#We started chanting PRISON RIOT!! PRISON RIOT!! PRISON RIOT!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bellamonde · 1 year

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Iran Executions

Some of you may have seen the news by Western media that the claims about Iranian executions is fake. As an Iranian woman who was born and raised in Iran, I felt the need to address this claim. And in advance, sorry for the length of this text.

Let me start off by saying that these western journalists have not covered Iran protest during the past few weeks. They did not cover the massacre in Zahedan, they did not cover when war planes landed in Sanandaj, they did not cover the bloody attack on Sharif University students nor did they cover the fire at Evin prison. But all of a sudden, they are claiming with one voice that the claim that 15,000 people will be executed is false. To me, it’s interesting how they are cherry picking the stories to cover.

Now as for their claim.

First, Iranians did not say that 15,000 will be executed. We said there is a real threat that they may be executed. Majority of the so-called lawmakers in the Islamic Republic’s parliament asked the judiciary to find the political prisoners guilty of corruption and execute them. There are videos of the session evidencing this request. Based on this, Iranians said that the lives of 15,000 political prisoners are in clear danger and they may very likely be executed. For non-Iranians, it may be difficult to understand this nuance. Westerns media operate in a democracy and western journalists are applying western standards to the Islamic Republic. They are waiting for actual death sentences to be handed out, without realizing that the Islamic Republic operates differently. This request is a reflection of the regime’s intent and end goal. Islamic Republic is a dictatorship - there are no debates, no real trials. If a request has been made to the judiciary, there is a high probability it will be carried out.This nuance is missed on non-Iranians.

Second, executions take place in secret - Navid Afkari was executed in secret. By not voicing the threat, by not raising alarms, and waiting for the actual death sentence to be handed out, Western media is toying with the lives of innocent people. Once a person is sentenced to death, it cannot be stopped. We can campaign but it won’t make any difference - again, look at what happened to Navid Afkari.

Third, the Islamic Republic has a long history of executing prisoners. In 1988, 30,000 political prisoners were executed by the Islamic Republic. According to an Amnesty International report, “During the first six months of 2022, the Iranian authorities executed at least one person a day on average. The state machinery is carrying out killings on a mass scale across the country in an abhorrent assault on the right to life. Iran’s staggering execution toll for the first half of this year has chilling echoes of 2015 when there was another shocking spike.” You can read Amnesty’s report here. Balouchis are disproportionately affected.

Fourth, the Islamic Republic is executing the protestors every day in front of the world’s eyes. What do you call targeting and shooting directly at protestors with live bullets? What do you call torturing them to death? What do you call torturing them until they commit suicide? Are these not executions? Execution means the act of carrying out a sentence. In Iran, protesting against the Islamic Republic is considered “waging war against God” or “spreading corruption on Earth” and both charges carry the death penalty. Criticizing the Islamic Republic’s supreme leader is considered waging war against God because he is the supposed representative of God on earth. Therefore, when protestors chant “death to Khamenei”, they are waging war against God. Khamenei in a speech called protestors scattered riots designed by enemies. Espionage and assisting the enemy also carry the death penalty. Essentially, Khamenei declared all protestors to be enemies of state. The Islamic Republic’s guards are carrying out the orders of Khamenei - protestors are designed by the enemy, they are assisting the enemy and therefore, should be executed. Trials are a sham in Iran - political prisoners are not permitted to consult their lawyer. In fact their lawyers are either arrested or not allowed to be present during the trial. Political prisoners were found guilty the moment they set foot in the streets demanding human rights and justice. And so each time an Islamic Republic guard shoots at a protestor, they are carrying out an execution.

How could anyone recall Khodanoor’s murder and not call it an execution? Hadis, Sarina, Nika, Minoo, Mehrshad, Khodanoor, Yalda and hundreds more were executed.

I want to end with this. Please do not let this detract us from reality - the point is that 15,000 innocent people are facing the risk of execution. In light of Islamic Republic’s past, this risk is palpable.

