilities of production and instrumentation is exciting, but there is something special about limitation. This live EP brings the songs back to how they were written - back to those intimate moments of writing alone late at night with just me and my guitar. These songs are really personal to me - all about very vivid moments and stories of my life so being able to record them stripped-down and intimately was really emotional but beautiful. The day of recording was really special for me. I’m a huge believer of the power of a community of people. So it was really special having my old friend Theo Karon record this in his new studio. Laura Jean Anderson Following a busy spring on the live front including a run of shows at SXSW 2019 as well as tours with The Dip and Lauren Ruth Ward, Laura Jean Anderson will embark on a summer tour as direct support with L.A. alt-rock outfit Grizfolk. Earlier work Late 2018's debut Lonesome No More marked the pinnacle of a momentous year for the budding songstress. The year kicked off with the release of 2018 debut single Silence Won't Help Me Now. The track impacted as a much-needed rally cry for the voiceless in today's tumultuous times. First debuting with NPR / All Songs Considered, the track embodies Laura Jean Anderson's struggle resisting societal confines and breaking away from her conservative Mormon upbringing. Noisey described the song's official video as "equally powerful," giving the track a new, jarring visual context. Laura Jean further detailed the song and video's backstory in an exclusive interview with Salon. Single Love You Most followed, putting Laura Jean's powerhouse vocal at the forefront alongside sweeping melodies and a textured instrumental. The track, tipped early by the The FADER, was released alongside a stunning video which debuted alongside an exclusive interview with L.A. Weekly. Laura Jean later released Thinkin' 'Bout You, a further taste of her songwriting dexterity, which was touted by The Line of Best Fit. This spring, Laura Jean Anderson debuted On My Mind, an unreleased single from Lonesome No More that drew praise from the likes FLOOD Magazine and Rolling Stone, who named it among their Top Country Songs to Hear Now. Laura Jean Anderson - early life Born one of five kids in Olympia, Washington where grunge was king and liberal hippies thrived. Laura Jean was raised strictly Mormon, a stark dichotomy that inflicts her art to this day with a deep-seated poignancy. By her mid-teens, she began to form her own differing views and music was her first outlet for rebellion. Firstly honing her vocal skill in church choirs through childhood. Secondly, a bronchitis-ridden audition led to a chance acceptance to California Institute of the Arts (CalArts) prompting a move to California to study classical voice. She made her way working odd jobs, busking, and playing live in any capacity. A testament to her reverence and embodiment of classic blue collar musicians of yore (Nina Simone, Janis Joplin, etc). They all built careers on painstaking hard work and rooted in all things live. After a break from school involving farm work in South America, found love and subsequent heartbreak. Berry farming in Washington state, and residing in a hippie commune, Laura Jean moved back to L.A. to finish school at CalArts. Since then, she's lived in various artist compounds on L.A.'s east side. Throwing pop-up house shows, always surrounded by musicians, always performing. Listen to the Live From Studio Hotel Earth EP in its entirety now at the links below and be on the lookout for more to come from the rising artist very soon. Live From Studio Hotel Earth EPLonesome No More EP + 10" vinyl"Love You Most" (official video)"Silence Won't Help Me Now" (official video)SpotifyApple Music Woodstock celebration This week's show marks our first track in our month long celebration of the 50th anniversary of Woodstock. This week is both a Cover Shot and a Record Box Classic, it's the quite wonderful Theme for an Imaginary Western performed by Mountain. This was only their third gig as a band! The set played between 9pm and 10pm on Saturday 16th August 1969. Enjoy. (function(t,e,i,d){var o=t.getElementById(i),n=t.createElement(e);o.style.height=90;o.style.width=728;o.style.display='inline-block';n.id='ibb-widget',n.setAttribute('src',('https:'===t.location.protocol?'https://':'http://')+d),n.setAttribute('width','728'),n.setAttribute('height','90'),n.setAttribute('frameborder','0'),n.setAttribute('scrolling','no'),o.appendChild(n)})(document,'iframe','ibb-widget-root-1473617419',"banners.itunes.apple.com/banner.html?partnerId=&aId=1010lStF&bt=catalog&t=catalog_white&id=1473617419&c=gb&l=en-GB&w=728&h=90&store=appleMusic"); Read the full article

#Kalaido #LauraJeanAnderson #MichaelBundt #Mountain #RachelRies #RoyalJellyJive #TalkingHeads

[peeringthroughthe4thwall]

Okja: A Beautiful Story of Ugly Capitalism

In May this year a new film by a Korean director caused controversy and plaudits at the Cannes film Festival. Firstly, there were jeers at the screening when the logo of the production company was shown, then there were protests because the film was shown in the wrong aspect ratio. Finally, after the film was finished, there was a four minute standing ovation.

The film at the center of all this was Okja from director Bong Joon-Ho and the logo that caused so much distain and fury – the internet streaming service Netflix.

The reason for the uproar is a simple question with a very complicated answer – if a film is made for consumption primarily on small screens can it really be called a film? In other words does it deserve the same respect as something made for the big screen? At what point does a film cease to be a film?

This is particularly important to the French, who see themselves as the bastions of cinema arts and especially at their premier film festival at Cannes. Because of uproar caused by Okja reassurances were quickly made that, at future festivals, only films which receive a cinema release will be eligible for competition entry. This could spell bad news for Netflix as there is a three year window between when a film is shown in the cinema and when it is allowed to be streamed.

This is all interesting and is something that would make a good article in the future, the important question here is whether Okja can rise above the controversy and live up to the promise of previous Bong Joon-Ho films?

The answer is, thankfully, a resounding yes.

I am a huge fan of Bong Joon-Ho having first discovered him with his fantastic monster movie, The Host. It was an odd film which had a brilliantly realised monster, an interesting approach to the story (focusing on the effects the monster has on an ordinary family rather than official efforts to capture or kill it) and the most unusual and intriguing sense of humour. After my first viewing I was stunned but felt unsure about the direction the humour took the film – I just didn't expect it. On subsequent viewings I have learned to love his approach and embrace this very singular wit.

The same can be said for his film Mother which begins and ends with the film's titular character (played by Hye-ja Kim) in a field dancing alone, and it continues in Okja. Okja starts with the creation of a 'super-pig' and is the brainchild of the CEO of the Mirando corporation Lucy Mirando played with wonderfully manic desperation by Tilda Swinton. Twenty six of these super-pigs are sent around the world to be raised by various indigenous farmers using traditional methods to see who raises the biggest and the best pig. In Korea a 14 year old girl has lived with one of these pigs in a small bucolic farm in the mountains for 10 years. The pig, named Okja, is Mija's best friend and she doesn't realise that he will one day be taken from her to be turned into meat. When that day comes Okja is taken and she realises that she had been duped, she heads into Seoul to find her friend. Along the way she encounters the politest Animal Rights campaigners you've ever come across, a washed up TV animal expert, scores of PR and corporation suits and their private army.

What Bong Joon-Ho has excelled in in the past is the portrayal of the family. He seems to revel in exploring the tensions and peculiarities of the family dynamic and actively enjoys exposing the sometimes selfish personalities therein. Okja is no different. Mija is cared for by her Grandfather who has known the secret all along and held it from her. He is a selfish man who sees more value in coin than flesh, yet at the same time you get the feeling that he does it because he loves Mija and really believes he is doing the right thing.

Mija is a more straight forward character whose resilience and determination rivals Hye-Ja Kim's Mother. Ahn Seo-hyun plays her with a focused determination and unflinching love that is impossible to resist. In fact, all the performances are excellent even when pushed to the limits. This is perhaps best exemplified by Jake Gyllenhaal who approaches his character Dr Danny Wilcox, the TV anthropologist, with a manic zeal and outrageousness which shows how confident the director and actor were in their chosen concept for the character. This is in contrast to the head of the Animal Liberation Front Jay, played with an almost hippy calm by Paul Dano.

Ultimately Okja is an allagory on the extremes of capitalism and how far a corporation will go to sell a product and hide the truth. An odd coincidence is that, as I write this I have my headphones on and I am listening to my collection of soundtracks on shuffle and at this moment Lisa Gerrard is playing. The song is Sacrifice from The Insider OST (Dir: Michael Mann) – a film with a very similar theme but with a very different approach.

If you are an avid meat eater with a complete disdain for the source of your hamburger you may find Okja a bit preachy – that is always a risk when you make a film with this subject matter, however, this is not really the case here. The ending reveals the horrors of the slaughterhouse, the ruthlessness of the corporate mind and the cost of the world's need, not just for food which is how the pigs are marketed, but for tasty snacks (which undermines the idea that the pigs are there to help feed the world).

At the same time, the film is not pro-vegetarian propaganda as they too are the butt of a few jokes throughout (for example, Silver who won't eat a tomato in case it has man-made toxins even though he is extremely weak from hunger).

Okja is a fun, frenzied ride starting in the beautiful mountains of Korea, to the urban sprawl of New York. Bong Joon-Ho has put together an eclectic mixture and pulls off a very entertaining film. Whilst I would have loved to have seen it on the big screen – for it seems to have been designed on a scale much larger than television – I applaud Netflix for taking the gamble with this unusual material and giving the director the money and control that a film like this needed. You can't help but wonder if, given the size of the budget and the peculiarity of the script, Okja could have been made by one of the main studios. Given the fact that Snowpiecer still has not had a release in the UK because of a difference of opinion between Bong Joon-Ho and Harvey Weinstein, I doubt it would and so, despite the controversy, I am thankful for Netflix for giving us this gem.

#Film #Movies #bong joon-ho #Okja #netflix

[metamodel]

A Machine For Hammering the Soul, With Robotic Padres

It's a juicy weekend read for you, in defence of piety (!)…

📖📖📖

After taking an extended break from social design work “to get some perspective” (ahem), I find that Everything Now Looks Very Strange Indeed™. This is another one of my updates on restarting a creative practice, with added cultural and design commentary. 

(If someone’s forwarded this thing to you in the hope you’ll find it interesting, you can subscribe here to secure my everlasting love.)

Today I want to write of vibrations of the soul, the experience of the divine and the habit of prayer. With robots. Yes.

I remain a staunch unbeliever, and yet I find that these apparently religious terms become more useful when I’m wrestling with certain practices: of creativity, of recovery, of becoming a better participant in my communities (local or cosmic). Each of these requires me to paradoxically affirm my own sense of agency by simultaneously curbing it.

For example, working on our addictions is never simply a matter of exerting our individual willpower (which is called “white-knuckling it” in recovery culture, and clearly unsustainable); we instead need to make the choice to surrender to the collective agency of community. 

And the other week, my dear friend Janelle and I attended a writer’s meetup that involved everyone sitting down and just doing some fucking writing. As we sat in a zero-ambience pub bistro, beavering away, she passed me a note: 

“THIS FEELS FORCED AND NOT RAD.”

Agreed, the venue was very much not rad, and we weren't a very inspiring sight, but to be fair to the rest of us, Janelle’s own writing is driven by uncommonly strong affective tides that would wreck a less glorious being. I’d argue that for most people, sustainable creativity needs in some way to be “forced”, and this isn’t a bad thing. My own creative endeavours need to be sustained by the scheduled habit of accessing an animating spirit that might reveal itself to the solidarity of a congregation. (It does need a better venue, though. Blech.)

Such appeals to the beyond have given me a new, practical appreciation of the rigours of piety. But lest I be accused by Slavoj Žižek of some lacklustre, postmodern, liberal-secular appropriation of spirituality, I need to leaven this stuff with a good dose of machines and robots to keep it interesting to me. 😉

Eternal return: burials, and when the earth rejects us

First, some follow-up.

Did you know that in this wonderful medium of email newslettering, you can simply reply to any of these missives from me, and that your reply will appear directly in my everyday, personal email inbox? It’s real email. No really, I love this, so replies are encouraged. Meanwhile, I’m really heartened by the generous messages I’ve received from you thus far. Also, I don’t know some of you, and this mixture of the known and unknown is tantalising. 

Answering my call in the last issue for objects that deserve “burial rites/rights" with us, Andrew (who I know can light a fire with his bare hands) replies that “I would bring with me a wooden spoon for my cooking, a headlamp for reading late at night and camping, and a vr headset because I know I won’t be affording one in this lifetime”. That would just be a simulated, still life VR headset then, right?

And Deborah, who wants “to be buried with seeds inside me, so I could be compost” (and who also first pointed me in the direction of socially responsible design, many years ago 😘), also notes that the word “Pandæmonium”, which I used in my last missive to describe the experience of the classroom in the context of exploring All the Things, “was coined to describe the Place Of All The Demons” — the capital of Hell in Milton’s Paradise Lost. So oddly… appropriate.

Deborah also pointed me to “When the rocks turn their backs on us”, Ken Wark’s review of Elizabeth Povinelli’s Geontologies: A Requiem to Late Liberalism:

[T]he Anthropocene is far from being some hubristic discourse about the powers and destinies of Man. It is rather a malignant, viral human presence in geological time. I think here one could read the Anthropocene through the figure of immunity rather than community. It is not the figure of Man becoming sovereign over the community of the biosphere within geological time. It is rather the biosphere immunising itself against forms of (non)life that it can’t endure. 

While I think there’s every reason to despair, this feels a little too enthusiastically misanthropic. (Perhaps Wark is trying to make up for his embarrassing social democratic excesses of the ‘90s.) Not all community is naturalistic, hippy-dippy togetherness and accommodation, and the pain of recognising and negotiating it, against the predations of capital, might offer a bleak kind of hope. I shall ponder. I’ve naturally procured Povinelli’s book and will report back in a future issue.

⚒️🎵 The Hammer Song

[caption align="alignnone" width="980"]

Kandinsky’s "Winter Landscape", 1911[/caption]

The Masters of Modern Art from the Hermitage show could so easily have drifted into Adult Contemporary Viewing territory, but it brought me this amazing quote from Kandinsky:

Colour is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, and the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul.

The eyes are the hammers. Whoa. Despite its manifest spiritualism, this image builds a model of aesthetics that’s all about resonant, relational assemblages of awesome in which each actor plays a material part. My eyes and yours live together inside a big piano. Fucking yes. This is society and ecology, defined — via aesthetics. The exhibition leaves Sydney this weekend if you want to catch it.

🔪🥀 Nick Cave is a joyful robot monk. Wait, what?

[caption align="alignnone" width="980"]

Nick Cave in conversation. Photo filched from Daniel Boud.[/caption]

I was grateful to be at Conversations with Nick Cave the other week, not just to hear Cave’s voice and solo piano really rise to the occasion and fill a venue with their resonance, but to see the open Q&A format of the show return repeatedly to Cave’s creative process.

Fans who might’ve been clamouring for transcendent tales of sudden inspiration, or 19th Century Gothic influences (“I don’t have any”), were brought back to earth by the familiar refrain of the committed creative professional: Cave shows up to work, which requires lots of meticulous preparation and backbreaking iteration, and he makes it happen. “It’s a job,” he said, with finality. (I love the incongruity of this stuff coming from people like Nick Cave, or Bobbie Gillespie, who apparently keeps office hours for Primal Scream.) 

But I’ve become a little sceptical of the total demystification of creativity that’s now common in our algorithmically inclined age of, uh, content-marketing savvy. With our era’s overly instrumentalist promotion of a well-adjusted creative-entrepreneurial mindset, it might be all too easy these days to reduce everything to using elbow grease to, you know, hit targets. 

So I love that Cave is still in awe of sacred aesthetic magic when his rigour allows it to happen. He talked of putting in the work so that the divine can arrive. All his meticulous “going through the motions” (again, not a bad thing) produces something more than the sum of those motions. For him, it’s a way to experience God. And despite his Prince of Darkness reputation, Cave was at pains to describe how joyful that process can be. “There’s nothing dark about it.” 

🤖🙏 Oh yeah, the bit about robots

When I was listening to Radiolab the other day (despite my long-running ambivalence about the show), I found that this recent episode’s focus on robots of antiquity resonated unexpectedly with my reading of Nick Cave’s creative process.

Hear me out.

In 1562 the crown prince of Spain, Don Carlos, falls down a flight of stairs and sustains a head injury that is by all accounts going to be fatal. According to Radiolab, his father King Philip II “kneels at his son’s deathbed and makes a pact with God: ‘If you help me, if you heal my son — if you do this miracle for me — I'll do a miracle for you.’” 

Don Carlos miraculously survives, apparently thanks to the intervention of the spirit of Diego de Alcalá, a celebrated monk who died a century before. And so now Philip II needs to somehow perform his miracle:

[He] enlists a really renowned clockmaker named Juanelo Turriano — a huge ox of a man, described as always being filthy and blustery and not a lot of fun to be around — but a great, great clockmaker. So the king says, “Look, I want you to make a mechanical version of Diego de Alcalá, a mechanical version of this 100-year-dead holy priest. Yes, a mechanical monk — a robotic padre.” 

[caption align="alignnone" width="980"]

The robotic padre[/caption]

Artist and historian Elizabeth King describes the result: 

Driven by a key-wound spring, the monk walks in a square, striking his chest with his right arm, raising and lowering a small wooden cross and rosary in his left hand, turning and nodding his head, rolling his eyes, and mouthing silent obsequies. From time to time, he brings the cross to his lips and kisses it. After over 400 years, he remains in good working order. 

A miracle of technology! (You can watch a very low quality video of the robot in action here.) “He walks a delicate line between church, theatre, magic, science,” King writes, pondering the significance of the mechanical monk. “Here is a machine that prays.” 

What does it mean? According to King and Radiolab, in the context of Counter-Reformation Spain, the robot monk strikes to the heart of debates about how one gets close to God:

You have the Protestants, with Luther, who are saying, “it’s not about works … it's about whether you feel it.” And then you have the Catholic argument which is to say you do these rituals because these are the rituals, and this is the way you get close to God.

The robot monk teaches us how to do ritual. Controversial! Given the ridiculous degree of crufty observance and corruption in the Church at the time of the Reformation (and, um, other times), I obviously understand why the Protestant appeal to pure feels was compelling. But my own ingrained Catholic social justice calculus of “good works” aside (“don’t fucking tell me your account with God hinges on how you feel inside instead of your concrete actions in the world, you schismatic apostates!”), I can’t help but think that this debate, and the robot monk himself, is a metaphor for the observance of creative process. 

As stated above, I’m suspicious of the reduction of creativity to a bunch of instrumental observances in the mechanised pursuit of… metrics. Hack-work content marketing success, paid in SEO indulgences to the Church of Google. But to respond to this by abandoning the rigours of creative process for the inspiration of pure feeling would be a mistake. Unless you're a tidal wave like my friend Janelle, feelings are fickle. Protestant churches tend to trade the horrific institutionalised power of the Catholic Church (about which we need no reminders) for another kind of tyranny: exploitative emotional economies in which the faithful tend to be at the mercy of charisma. And to trade in pure charisma is to produce strongmen. As our current times remind us, charismatic populism offers release for the anxious but also destroys the processes that ultimately help us flourish as communities. Creative populism that relies on emotional catharsis tends to destroy the basis for a consistent creative practice. Just as the Reformation ended up eliding the point of what “good works” might potentially be about (i.e. acting rigorously to enable the arrival of goodness), we also need to remember what creative rituals are for (i.e. exactly the same thing as good works).