Thank you to all who have tirelessly supported our cause and amplified the voices of the people of Iran. Every post, every story, every letter written to or phone call made to a representative, and every protest has helped amplify the voices of Iranians. Please continue sharing. Life in Iran is difficult and life as a woman is precarious. But for the first time in almost 44 years, there is a slim hope for freedom. I never believed we could be free in my life time but it is now a possibility. So please do not abandon the cause.

#Woman Life Freedom

#mahsa amini #jina amini #woman life freedom #women's rights #human rights #iran protests #stop the executions #freedom for iran #opiran #thoughts on iran

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specialability · 1 year

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Andor Ep 10: One Way Out

About the prison break and means and ends:

Cassian has been shown to be an important member of his community on Ferrix. He knows everybody, he has been able to borrow money from friends, he has a notable number of ex-lovers, and people try to help him when he has to flee the planet. But he still sees himself as alone. He makes all his decisions by himself without talking to anyone and sees safety in working alone. He thought taking his share of the heist money and running as far away as possible would be enough, and it wasn't. His trip to prison I think has emphasized how he, as an individual, can't succeed just by lifting himself up. Making a bunch of money and minding his own business isn't enough to save him. That was clearly his goal for a long time. But he's been forced to face facts: the empire isn't going to leave him alone, and he isn't the only one facing these injustices. And instead of running away from that he's facing it.

That is emphasized in the prison break plan itself. It would be far more difficult for him and a handful of other people to get away than it was if everyone rioted together. If it was just a few of them, somebody else could decide to rat them out for some benefit because why do these guys get to escape and not me? That kind of in-fighting and competition between prisoners has been established from the start. Better to have everyone escape together. They were always going to take losses in the escape attempt, so more people means a better chance of somebody making it through. They needed to outnumber the guards in order to scare them into retreating, in order to keep them from rallying and organizing themselves. They crucially needed to occupy the central control office to turn off the turbines or nobody would be able to escape - they would have been sucked into the whirlpools we saw during the flight in to the prison. And Cassian knows that Kino is a trusted leader, Kino is even listened to by the other floor bosses. He has to get Kino on his side, not just for information, but also in order to get enough momentum going that all the other floors will follow.

The simple motivating chant of "One way out" is brilliant social psychology. You put a huge group of people together in a pressure situation where their lives are on the line and you need them to believe that they can win this. By creating a singular goal and verbalizing that via a trusted leader like Kino, everyone is drawn together. That's why protesters, soldiers, and sports teams do chants. It's why participating in group singing feels euphoric. Instead of every man for himself, it's everyone going together. And because this is Andor, there is still a tinge of cynicism: in the last scene of Cassian and Melshi running, there are helicopters in the background with floodlights, clearly looking for escapees. And they might find some, which will slow them down and provide a distraction that allows Cassian to escape.

But at the end of the day, probably the main difference between Cassian and Luthen is that even though Cassian is still a cynic he wants to believe that everyone will make it out alive. He has hope for a better future for the real people in front of him who are suffering. Luthen doesn't care any more whether or not anybody survives so long as the Empire goes down.

"The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means." – George Orr, The Lathe of Heaven (1971) by Urusla Le Guin

#misc #ruth watches tv #andor

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dertaglichedan · 6 months

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New J6 Footage Shows Ray Epps Whispering To 'Baked Alaska': "We're Here To Storm The Capitol"

Authored by Debra Heine via American Greatness,

Anew report provides fresh evidence that infamous January 6 provocateur Ray Epps may have been an FBI plant.

In the first of a two-part series, “Truth in Media” host Lara Logan spoke with Anthime Gionet, also known as “Baked Alaska,” a right-wing influencer formerly associated with the “alt right.” Video footage from January 5, 2021 and earlier indicate that Epps appeared to be particularly interested in Gionet, who was later sentenced to two months in prison for his participation in the riot at the US Capitol.

Gionet (Baked Alaska) was one of several people who filmed Epps on the evening of January 5, 2021 outside BLM Plaza as he told Trump supporters “we need to go into the Capitol!” At first, Gionet said he was amused by Epps’ exhortation to breach the Capitol, and yelled ‘let’s go!’ in response, but after he saw him repeat the line several times to different groups that night, he became convinced the “boomer” was an FBI plant and was up to no good.