Thus it is with Nick Cave, who for me is the amazing robot monk. He mightn’t be your cup of tea, or you might even find his work occasionally objectionable, but I think most of us can agree that his creative practice really hums. (Don’t let his obsession with Southern Baptists or his own Anglican heritage distract. In terms of process, he is an exemplary Catholic robot.) He prepares, meticulously. He shows up to work. He performs the motions regularly, not worrying about inspiration, and through these observances somehow accesses what he feels to be a divine and joyous experience of creativity. 

I’m convinced that if Nick Cave relied on pure feeling, or murderous inspiration, or spontaneous gothic possession, or any of the other assumptions people make about his artistic persona, so many great moments of his oeuvre wouldn’t exist. Nick Cave walks the square and kisses the cross and talks to God. For he is a joyous robot monk.

🎼 Coda

For those of you who remain unconvinced by my yoking together of monks and murder ballads: the final line of Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, an historical murder mystery set in a monastery, is “Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus”, or “The rose of old remains only in its name; we have only naked names”. 

Meanwhile, I was never really a fan of the chorus of “Where the Wild Roses Grow,” Cave’s duet with Kylie Minogue:

They call me The Wild Rose 

But my name was Elisa Day 

Why they call me it, I do not know 

For my name was Elisa Day 

Oooh. The name of the rose. Anyway, to me, Minogue’s delivery always reeked of passive fatalism. But the other day, I realised that it wasn’t fatalistic all — it was full of spooky reproach. Elisa Day remains known to us by her Wild Rose name of legend, but her ghost insists on remembering her own name. She’s crossing t’s and dotting i’s from beyond the grave. 

Following Kylie, we would do well to pay proper respect to the names of those who are in the beyond. The way we relate to them constitutes its own assemblage, its own machine of observances. In this I’m reminded of Arthur C. Clarke’s 1953 short story, “The Nine Billion Names of God”, in which Tibetan monks manage to automate the process of transcribing all the permutations that God’s name can take, using a supercomputer (naturally). Observing the names is the universe’s purpose, you see. And when the final name is encoded… Whoa.

How's that for a crazy constellation? (I know I'm just reaching. But it's fun!)

A sustainable portion of all my love,

Ben

[justfinishedreading]

Part 1 – Historical Background

The most important thing to know about Felizmente há luar! is that it was a product of its time; this play was written in 1961 during the rule of Portuguese dictator António de Oliveira Salazar, and it is now studied in Portuguese secondary schools because of its themes on politics, corruption and censorship. In researching the historical background of this work I’ve… ended up writing an essay on Salazar and in the process learnt quite a bit about my country. The following is information I found interesting from Wikipedia and which I’ve copy and pasted, and reworded and condensed:

The End of the Portuguese Monarchy

After the revolution in 1910 when the Portuguese monarchy was overthrown, the country fell into chaos with continual anarchy, government corruption, arbitrary imprisonment and religious persecution. The next 18 years saw the inauguration of 8 presidents, 44 cabinet re-organisations and 21 revolutions. According to official police figures, 325 bombs burst in the streets of Lisbon between 1920 and 1925. The public began to view political parties as elements of division and become more tolerant to the idea of being governed by an authoritarian regime.

António de Oliveira Salazar

Salazar became Minister of Finance in 1928, before that others had tried to persuade him to enter politics, but he found the state of parliament so chaotic that he refused. He finally agreed when the state of Portugal become too dire to be ignored. He agreed under the condition that he would have a free hand to veto expenditure in all government departments, not only his own. Within a year Salazar balanced the budget and stabilised Portugal's currency.

In 1932 he became Prime Minster. Now Salazar is quite an interesting figure to study, he did a lot of good for Portugal, but every good sentence written about him can be countered with something bad. He brought order to a country in chaos, but he did not believe in democracy, he used censorship and a secret police to crush opposition and ensure that he continued to be Prime Minister from 1932 until 1968.

World War II

Salazar had lived through the hard times of World War I, in which Portugal participated, so when it came to World War II Salazar kept Portugal neutral. From the very beginning Salazar was convinced that Britain would suffer in the war but remain undefeated and that the United States would step in and the Allies would win. However because Portugal was neutral, the country was forced to supply materials used for military purposes to both the Allies AND the Axis. In May 1943, the USA wanted to take control of Portuguese islands for strategic military use, the British responded that forceful measures weren’t necessary, Salazar would honour the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance. In August of that year when the British requested military use of those islands, Portugal allowed it.

Salazar’s upbringing was religious, he studied at a seminary for eight years and considered becoming a priest. He was a devote catholic and nationalist but argued that Portuguese nationalism did not glorify a single race because such a notion was pagan and anti-human. In 1938, he sent a telegram to the Portuguese Embassy in Berlin, ordering that it should be made clear to the German Reich that Portuguese law did not allow any distinction based on race, and that therefore, Portuguese Jewish citizens could not be discriminated against. On 26 June 1940, four days after France's surrender to Germany, Salazar authorised the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society in Paris to transfer its main office to Lisbon.

In July 1940, the civilian population of Gibraltar was evacuated due to imminent attacks expected from Nazi Germany. At that time, Portuguese Madeira agreed to host about 2,500 Gibraltarian refugees, mostly women and children, who remained there until the end of the war. Portugal, particularly Lisbon, was one of the last European exit points to the USA and a few hundred thousand to one million refugees found shelter in Portugal and escaped through there.

Portuguese Colonial Rule

Portugal can be proud of its action during the Second World War, but not so much of its colonial rule (…can any country ever be proud of colonialism?). Portugal had an extensive colonial empire that included Cape Verde, São Tomé e Príncipe, Angola (including Cabinda), Portuguese Guinea, Mozambique in Africa, Portuguese India in South Asia, and Macau and Timor in the Far East.

In 1947, Captain Henrique Galvão, a Portuguese parliamentarian, submitted a report disclosing the situation of forced labour and precarious health services in the Portuguese colonies of Africa. The natives, it said, were simply regarded as beasts of burden. All African men had to pay a tax in Portuguese currency, the government created a situation in which a large percentage of men in any given year could only earn the amount needed to pay the tax by going to work for a colonial employer. In practice, this enabled settlers to use forced labour on a massive scale, frequently leading to horrific abuses. Galvão's courageous report eventually led to his downfall, and in 1952, he was arrested for subversive activities.

Following the Second World War, the colonial system was subject to growing dissatisfaction, and in the early 1950s the United Kingdom launched a process of decolonization. Belgium and France followed suit. Unlike the other European colonial powers, Salazar attempted to resist this tide and maintain the integrity of the empire. In order to justify it and Portugal's alleged civilising mission, Salazar ended up adopting Gilberto Freyre's theories of Lusotropicalism, which propose that the Portuguese were better colonizers than other European nations because they had a special talent for adapting to environments, cultures and the peoples who lived in the tropics, this talent helped them build harmonious multiracial societies and promote pro-miscegenation.

Side note, we Portuguese are very proud of our history during the 15th century, the age of discovery, when we set out to map the world, many consider it our golden age. Less talked about is our involvement in the slave trade, the first European to actually buy enslaves was Antão Gonçalves, a Portuguese explorer in 1441 AD. The Spanish were the first Europeans to use enslaved Africans in the New World. I’ve just done a little googling to try to find out how many slaves the Portuguese took from Africa, it’s not easy finding a straight answer, about 20 websites later I find three that agree that officially the total number of Africans shipped by the Portuguese is conservatively put at 4.2 million. However this excludes the millions that died crossing land to get to the Portuguese slave ships or during the horrible Atlantic passage. Just to be clear these facts are regarding Trans-Atlantic Slavery, unfortunately the concept of slavery has existed in all societies long before that.

Anyway that’s a bit of a digression from the main topic of Salazar, moving forward to 1960-1, armed revolutionaries and scattered guerrillas were starting to become active in Mozambique, Angola, and Portuguese Guinea. The Portuguese just about managed to keep control in some parts but the Portuguese military warned the government that this was not a long term solution, the military would not be able to keep order for long.

1961

And now finally I’ve reached 1961, the year Felizmente há luar! was written. For the western world the 60s were the decade of cultural revolution: ‘Make Love, Not War’, just like the American hippies were protesting against the Vietnam war, the Portuguese were protesting against colonial wars they could not win and which were wrong to begin with. This was an age of liberalism, of drug and sexual experimentation, of artistic creativity. And yet those liberals and free thinkers were being governed by a 72-year-old Salazar, a conservative, nationalist and catholic whose motto was "Deus, Pátria e Familia" (meaning "God, Fatherland, and Family"). There was no free speech, anyone opposing the dictatorship was imprisoned and tortured. Portuguese laws and government procedures were changed to enable those in power to stay in power. Felizmente há luar! was written by Luís de Sttau Monteiro and censored, prohibited from ever being performed. That is until 1975, the year after the government was overthrown.

Wrapping Up Part 1

Phew, I haven’t even started reviewing Felizmente há luar! yet, I could have just written “the play was written during a time of great oppression of freedom of speech and during a reign of political dictatorship” and left it at that. But, it’s curious to know how things came about, extreme political movements don’t just suddenly manifest, they are born out of circumstance, and it is important to understand what gives raise to the systems that change our lives.

In Part 2, I’ll actually review Felizmente há luar! By the way it’s actually set in 1817, when real life general Gomes Freire de Andrade was accused of leading a revolt against the Portuguese government – so... yay even more history XS 

Most of this text on Salazar was taken from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/António_de_Oliveira_Salazar

Review by Book Hamster

#just finished reading #felizmente ha luar #luis de sttau monteiro #theatre #portuguese #portuguese history #salazar #antonio de oliveira salazar #censorship #dictatorship #political justice #political history #Portuguese literature #portugal #gomes freire de andrade #freedom of speech #freedom of information #war #second world war #world war ii #colonialism #empires #protest #portuguese government #revolution #political revolution #portuguese education #teatro #educação #historia de portugal

[aremenyegybudoskurva-blog]

Best 80s Tv Shows List

Star Trek: The Next Generation

Original Run: 1987 94 Creator: Gene Roddenberry Stars: Patrick Stewart, Brent Spiner, Jonathan Frakes, LeVar Burton, Gates McFadden, Michael Dorn, Marina Sirtis Network: Syndicated The original collection was groundbreaking. Deep Space Nine and Voyager had their occasions. But TNG was head-and-shoulders the Star Trek franchise. Jean Luc Picard. Data. Worf. The holodeck. The Borg. Gene Roddenbury mustn't have had a cynical bone in his human anatomy, and as I watched his characters explore unusual new worlds, look for new life and new civilizations, and boldly go where no one h-AS gone before, I didn’t either.

The Cosby Show

Original Run: 1984-1992 Creators: Bill Cosby. Weinberger and Michael Leeson Stars: Bill Cosby, Phylicia Rash? d Malcolm-Jamal Warner, Tempestt Bledsoe, Keshia Knight Pulliam, Sabrina Le Beauf, Geoffrey Owens, Joseph C. Phillips Network: NBC George Jefferson may happen to be moving on up, but The Cosby Present gave the nation a mo-Re relatable glimpse of the expanding middleclass among African-Americans but much mo-Re usually, dealing with all the trials that we all faced. Inspired by Cosby’s own family encounters which had been a staple of his stand-up routine, the show dominated the 2nd half of the ’80s, topping the Neilsen scores from 1985-90 and averaging more than 3-0 million viewers in the ’86-87 period. Cosby’s legacy might currently be in shambles, but the display was bigger compared to the man.

Magnum, P.I.

Original Run: 1980 88 Creator: Donald P. Bellisario, Glen A. Larson Stars: Tom Selleck, John Hillerman. Mosley, Larry Manetti Network: CBS When every other adolescent male of the ’80s and I grew up, we needed the li Fe of Tom Magnum, performed by Tom Selleck and his mustache: dwelling in an opulent Hawaii beachhouse as a guest of a never-current millionaire novelist and driving his Ferrari 308 GTS; wracking up a never-to-be-paid tab a T the country club run by one war-vet buddy and bumming helicopter rides from still another; and periodically solving mysteries using a mixture of smarts, toughness and mostly chutzpah. I never did figure out the way to walk that particular career path, but it was fun to dream.

TV Boxed Sets DVDs

At the Movies

Original Run: 1982-2010 Creator: Gene Siskel Stars: Roget Ebert, Gene Siskel Network: Syndicated Two different exhibits, both titled In The The Films from various production companies, the combination of Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert completely revolutionized the notion of movie criticism. Greatly admired for his or her ability to succinctly sum up the newest films together with their honesty and integrity in sparring with each other when opinions differed, the pair were also criticized by many for degrading the integrity of film criticism by decreasing it to arbitrary “thumbs up“or “thumbs down“gestures. Such was the legacy of Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert and the duality of the show. They were among the only film critics whose thoughts an “average American“could often be expected to respect and did much for legitimizing the idea of film criticism outside of a class-room environment. Some might nonetheless criticize the idea of a two-outcome rating program, but it was the approachable eloquence of the hosts that created the format work.

Taxi

Original Run: 1978 83 Creators: James L. Ed, Brooks, Stan Daniels, David Davis. Weinberger Stars: Carol Kane, Judd Hirsch, Danny DeVito, Marilu Henner, Tony Danza, Andy Kaufman, Christopher Lloyd, Jeff Conway Network: ABC/NBC Let’s just pause for a moment and remember that somebody once confident a community to set Andy Kaufman to the air. I just wish it'd been live TV. Like M*A*S*H, Taxi frequently tackled serious social problems like drug and gambling addiction, but did it with an incredibly unusual cast of characters from the alien-like Latka Graves (Kaufman) to drugged-out hippie Reverend Jim (Christopher Lloyd) to misanthrope Louie De Palma (Danny DeVito).

St. Elsewhere

Original Run: 1982 88 Creator: Joshua Brand, John Falsey Stars: William Daniels, Ed Flanders, Norman Lloyd Network: NBC The seminal hospital drama of the 1980s, St. Elsewhere was never resoundingly productive in the ratings, but it racked in Emmys over the years for its practical, frequently-dark tone and occasions of humor. Its big, ensemble forged carried on several long and had a number of cross overs together with the Hill Street Blues that are related - serialized story-lines, type, leading to fantastic character development within the course of the series. Needless to say, it’s today often remembered for a different cause: For having perhaps the single-most WTF finale moment in TV history. At the conclusion of the final St. Else Where episode, the characters are revealed as having all been the creation of the autistic Tommy Westphall, who owns a snow globe wherein the imaginary St. Eligius hospital exists. Moreoever, because so many other exhibits and characters overlapped with St. Elsewhere, some followers posit this signifies that everything from Hill Avenue Blues and Murder: Life on the Road to The X-Files all take invest the “Tommy Westphall Universe“by extension.

Pee-Wee’s Playhouse

Original Run: 198690 Creator: Paul Reubens Stars: Paul Reubens, Laurence Fishburne, Lynne Marie Stewart Network: CBS There are two types of folks within my life: Those who like Pee Wee Herman and enemies. Years ago, I was gifted the total collection of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse DVDs. Over the years, I’d created a point to watch Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and Big Top Pee-Wee whenever the feeling was correct. As much as I loved this show as a child, I only expected to get a great kick from an episode here and there, but I found myself inhaling these DVDs. Pee-Wee’s Play-House is joyous morning viewing (over a bowl of Mr. T cereal, of course) or a great way to unwind at evening (I’d recommend taking a drink from a good beer whenever somebody says the “secret word“ only if your day was exceptionally hard). To get a display that had a cast of breakfast plates and genies, cowboys, puppet couches, pterodactyls, clocks, I think Playhouse still makes sense in 2014. It’s a fully realized vision of Pee-Wee’s whimsical, wacky world—puppet strings and all—and the collection is just pithy enough to pull in adults that are ready to go on the ride, too. Paul Reubens is a comedy icon and master of timing, and it’s unusual that a well-placed Peewee gurgle or squeal doesn’t get a chuckle out of me. If you can’t find any joy in all of that, we’ve got to re Consider our friendship.

Wonder Years

#s#The Original Run: 1988-93 Creators: Neal Marlens, Carol Black Stars: Fred Savage, Dan Lauria, Alley Mills, Olivia d’Abo, Jason Hervey, Danica McKellar, Josh Saviano Network: ABC The Wonder Years is a family present, and yes, a few of its episodes inch dangerously shut to after school-unique territory, but make no error: revisiting this late-’80s/early-’90s staple as a grown-up is just as—if perhaps not more—enjoyable than observing it the first time around. It’s unabashedly nostalgic, but it chronicles the ups and downs of Kevin Arnold’s, Winnie Cooper’s and Paul Pfeiffer’s adolescence from the backdrop of the Vietnam era and our nation’s changing social landscape with a maturity most exhibits geared towards kiddies absence. The small childhood moments that stay with us are treated with the respect they deserve. We laugh when Kevin’s brother Wayne gets him in a headlock and calls him “scrote“for the umpteenth time (attempt sneaking that by the Nick a T Nite censors today!) or when Kev squares off along with his mortal enemy Becky Slater, and we cry when Kevin’s periodically distant father struggles to relate solely to his teen-age children. And sorry, but if you don’t hold your breath when Kevin puts that letterman jacket over Winnie’s shoulders, you’re lifeless within. Music geeks will enjoy the amazing sound track as well.

Family Ties

Original Run: 1982-89 Creator: Gary David Goldberg Stars: Meredith Baxter-Birney, Michael Gross. Fox, Justine Bateman and Tina Yothers Network: NBC We were given the Keatons by one of the finest family sit-coms of our time; these were were our family. Liberal working parents Steven (Michael Gross) and Elyse (Meredith Baxter) raised their three children—smart and conservative older brother Alex (Michael J. Fox), flighty and trendy middle kid Mallory (Justine Bateman) and sarcastic younger sister Jennifer (Tina Yothers)—with love, compassion and limits. Fox, whose job was introduced with all the collection, made Alex’s Republicanism humorous yet not cliched. The collection is still remembered for the very special episode, “A my name is Alex,“ where Alex struggled to accept the sudden death of his friend. Today family comedies continue to try to capture the magic that was Family Ties

[redshift-13]

, she said. I told my husband, I said, ‘Ed, we have to be a little more flexible, or we’re going to run out of movies!’

“I know your pain, Mrs. O’Connell. I can no longer enjoy Rob Schneider movies, myself. But look on the bright side: we can still hate Susan Sarandon together!

We also have the tiresome Jonathan Haidt, professional apologist for conservatives, who is very concerned about how we “react” to the actions of right-wing craptastic nincompoops.

We are in a trust spiral, said Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist at New York University. My fear is that we have reached escape velocity where the actions of each side can produce such strong reactions on the other that things will continue to escalate.

The whole article has this tone, that gosh, it’s awful how people are horrified at what the current administration is doing, and we should all just stop being upset and be nice to the Mrs. O’Connell’s of America. Conservatives are wrecking the educational system, they plan to demolish the EPA, they’ve made a goddamn racist the Attorney General, but those rude liberals are making people uncomfortable at Meryl Streep movies. The New York Times, and lots of media outlets, love these stupid little stories that let them be all charitable towards cranky old racist people who elected a cranky old incompetent racist, while at the same time chastising those horrible liberals and practicing a little veiled extortion. You better tell Mrs. O’Connell how sweet she is, or else!

Protests and righteous indignation on social media and in Hollywood may seem to liberals to be about policy and persuasion. But moderate conservatives say they are having the opposite effect, chipping away at their middle ground and pushing them closer to Mr. Trump.