Gionet is the one who started the “Fed! Fed! Fed!” chant that went viral on social media.

“I’m someone who creates funny content so I just like to agree with everyone and if someone’s saying something crazy, a lot of times, I’ll just agree—say yeah, yeah,” Gionet said, explaining that he does it to encourage a subject to keep talking.

But the activist said he felt “weirded out” by Epps and quickly moved on to another group.

“I’m like, I’m getting away from this creep, he’s weirding me out,” Gionet said. “I’m getting weird vibes—something’s off.”

Gionet told Logan that everyone else who heard Epps talking about going into the Capitol were also taken aback.

“I go to another group way far away from him, he follows me, and that’s when he begins instructing the crowd,” Gionet said. That’s when Epps was caught on tape again saying “we need to go into the Capitol.”

“Right when he said that, something clicked in my head,” Gionet said. “It was like, whoa! This is scripted because he said the same exact line word for word three times and that’s not natural.”

Gionet said that it seemed very odd that he kept going around to all the different little groups and instructing them on what to do on January 6.

“Maybe the first time, he’s being silly or saying something crazy, but when he said it the third time word for word, I knew there’s a strong possibility this guy’s a fed. I started that chant, and guess what? The whole crowd joined in with me—within seconds!”

Gionet told Logan that that viral moment felt spiritual to him at the time.

“That was the spirit moving. That was God saying ‘somethings up here. Watch out, there’s something going on.’ And that’s what I felt in my heart as a believer, truly,” he said.

Shortly before midnight, Epps took a conciliatory tone with Gionet, telling him they he also despises Black Lives Matter and antifa.

“I stood ’em down myself with three Army vets in Queen Creek, Arizona,” Epps said.

“That’s where I live!” Gionet exclaimed. “Are you my neighbor?!”

After more friendly banter, Epps said ”we’re not here to fight man. He then leaned in and whispered “we’re here to storm the Capitol,” and added: “I’m not kidding.”

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astormyjet · 3 years

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Winter of 2018 - Summer of 2021 TIME FILES WHEN YOU’RE IN YOUR 20s!!!!

OH BOY. It’s been three years (or more) since I updated this. “Time is a weird soup!” to quote a fave. I guess I quit tumblr around the time there was a purge of content and creators and a smack down on a lot of the fandom communities. Tumblr has always been something of a crapshow though so I’ve been more productive with my time than I was in some ways, but I’ve also found other ways to waste my time. *cough twitter/netflix/youtube/MTGArena cough*.

General Life Achievements since 2018 -JLPT N3 GET in 2019! -Blackbelt GET in 2018! -TESOL 120 Hour and BE 50 Hour Cert from online provider GET in 2021 -STUDENT LOAN BANISHED (Thank you grandparents) -Survived Apartment flooding in early 2020. -Mystery anxiety related illness and chronic pain in my left leg from early 2020 - Present. -A mythical 6th and 7th year on the JET Programme. -Started posting on Instagram a lot more about my wanderings around Matsuyama/Uwajima. Mainly old buildings and stray cats. @astormyknight -Surviving so far in Japan with old rona-chan.

2018 was rough. I was given an additional school in the first semester (March to July) as we had someone find a better job. I enjoyed it, but it was a bit of a rough go especially when I was transferred that August after three fantastic years at Tsubaki JHS and ES and only a semester there. I legit went through the five stages of grief - which I think is another reason I stopped blogging. I was given my current base school along with four other schools. Going from 2(3) to 5 schools was a bit of an adjustment. I still feel a bit spread out.

That said, I keep running into teachers and students who were at the Tsubaki’s. The teachers shuffle around every April, so it's always a lottery with which new faces are going to be old friends (or enemies…). A couple of kids moved and transferred into my current schools from Tsubaki too. So I have one kid I can say I've been teaching for 6 out of the 7 years I've been here!