Oh, fuck that noise. If ‘moderate’ conservatives think they have to vote for a bumbling buffoon who is taking a wrecking ball to our country because a hippie called them a mean name, then they weren’t so moderate to begin with, and they are making bad decisions on invalid grounds. I will not have sympathy for that, and it doesn’t matter how sternly Jonathan Haidt wags his finger at me.

These pieces are annoyingly common: we need to understand these awful people. We need to empathize with them, or they’ll keep doing the same stupid things. Unfortunately for these myths, the strategy doesn’t work. The people in the NYT story are unrepentant, would do it again, and all they’ve got is so-called moderates threatening to do it some more if they don’t get their way! I don’t believe it. This is what the regressives always do: “give me a cookie and maybe I’ll stop doing this.” Then, a minute later, “Ha ha, suckers!”

As for understanding, here’s what these stories always miss: yes, we already understand these people. We understand them all too well. Why are you whining at us? We’re not interested in trying to understand them even more, but in getting them to stop wrecking everything. That’s all.

Here’s a case in point: a very long, very thorough explainer about 4chan, lulz, Pepe the frog, anonymous, gamergate, and the rise of Trump, etc., etc., etc. We know it all already. There’s this subculture of young adults who are resentful of their circumstances (I can even sympathize with some of that resentment — they can have valid reasons for their unhappiness with those circumstances). Some may be single and living in their parent’s basement, for instance, and I know it’s tough getting a job, getting a job with prospects for advancement, finding a partner, finding a partner who actually respects you as a person, and so forth — but that does not justify erupting into ranting anti-feminism, just as the unemployment rate does not explain lashing out and electing a billionaire (reputedly) who isn’t going to do a thing to help those circumstances…but might cause others to suffer, too. We’re told over and over again about how miserable these shitlords are, and I understand, but I’m done with understanding. I want to know what to do next.

So that extremely thorough article ends with this:

However, as we have seen, the right’s anti-feminist message is one that only provides a momentary sense of relief (“you are acting powerful by retreating into video games and the internet!”) but like scratching a mosquito bite, it ultimately causes more dissatisfaction. That is to say, they only solution they can offer is, “keep retreating!” Likewise, Trump and the mocking cruel anguish he represents is not a genuine solution to the electorate’s powerlessness, but rather, simply the one closest at hand.

An adult does not freeze in mute horror when a child throws a tantrum. Nor do we generally regard such emotional outbursts as meaningless. Likewise, the left should not be paralyzed with horror by the deplorables, but rather view them of as a symptom of a larger problem, one which only the left can truly solve.

Fine. They’re spoiled children. My wife and I are familiar with kids: we raised three. And yes, when they were very young, they would occasionally have tantrums, and we would patiently (or impatiently) reprove them, and remove them from the circumstances that triggered the problem, and we gave them time and opportunity to learn and grow up, and they got better, much better, and became responsible, thoughtful, intelligent adults. Parents are familiar with these behaviors, and responsible parents can deal, and lead children to more mature responses.

The 4channers are in their 20s and 30s. Mr Medford, the guy who complains about being ‘pushed’ to vote for Trump, is a 46-year-old business owner. Mrs McConnell is 72. Or look at PewDiePie, the 27-year-old who gets paid $15 million a year to shriek on YouTube for the gratification of alt-right wanna-bes. What are we supposed to do? Give them a time-out? Tell them no, they don’t get to buy that cheap plastic toy at the supermarket check-out stand? Be patient and wait for them to grow out of this phase?

The answer so far seems to be that we’re supposed to reassure them that the mean liberals will be clucked at if we call them out, they’ll get a fawning interview with Bill Maher, and the NYT will run a reassuring feature on their sad plight. Even after they put a blundering, bush-league, racist, sexist in the most powerful position in the country.

Yeah, there’s a larger problem. The responsible Left is not going to solve it by continuing to coddle and reward stupidity, even if it is perpetrated by privileged 72 year olds having a tantrum and demanding special treatment.”

-----------------------

This essay by PZ Meyers seems spot on to me.  

Surely more dialogue and face-to-face open listening would help overcome some of the political division in this country.

But we’re lying to ourselves if this is all we do.  In my view we have to recognize that human experience allows to make an increasing number of conclusive judgments about what works and what doesn’t politically and economically.  For instance, deregulating pollution doesn’t end pollution, it makes it worse.  Cutting money for education doesn’t improve education or the financial situation for college students, it worsens the problem.  Outlawing abortion doesn’t end abortion, it only jeopardizes the lives of women.  Teaching evolution the schools doesn’t lead to the collapse of morality.  Refusing to teach sexuality education doesn’t reduce teen pregnancy and STDs.  And on and on.

I think it’s now possible to make the case that, say, 95% of conservative policies are based not on empirical evidence showing improvements in human well-being and other ameliorating outcomes, but on debunked ideological dogmas.  Conservatives from the the populist mass to elites in elected office largely exist mentally in a fictionalized and falsified universe.

Conservatism in most of its manifestations, conservatism as mentality, disposition, as systems of belief and value--these are themselves social problems, problems of consciousness to be solved, problems of education and procedures of truth.

It goes without saying we can’t look to people like Haidt to adequately problematize and theorize the problem of conservatism.  For this we need more serious scholars and thinkers on the left, as well as new approaches. 

#pz meyers #jonathan haidt #alt-right #conservatism #political psychology #politics #public policy #secular humanism

[quakerjoe]

Alrightee. Where to begin with this vid by the Young Turks' Cenk Uygur... This video is more of a cautionary reprimand against violence. Do I agree? Whole-heartedly... at least for the basic, moral stance. However, things, they are a-changin'. I do NOT condone violence. One of my favourite quotes is "The first person to raise a fist is the first one to have run out of ideas." But there are Trump supporters out there. There are very racist people out there. There are religious nuts and gun nuts, and no matter WHAT you say or do; no matter how many facts you present, there IS NO REACHING THESE FUCKTARDS!

Have you ever tried to talk reason with a Trump supporter? On rare occasion, they can make some good anti-establishment points, but that's about where their 'reason' ends and fuckery begins. Do you think YOU can have a sit down with a Neo-Nazi, Alt-Right motherfucker? Personally, I find them to contemptible, and given that their ilk is what's at work right now to undo civil liberties, and to take us back to the Jim Crow days with all the vim and vigor of McCarthyism, and given that the GOP  has, SINCE DAY ONE (with the attempt at sacking the Ethics Committee) put us all on notice that they are going to do some mighty dirty deeds, break laws, and to get rich while burdening We the People with the bills, it should give anyone pause to think "What could one POSSIBLY say or do to change these people's minds and see the insanity they're immersed in?"

I used to be a dreamer. I used to believe in rational, cognitive discussion and healthy debate, but when the other side WILL NOT LISTEN and will not see your views and they throw about their own little fictitious views of reality not based on a shred of fact, then there is NO getting through to them. It's like trying to argue with a spoiled child who's got a degree in ignoring grown-ups. What does one do with a child who is THAT bad? They get a spanking! Oh, and don't give me this "you shouldn't hit your kids" bullshit either. My generation got spankings, and Millennials didn't, and look how that went. (Not as bad as one thinks!) I'm talking about extreme cases here. I've only ever spanked my own kids once or twice, and not that hard, to set the precedence, but the truth is, I TALK to my children, they listen, we discuss, I admit when I am wrong, as do they, and spankings really have never been needed after the first one or two whaps to a padded, diapered bottom.

The big problem here is that we're dealing with "adults", and in regards to Trump/Alt-Right Neo-Nazis etc., I am using that term very, very loosely. They're all impetuous children who won't fucking listen. They won't compromise. They refuse to play well with others or share. So what's left? How are Liberals supposed to combat such flamboyant ignorance? How does one go against people who REFUSE to hear you, and despite all Progressive efforts to make EVERYONE's lives better with health care coverage, education, regulation of those who'd exploit workers and pollute the environment and engage in shitty business practices, they believe you're a selfish asshole? I swear, these people would have burned Jesus alive. We're about out of options here, and given their initial propensity for violence at Trump rallies, the KKK's history of being far less than kind to non-whites, and their stance on women's & LGBTQ rights, I don't trust them, and I don't see how to get them to open their minds, their hearts, or to get them to think.

Love does NOT trump hate. It never has. If it did, war would have been obsolete centuries ago. Love is what keeps us hanging on. Hope is what brings us through to tomorrow. Together, they are what gets us on our feet again after hate has kicked us all in the crotch and punched us in the face and then kicked us again when we're down. THAT is the truth of it. Show me someone who disagrees, and I'll show you a delusional Leftie who's read too many romance novels or watched too many romance movies.

Enough is getting to be well past enough. We're running out of time, and we've run out of options last November when this could have been prevented. The US did this to itself, and now we get to live with it but we don't have to like it. "We fight!" some say. Really? How are you going to do that? Do you think for an instant that those now in government are scared? Oh, fuck no! Don't be fooled. It's only been a matter of DAYS and we're plummeting into a deep, dark, odious pit of fuckery that's going to go on for four years, and it'll take DECADES to repair, even if Progressives get elected for every office in the nation repeatedly. Trump and his supporters will just fiddle while America burns. And again, I DO NOT CONDONE VIOLENCE, but if you've ever read a history book, you will know that the "pitchforks and torches" (and guillotines) stage is rapidly approaching. It's time to stop fooling ourselves with all the hippie-love shit and prepare for battle, because talk is cheap, and it doesn't work against the current adversaries.

[generaladviceca]

Advice to youth 13-25

Become aware of how mature you should be for your age. It’s the umbrella that affects everything.

Take the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) and the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) – to learn how you tick.

Learn about your family. https://www.generaladvice.org/rate-your-family/ .   [More sites are needed.]

Be open to individual and group therapy. Also family therapy.  We didn’t hear of it in my day.

Your maturity affects your

Values –  https://www.timelessissues.com/traditional-values/

View of sex – https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/teens.  We didn’t have sex-education.  Do most anything to avoid an unplanned pregnancy, which happens 45% of the time in the U.S.  42% of those end in abortion [which I favor].

Idealism – cults, communes, radical religion or extreme politics to save the world.

Other

Avoid joining the military. I was in when you had to join. Waste.

Take interest tests.

Take the Stanford-Binet IQ test to be realistic about how hard you will have to work if you choose college. No point in breaking your heart.

Choose schools that teach practical skills. Much of college does not.  Half the courses I was required to take in college were useless.  All that effort and expense for nothing.  But if you feel you have to get college degree or the equivalent, search for every possible shortcut:  – alternatives to college – competency-based education  – comprehensive tests for college credit  – credit for job experience  – credit for what you know  – equivalency exams  – micro degrees, etc.  I wish I’d had them. One such program, as of 018, was http://discoverpraxis.com/.

The idea is to live and work in the real world. College is not.  Idealism is not.  The military is not – compared to civilian life.  Some say religion is not.  Working for the government is not as much as the private sector is.

Job hunting tips – https://www.generaladvice.org/job-hunting-tips/  The best ‘therapy’ I ever got.

Over the years you will see people making lots of mistakes.  The earlier you start on the above the better.

====================================================== = = =

More:

       As a former school bus driver, AmeriCorps-VISTA volunteer, teacher, social worker, political aide, landlord, and as a senior, I continue:

       If raised in an oppressive, overly strict family, you will read this as if taking on more heavy burdens to plod thru life with, bowed over by these ideas as great weights.  If raised in a sensible family, you’ll listen to the below and come out well.  If raised in a family that has spoiled you, you won’t know what I’m talking about, or care – everyone owes you everything; why be responsible?        My youth was in the 50s.  Those times were not as permissive as today.  Students, teachers and principals dressed better.  Teachers had more authority.  We didn’t need security guards on campus. We didn’t have social promotion, easy scholarships, and student loans.  People weren’t entitled to food stamps, extended unemployment benefits, medicaid, legal aid, rent subsidies, heat subsidies and easy access to disability.  We didn’t go for counseling when the sun didn’t come out.  Unskilled work wasn’t ‘menial’.  It was a job you were glad to have and you took pride in it.Background

       You’re predestined in many ways by your family, neighborhood, and schools.  You’ll be a lot like your folks and speak and think like your teenage friends.

       Hopefully your parents will get you into good schools.  http://www.timelessissues.com/category/education/education-myths/

Teen years   13-20

       Some adults feel they missed something in their youth and tend to live through you and fawn over you telling you you are the first to discover slang, the opposite sex, muscles, curves, music, rhythm, dances, styles, cars, sports, hanging out, cruising, being macho and feminine, discovering thrills, what is ‘in and out`, first to have such energy, disagree with your folks, ‘rebel’, search for your identity, be in a ‘new’ era, discover hypocrisy, want ‘change’ … blah blah.

       Some adults cater to you, want you to buy their records, clothes, food, entertainment, magazines, movies, sports equipment, and join their cult, crusade, cause, religion and save the world.

Dynamics

You feel invincible and know everything.

Peer pressure is very strong and can help or hurt.

You want freedom but not the responsibility that comes with it – especially if spoiled.

You don’t have experience and you lack judgment.  You need input from older people.

Your folks should have raised you with traditional values.  Then you would have listened when they and other adults told you about smoking, alcohol, drugs, sex, lgbt, love, cults, and sects.

Other:

       Don’t fight – too much chance of permanent injury and lawsuits.

       Don’t go to extremes over sports.

       Some youth live by, through, and for music – feeling it will cure the world. You’re often told rock and roll and fast dancing were new. Wrong – before them there was jitterbug, boogie woogie, the lindy, the charleston …..

       You’re told the Beatles and folk singers changed the world.  They wish.

       Don’t try to be the most popular; your strengths may be in other areas.  Play to your strengths.  Very important.

       You’re first judged on your appearance.  The more on the outside, the less on the inside – meaning the youth that goes overboard with the hair, tattoos, piercings and clothes on the outside, is trying to make up for what he or she lacks on the inside.

       The way you dress affects your behavior.  Dress conservatively.  It will help when applying for a job.  So will not having tattoos and piercings.

       The second way you’re judged is how you talk – clearly, politely, intelligently, confidently, without resorting to ‘ya know, ahhh, like I mean, ya know, ahh, know what I’m saying…. ‘

       You have a huge advantage with the internet, gps, and cell phones.  Computers can make you feel dumb.  You’re not.  Hang in and you will eventually learn what you can use.

       Some adults tell you you can be anything you want.  Then you get into something you can’t handle, fail, and you blame yourself.  You can’t be anything you want, but you can be more than what you are.

       ‘Child’ is used to describe anyone under 18.  Nonsense.  A teenager is not a ‘child’.

       You can avoid poverty if you finish high school, get a full-time job and wait till you’re 21 to get married and have children, according to the Brookings Institute.

       Don’t ever buy a new car………. if you want to save money.

Military

       Many young people join to mature – big mistake.  While the military offers some unique experiences, you’ll mature and progress better and faster in the real world.

College

Some people get college degrees and never secure a job worth the effort it took.

Some colleges keep students for their sports ability. One couldn’t read a menu.  Tennis players can turn pro at age 15.  Why not others?   Because colleges don’t want to lose the money certain sports bring in.

Many students graduate verbose, self-centered, thinking they are objective and not prejudiced and feel they have a monopoly on truth.

https://www.timelessissues.com/category/education/how-useful-was-college/

Freedom

       Between finishing school without huge debt and starting a family you are FREE.  It’s a wonderful, glorious time – a chance to travel which the Australians call a ‘walkabout’.  Germans call it a ‘wunder year’.  Others chase dreams in Hollywood, Nashville, Wash, D.C., or New York.  There are those who never had the chance to follow their dreams and wonder for years if they could have made it.  There are those who took the chance, worked hard, failed, but glad they tried.  Of those that made it, some say the best part was the journey, not the final success.  I wouldn’t trade anything for the 8 years I spent in New York after finishing college.

Age  20-25

The media worshiped the baby boomers, born 1946 – 64, because there were so many of them.

‘Lost generation’ –  a silly term.

The media worshipped Woodstock.  Conservative George Will said it was delayed adolescence, mass immaturity, and sandbox revolution.

Bruno Bettelheim said hippies’ emotional development was at level of a temper tantrum.

Beware of fads and far out stuff: dowsing, poltergeist, apparitions, fire walking, telepathy, premonition, reincarnation, channeling, bending silverware, weegie boards, up with people, moral rearmament, miracles, new age stuff …

Put aside the naive, blind, forced over-emphasis on positives, feel-good, togetherness, relationships-mania, everyone being equal in every way, everyone’s a winner, everything’s ‘new’, and other pied piper schemes.

Hippies and others with a fuzzy, odd appearance usually have fuzzy, odd ideas.

Don’t put your leaders on a pedestal and believe in them more than you believe in yourself.

Don’t look for a magic person in romance, friendship, work or anything.

Don’t look for a set of beliefs that claims to have all the answers.

Some years back 18 yr. olds cried out to lower the voting age to 18. It was lowered and only 30% of them voted.

Idealism, extremism, liberalism, religion

https://www.timelessissues.com/americorps-idealistic/https://www.timelessissues.com/category/politics/extremism/

https://www.timelessissues.com/category/politics/liberal-vs-conservative/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antireligion

Cults

       ‘Cults appeal to young people with low self-esteem in their late teens and early 20s when they are forming their identities and are most open to changing their religious outlook.  The breakup of a relationship, death of a loved one, etc.  leave some vulnerable.  They want the 24-hour structure and authority of a cult.  It simplifies life.  There is sleep deprivation, limiting outside contacts, and a lack of privacy and time for reflection.  They give up their worries.   They think more of others than themselves.  They look to gurus.

       ‘The philosophy isn’t the main draw.  It’s the warmth and enthusiasm of members or the charisma of the leader, acceptance, belonging at the price of their thinking and identity.  Leaders become corrupted by power.  The majority of members in hi-demand groups leave in year or two.’  [Source unknown]

Work

I read the working class wants to leave school, work and start a family earlier than the rest of the population. They’re less interested in college and shouldn’t be made to feel they should go.

Some of you don’t know much about work because of being spoiled and because of minimum wage, unions, licensing, and ‘child’ labor laws.

I’ve hired 18 yr. old immigrants that worked circles around American 18 yr. olds.

If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

You won’t make a lot of money right out of high school.

Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity, nor is minimum wage.

The more minimum wage is raised, the more young people are kept out of entry jobs – especially minority youth.

Many people, even with advanced qualifications, have to settle for work they are not wild about.

Sometimes employers hire people on as temporaries so they can see who they want to keep as permanents.

Many people work for the government as those jobs are more secure.

The goal for many is independence, but few achieve it.

Singles    –   http://algarner.com/category/thesinglescircuit/

Summary

You’re at a great age – full of energy, creativity, ideas, and plans.

You don’t have to figure out everything by age 25.

You feel you will be trim and fit forever, find a great job, find a magic person for romance, and make a lot of money. Be practical.

Keep an overview.

Continually work on discovering your primary interests.

You’re limited physically [in sports] and mentally [in school], but not in character – develop good values.

Equally important is your mental health – are you angry, alienated, compulsive, spoiled, overly-generous, whatever?

Many parts of life are unfair.

You’ll be amazed at the failures you‘ll have to endure. They can make or break you.

Many successful people had many failures but learned to benefit from them.  PRINCE was a famous recording artist.  Half his projects were failures.  Failures are guidelines.

You will find a huge lack of common sense in most people and every kind of work – especially government work as it doesn’t have the competition the private sector does.

Definitely go to reunions – they are good for perspective.

Someday you’ll be giving advice like this.