One of the kids who was in JHS 3rd grade when I first got here (in 2015!) hangs out around one of my favorite cafes, so I got chatting with him recently. He's in his second year of nursing school - his class nearly broke me in the first year, it was really a trial by fire with those kids. I was 22 then, and he’s 20 now, so it was interesting chatting to him about that first year of teaching. His younger sister was one of my favorite students too, she was in the group of kids that graduated in the March of 2018, the year group that went through Tsubaki JHS with me - they’re newly minted University students now!

This Thursday morning when I was cycling in to work, a kid who was 2nd year JHS when I left (so 2nd or 3rd year JHS now) pulled up with their Mum in a van and got their mamachari out of the back to bike to school. The franticness of it all was hilarious. Their Mum legit sat on the horn until I pulled over. I was so happy to run into this kid, even at social distance and both of us late to work/school - because we both remembered each other and as they were going around the corners they were yelling each time they turned and humming the old elementary school directions chant and pelting me with questions about what I’ve been up to.

I've had so many students and schools now, that everything is kind of running into a blur. I remember flashes of kids faces and voices, random memories of in class or out of class shenanigans out of the blue. Also, I now, more than ever, have issues remembering kids' names, but I still know their faces (even with their masks), whose homeroom class they were in, who their friends were and which club they were in. I get random flashbacks to past conversations with them when I see them on the street or we run into each other. I feel bad because the first thing former students ask is ‘Do you remember my name?’ and I always have to be like, ‘Honestly, no, but I remember you did this on x day, x month in x classroom’.

Socially in 2018 -2019 - a few of our friends went home and things shook up a little. Our DnD group changed a bit - one of our players stepped into the role forever DM (THANK YOU RALPH). From memory the newbies were great - some of them just went home at the start of last month and it’s weird not seeing them around (JESS DO YOUR BEST!). I think we only have one or two people left from that rotation. There’s no 6th year ALTs, and only two 5th years.

Aug 2018 - Aug 2019 was the year of Hiura - my mountain school. Dang man, they were so cool. The students of the JHS and the ES combined barely hit 30, so each class was between 3-10 students depending on the grade. It was easier to get to know the kids, their abilities and their goals than it has been for me at other schools. I miss it so bad, being in nature once a week did my country-kid heart so good! The bugs! The frogs! The river! The mountain! The monkeys! The lizards! The dilapidated houses and hidden shrines!!!! The random crabs in the English room...I forgot that there was such a thing as freshwater crabs, and being right next to a river, the invasion wasn’t as out of place as I first thought...

The area is so picturesque and calming. Every week up there was a small adventure (after getting over my motion sickness from the bus ride up). The kids were constantly pranking either myself or the main English teacher. There was always some new weird bug or lizard in a tank to be educated about. There were chickens on the way to the JHS that used to escape from their cardboard box prisons to run riot on the gardens. There were old people to freak out with my youth and foreignness! The kids also got to do a lot of extra classes, sumiyakai (making charcoal the traditional way), planting and maintaining rice paddies, setting up vegetable gardens, raising fireflies, conserving a special breed of fire lily (only found in this particular mountain valley) and another rare flower, wilderness training ect.

I wish I could have stayed there a lot longer but SOMEONE (read...the BoE) decided that schools had to be shuffled again(thank goodness the dude who has it now was able to keep it from the 2021 shuffle, he's the best fit for the school). I had so many good memories from there, I wish I had been more consistent in writing it down. I do have a bunch of photos and videos from there though, so that's nice. The only thing I don’t miss is the bus trip up and down - not only was it motion sickness, there was a healthy dose of fear each ride as the driver brought us perilously close to the edge of the mountain drop…

2019 - 2020 was interesting. With the school I got given instead of the Hirua’s I was roped into more demonstration lessons which was a lot of pressure because I was also involved quite heavily with the JHS observation and training lessons too. They were somewhat rewarding, the third graders are now super smart 5th graders, but the teachers who need to embrace the new curriculum and ways of teaching really haven’t taken on anything from the lessons....