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Source: https://www.generaladvice.org/youth-advice-to-youth/

#advice to youth

[radioleary-blog]

Nixon’s Apprentice

For news junkies like me, this past week was the best week of news in a long, long time. Ever since Bernie Sanders “lost” the Democratic primary race to Hillary Clinton, the Queen of the Illuminati. or is it Hilluminati? Since then, the news has all been pretty bad.  I don’t need to recite a litany of all the affronts to sanity and society to which we have all borne witness these past hundred-odd days, and it’s been a hundred very odd days indeed. Things have gone rapidly downhill since the election, down a slope as steep as a double-black diamond ski trail. Down a mountain where Trump is the tree, and the whole country is Sonny Bono.

If you are too young to know who Sonny Bono is, he wasn’t related to U2’s Bono, you could tell because Sonny Bono found what he was looking for. He was a hippie-ish singer and musician who racked up a string of hits with his wife Cher in the 1960’s, then in the 1970’s they had a long-running TV variety show (with David Letterman as a writer), then he served three terms in Congress in the 1990’s representing California, until he was killed in a tragic skiing accident when he hit a tree. They say the bark is worse than the bite, and to Sonny Bono, the bark was definitely worse. Some people say Sonny probably should have spent more time in Congress and less time at a ski resort, but who knows, maybe he had a time-Cher. Sonny Bono was another TV celebrity turned incompetent Republican elected to high office, so he wasn’t all that different than Donald Trump. Except The Sonny and Cher Show on CBS was the highest rated television show in America, and The Apprentice didn’t even crack the top 50 in its last four seasons. People viewed Sonny Bono as a bit of a joke and a lightweight, but compared to our current President he looked like Teddy Roosevelt, if Teddy could carry a tune instead of a big stick. He even had the moustache.

The big difference between Trump and Sonny Bono is that Sonny had a wonderfully self-deprecating sense of humor, he was charming and humble, and he was honest about how unqualified he was for high office. “The last thing in the world I thought I would be is a U.S. Congressman, given all the bobcat vests and Eskimo boots I used to wear.” Sonny said. “What is qualified? What have I been qualified for in my life? I haven't been qualified to be a mayor. I'm not qualified to be a songwriter. I'm not qualified to be a TV producer. I'm not qualified to be a successful businessman. And so, I don't know what qualified means.” Wow, that’s a refreshing change from the self-proclaimed super-genius President we have now. The one who was surprised that being President was harder than having a reality game show. That genius. You know, Wile E. Coyote thought he was a Super-Genius too, but in the span of five-minutes he gets crushed by a giant boulder, takes an anvil to the head, and is turned into an accordion after falling from a fatal height.

But I digress.

So the news has been bad and getting worse, until right now. It’s been exhausting. Used to be, before we entered what I affectionately call the ‘end of days’, a President would get embroiled in a scandal, it would unfold slowly over months or years, and it would either bring him down or it wouldn’t. But this time around the scandals have moved faster than Anthony Weiner’s texting hand. Or maybe his other hand, if you know what I mean. Even hardcore political junkies like myself are starting to O.D. like a frontman in a grunge band.

With the firing of FBI director Comey to stop an investigation against him, and subsequent veiled threats about secret “tapes”, Donald Trump has raised the specter of Richard Nixon. By the way, somebody should tell Trump that when you put quotation marks around a word like that, it’s usually meant to indicate sarcasm. It’s called ‘Irony punctuation’. In the 1580’s, a printer in England introduced the percontation point, and French poet Alcanter de Brahm called it the irony mark. Both are the form of a question mark reversed, like this, "⸮". Irony punctuation is used to convey that a sentence should be understood at a second, deeper level.

Initially the reverse question mark was used at the end of a rhetorical question, like “Why is it your feet smell and your nose runs "⸮" or “How can you ever get off the airplane if it’s a non-stop flight "⸮" (that one actually has an answer, you fly United and they drag you out before take-off). Eventually, the reverse question mark disappeared, but the quotation marks around it are now put around the word or phrase you mean sarcastically or ironically. Like, if you see a sign in a restaurant window that says: OUR BURGERS ARE 100% “BEEF”, you’d better make sure those are grill marks on the burger and not whip marks from when it lost the Kentucky Derby. So listen up, Donald Trump, stop putting quotation marks around words that are not intended sarcastically! Okay, Mr. “President”?

But I do digress.

I remember Nixon. Man-o-man, do I remember Nixon. My dad was a lifelong Democrat, and he was draft age as the Vietnam war raged across the evening news, so Nixon’s name came up a lot. Not really in a positive way. I grew up thinking Richard Nixon’s middle name was F***ing. That’s the way it sounded in my house, anyway. My dad would be watching Cronkite, and since like most Americans we were a one-TV household, that meant I was watching Cronkite too. It was either that or actually do my homework, so hello, Walter.  And ol’ Tricky Dick was always up to something. My dad would seethe at every new scandal, from “He’s sabotaged Johnson’s peace talks! That Richard F***ing Nixon!” to “He attacked Cambodia? On Christmas? That Richard F***ing Nixon!” to “Can you believe he fired special prosecutor Archibald Cox? That Richard F***ing Nixon!”

That was all well and good, until one day in school my teacher asked us what President Nixon’s full name was. My hand shot up, with about the same positive result as when Janis Joplin shot up. “I know! I know! It’s Richard F***ing Nixon!” I got the feeling I may have been incorrect when twenty-five third-graders gasped in unison, sucking all the air out of the room like the Allied air raids over Dresden. After Mrs. Whatever-her-name-was regained consciousness, her teacher training took over as she tried to regain control of the classroom with all the nervous calm of a woman about to lose tenure. “No, Chris, President Nixon’s middle initial is ‘M’.” I raised my hand again. “I got it now, is it Richard Motherf***ing Nixon? Because I’ve heard that one a lot too.” And that’s right about the moment my name started going on lists. I was sent home with a note for my mother. I read it, but I had to ask mom what “political dissident commie pinko” meant. Mom said it meant I was smarter than my teacher.

Did you know that Richard Nixon happened to be in Dallas on November 22, 1963, the very day President Kennedy was killed there? It’s true. After Kennedy beat Nixon in 1960, Nixon went to work as a lawyer for Pepsi, and he gave a speech that day before a group of Dallas businessmen. But for some reason, Nixon later told three separate lies saying he left Dallas before the trouble started. Nobody thought he had anything to do with the shooting, it’s not a conspiracy, just a weird coincidence, but Nixon lied about it anyway. It was completely unnecessary too, because thanks to Trump, we now know that JFK was actually killed by Ted Cruz’s dad. And probably Hillary. And maybe Pocahontas.

And did you know that besides the astronauts, the only other name on the Moon is Richard Nixon? Well, that’s true, too. There are plaques left behind by the Apollo astronauts, with their signatures and Nixon’s signature, because he was President for all the Moon landings, so he’s the guy that signed the checks. I think they left the plaque right beside that cool flag they planted for MTV. It reads, "Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon July 1969, A.D. We came in peace for all mankind." Wow. That’s pretty noble. I guess they decided not to add the part that says “But mainly, we did it to show up the Russians.”

And I’m sure that plaque is still there, untouched, on that secret Nevada movie set where they really filmed the Moon landing. I think history will eventually give the director’s credit for the Moon landing to Stanley Kubrick He probably filmed it between 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange, we could ask Kubrick, but he died mysteriously less than one week after finishing Eyes Wide Shut. Some say he was killed for revealing a long-hidden truth in that film. Not the hidden truth that the world is run by a secret society of elites that control the levers of power, commit murder with impunity, and engage in ancient satyric orgiastic rituals. But rather he revealed the long-hidden truth that there was absolutely no sexual chemistry at all between Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. Faked the Moon landing? I think Tom Cruise faked the Poon landing! I understand that before filming started, Tom Cruise asked Kubrick if he could keep his beard in the movie. Kubrick said yes, so Tom Cruise brought Nicole. Get it? She was a beard? No? Ah, forget it. I should have closed with Poon landing.

Now I, for one, truly appreciate the irony of Nixon’s name reaching the lofty height of being on a heavenly body, because he was infamous primarily for his gutter politics. Dick Nixon was a dick alright, right from the beginning. He worked with “Tailgunner Joe” McCarthy and the HUAC, the House Unamerican Activities Committee. They basically just went around ruining the careers of anyone who opposed them, usually by accusing them of being secret Communist agents. Most of ‘em were completely innocent of any wrongdoing, but the committee black-balled them out of their professions if they were any more liberal than Rorschach from The Watchmen. “Hurm.” The HUAC black-balled thousands and thousands of decent, patriotic Americans with all the credibility of the Salem Witch trials. The HUAC were responsible for more black-balling than the Kardashian family.  

Too bad the HUAC isn’t around today, they wouldn’t have to look any further than a few blocks down the street to the White House to find a whole mess of Communist agents and Moscow Moles, and this time they wouldn’t have to make it up. Hell, between Trump puppet Devin Nunes and the newly-elected Montana body-slam man, they’d have plenty of careers that need ruining right there in the House itself without bothering the rest of us. It’s mind-boggling to me that the Republican party was once so obsessed with preventing Russian agents from infiltrating the government, and today they are the Russian agents infiltrating government. And the ones that aren’t actually Russian influenced are spending all their energies and political capital defending and making excuses for the ones that are. I’ve said it before, we are living in a land without irony.

Nixon was a low-down red-baiter from his very first campaign in 1946, when he was recruited into politics by Republicans in California's 12th district to oust incumbent Democrat Jerry Voorhis, who supported the New Deal and had a liberal voting record. Nixon came out bullshit blazing, saying that because Voorhis was endorsed by a group linked to communists, it must mean that he’s a left-wing radical commie himself. In reality, Voorhis was staunchly anti-communist, and he was voted by the press corps to be the "most honest congressman.” But Nixon was able to paint him red all over, even though Voorhis refused to accept any endorsement that didn’t renounce communism. Nixon won by over 15,000 votes, and the rest is history, and it’s even written on the Moon. It’s too bad Jerry Voorhis wasn’t Jason Vorhees, now there’s a dude that would know how to effectively respond to a hatchet-job. Probably with a machete.

Nixon was a creep, and it’s no coincidence that the group behind the break-in at the Watergate hotel was called the Committee to RE-Elect the President, or CREEP. You can’t make that shit up. Next thing you know, Nixon fires the special prosecutor who is investigating him, Archibald Cox. Heh heh...Dick fired Cox...heh heh. Just like Trump fired Comey. And then Trump hints that there are secret tapes. Or “tapes”, if you don’t get sarcasm. Just like the tapes that Nixon was forced to turn over in which he implicates himself in a million-dollar payoff of hush-money to cover up the break-in. Nixon was the master of recording, Trump is like a Nixon cover band.

Donald Trump knows nothing of history, or he’d know that it wasn’t the initial act that drove Nixon from office, it was the endless cover-up that did him in. And there were no “tapes” of Nixon getting golden showers. But in the end, I believe all these comparisons between Richard Nixon and Donald Trump are a little unfair.

After all, Nixon never went to prison.

[kidsviral-blog]

I Asked My Mom Why She Didn’t Vaccinate Me

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/i-asked-my-mom-why-she-didnt-vaccinate-me/

I Asked My Mom Why She Didn’t Vaccinate Me

Her answer shows the power of a trusted doctor. “I was totally pro-vaccines, really, until Dr. Taylor.”

View this image ›

Virginia Hughes

People are always shocked to learn that I wasn’t vaccinated as a baby. I’m a science journalist, after all, and studied neuroscience in college. I believe in science, and science is unequivocal about whether babies should be vaccinated: They should be.

But my parents weren’t so enamored with mainstream scientific authorities. We lived in a small town in rural Michigan, where my mom had also grown up and where everybody knew everybody else’s business. We nominally had a family doctor — Dr. Burris, an osteopathic physician — but I don’t remember ever going to see him as a kid, or ever being sick at all. (Once when I was 5 or 6, according to my mom, I came down with a bad cold, and my nanny threatened to quit if my parents didn’t take me to a doctor. So I went, got antibiotics, and was fine.)

I didn’t realize that being unvaccinated was odd until grade school, when my parents had to sign a form saying they objected on religious grounds. When I was 16, I had to get a tuberculosis skin test in order to volunteer at a nursing home, and at 17, I had to get a series of shots so that my college would let me live in the dorms. Otherwise, though, it rarely came up.

I haven’t thought much about my vaccination history until this week, while covering the measles outbreak for BuzzFeed News. I realized that I’d never actually asked my parents why they didn’t vaccinate me or my younger sister.

I knew it wasn’t because of the (now thoroughly debunked) link between autism and vaccines; that research didn’t make headlines until 1998, and I was born in 1984. I figured my parents’ choice boiled down to their politics, which were of the conservative/libertarian/small-government variety. They were those people who refused to give Social Security numbers to anybody, for any reason. With a handful of like-minded friends, they created a group, called “Citizens for Improved Government,” and published a newsletter taking aim at what they saw as an overreaching city government and school board.

It was fitting, I thought, that they refused state-mandated vaccinations, the most pervasive and successful public health strategy of all time. But I didn’t know for sure. So I emailed my mom to request an on-the-record interview, and she readily agreed. After some small talk, we got around to the Disneyland outbreak.

“They’re trying to connect it to the conservatives — it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen,” she said over the phone. “It’s the vegetarian people and the ultimate hippies who started the movement, and they’re all liberals! It’s not a political thing anyway; it’s ridiculous.”

I told her about my assumption — that her stance on vaccines came out of libertarian values. Was that true?

No, she said, that wasn’t it at all. “I was totally pro-vaccines, really, until Dr. Taylor.”

Dr. Taylor was my parents’ dentist. He was part of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, which was somewhat unusual in our town. “They look at things differently,” mom said. “They’re vegetarians.” My parents were decidedly not, but they respected this guy because he was well-educated.

A month after I was born, my parents took me to meet Dr. Taylor. He gave them a brand-new book, called How to Raise a Healthy Child in Spite of Your Doctor, written by a medical doctor named Robert S. Mendelsohn. The book seems to be a favorite among the alternative-medicine crowd, and Mendelsohn, a self-described “medical heretic,” was apparently against heart surgery, water fluoridation, and “modern medicine.”

That book changed everything, mom said. “There were a couple of chapters on immunizations, and that was what we zeroed in on.”

Listening to her rattle off the book’s specific claims about vaccines, I was surprised at how much time and consideration she had put into thinking through the data — or at least the data she knew about. Dr. Burris, an osteopathic physician who “was not into meds,” my mom said, was also sympathetic to Mendelsohn and Taylor’s ideas. In other words, all of the experts my parents knew and trusted were steering them against vaccines.

But they didn’t just make a blanket decision about all vaccinations. When considering the MMR vaccine — a combination jab for protection against measles, mumps, and rubella — mom and dad analyzed the risk-benefit ratio of each disease, one at a time.

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Wellcome Library, London / Via wellcomeimages.org

Measles was an easy no for them, my mom said. “We all had the measles, before they had the shots. It went through the whole community, and it didn’t hurt anybody.” She remembered having the characteristic red rash, and missing a week of school while holed up in her room with the shades drawn. And yet, she said, “I’m sure there’s something good about them — they helped me build some immunities or something.”

This idea of measles as a mild disease is demonstrably inaccurate. The virus isn’t likely to kill, but it makes kids miserable. And it can lead to terrible complications: 8% of cases get diarrhea, 7% an ear infection, and 6% pneumonia. About 1 in 167 will get seizures, and 1 in 1,000 swelling of the brain.

Mumps, mom continued, was also an easy choice, because the virus was only really a problem for boys. This is not really true. Mumps is a somewhat benign virus; about half of all people who get the mumps won’t develop any symptoms. But the other half will get a fever, headache, exhaustion, and swollen glands. Adolescent boys, as mom noted, may develop inflamed testicles. In rare cases girls, too, can develop inflammation in their breasts and ovaries.

But even she acknowledged that rubella was much more serious. She knew that if a pregnant woman contracted this virus, there was a very high risk of her baby having birth defects. The reason she didn’t vaccinate me against rubella as an infant, she said, was so that I would be more likely to get a shot later. “Otherwise, the kid assumes they’ve got a lifelong immunity, and she doesn’t necessarily get a booster during her childbearing years, when she needs it the most.” To me, that sounds like twisted logic, but it was her logic.

The DPT vaccine — for diphtheria, pertussis, and tetanus — was more complicated. Diphtheria, a bacterial infection that affects the respiratory tract, has long been eradicated in the United States. “Diphtheria is pretty much unheard of anymore, so we figured we didn’t need that,” she said.

Pertussis, or whooping cough, is a bacterial infection that can be deadly for young babies, mom acknowledged. (In 2012, in fact, a pertussis outbreak killed 20 people, and most were infants younger than 3 months.) But the pertussis vaccine, according to her new book, was perhaps equally dangerous. “I think I read that it caused mental retardation within two hours,” she told me. (This is not true.)

Tetanus, though, my parents were absolutely worried about — they had seen for themselves the lockjaw it causes. And so, mom said, they went to Dr. Burris with their decision: They wanted me to get just one vaccine — one specifically for tetanus, instead of the DPT combo — and none of the others.

Dr. Burris had to special-order the tetanus-only vaccine, which led to my parents receiving a call from a public health nurse. “They thought we were poor and we couldn’t afford the shots,” mom said. Eventually the shot came, and my mom took me to the doctor’s office. By then I was about 5 months old. “I had to look away when you even got that tetanus. I felt like leaving the room with the doctor there, poking you with that needle.”

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Wikipedia / Via upload.wikimedia.org

I asked her whether she had read my post about the harms of measles. She hadn’t, so I summed it up. Why, I asked, wouldn’t you want to avoid putting your kid through all that pain? “We figured everybody else was immunized, and so there’s no way you would catch it from anybody.”

And that, of course, is the crux of the problem. When herd immunity is high, there isn’t a pressing reason for any given individual to be vaccinated. At the time, she thought vaccines came with scary side effects. So why would she risk it, no matter how small that risk? But that creates a dangerous paradox: If everyone made the choice she did, then everyone would get very, very sick.

My mom knows that I don’t agree with her about the dangers of vaccines. And, after reading some of my articles and others over the years, she seems to be less worried about vaccines than she used to be. Still, she doesn’t regret her choice.

“That book, talking about what was happening to those babies after a pertussis vaccination, it was just…” she paused. “Maybe it’s all a fable, I don’t know, you know how this stuff gets started.

“But when you have a baby you feel differently than before you have children. You are responsible — this is your baby! You look at things differently than you would as a concerned scientist.”

The conversation was revelatory for me, for two reasons. First, it made me wonder whether vilifying anti-vaccine parents — as the press has done repeatedly this week — is a good strategy for increasing vaccine coverage. When parents make medical choices, good or bad, it’s for one simple reason: They’re trying to do the right thing for their kid. Refusing vaccination is not a political statement.

Second, my mom’s story illustrates that data and authority and expertise can have real power, but only when communicated effectively. For whatever reason, the ideas of Dr. Burris, Dr. Taylor, and Dr. Mendelsohn resonated with my parents in a way that mainstream medical voices did not. Why? This is the question I wish more doctors would ask — and more journalists too. If we did, then maybe we’d better understand how fables about modern medicine are written. And, perhaps, how to erase them.

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/virginiahughes/why-my-mom-didnt-vaccinate

#doctors #measles #measles outbreak #medicine #parents #vaccination