Outside of work as well, I was given the chance, thanks to an ALT buddy of mine, to join in with the local festival. It's been one of the biggest highlights of my time here, and I am gutted it’s been cancelled for the last two years, but I understand the reason…. I was able to travel to Okinawa too during that summer for an international Karate seminar with the Dojo I train with. I met the head of the style I currently practice and a bunch of people from around the world. I also got to see Shuri castle before it burned down. So that was a stroke of luck. One of the places I want to go when/if we get out of this pandemic is Okinawa. I want to see more of those Islands so bad. Just before the whole pandemic thing too - I managed to see the Rugby World Cup, a Canada vs NZ match, I even ran into Tana Umanga in Oita city!!!

2019 - 2020 was supposed to be my last year on JET, so I was frantically Job hunting. I went to the Career Fair in Osaka in early Feb/Late January 2020. I applied and got interviewed for a position in Sendai in early Jan 2020. In the end though - the Rona hit. We started hearing whispers of it around the end of 2019, then the cruise boats happened, and then Japan refused to cancel the Olympics...every holiday season there is a new wave of infections, my nurse friends in Tokyo are struggling....my teacher friends in more populous areas of Japan are struggling…

JET couldn't get new ALTs for 2020-2021, I took the extra year when it was eventually offered, as the one job I had managed to get a serious offer for was hesitating because with the rona setting in, things were uncertain. There was a lot of time spent adjusting to the new rules surrounding what we could do in class with the kids as well as textbook change. Schools shut on and off during the spring months.

I also got a reminder of my mortality mid May with an unrelated illness which is still smacking me around a bit - stress/age, it does things to the human body it has no right to. It's only been in the last three months I’ve been able to exercise like I used to, I’ve put on a bunch of weight I can't shrug off (one part medication, another part diet) My relationship with food needs to change, and I really need a kitchen that allows me for more than one pan meals. I also need to figure out what to do with a left leg that is in constant pain from the knee down and a heart that misses beats when stressed out (mentally and physically…).

My apartment also got flooded by the guy upstairs at one point, I spent most of late February/early March living in a hotel while my walls and floor got redone - I think this was one of the things that really stressed me out and kicked my anxiety right up a notch, it was right when things were getting REALLY bad with rona-chan in Hokkaido and schools were shutting down here as it was filtering into the prefecture and so Japan closed schools for the first time…

Classes in covid times have been weird. We’ve been wearing facemasks full time since the early stages of the pandemic (March 2020) - so I admit that I get a bit pissed off seeing both Americans and New Zealanders back home bitching about just having to start wearing them full time in public. I have asthma and have been suffering with the things on during the 30*C plus with high 90s humidity summers. Teachers were offered vaccines late July 2021, just days before the Olympics were open - and I finished my two shots in the middle of August. But the overall distribution and take up of the jab has been slow. As mentioned above, we can't play a lot of the games we used to play with kids in classes anymore, and a lot of the activities outlined in the textbook curriculum need to be adjusted too, so we’ve had to be creative. We use hand sanitizer a lot more too. One of the things I miss the most though, is eating lunch with the kids.

Socially from summer 2020 - now 2021 we played a lot of DnD and board games, both online and in person when we could. There were no new ALTs again for the 2021-2022 JET year, and those of us who were in 6th year were offered a 7th. Four out of six of us took it. As a whole we’re down from a peak of 38 ALTs for Junior High and Elementary school to 22 for now. We hopefully will get a new person at the end of September, and 4 more in November. Which will bring us to 27. This has led to ANOTHER round of school shuffles.

Summer vacation has been weird the last two years. With rona-chan, we haven’t really been able to travel. All the summer festivals (all the Autumn and Winter ones too!) have been cancelled, so the changing of seasons just feels, wrong. I dunno. There is so much we all miss from pre-rona-chan, and so much that doesn’t happen that makes this just feel like one long long unending year of sadness, coldness, raininess, unbearable heat and repeat. I’m tired. Time is going so fast, but so.dang.slow.

I lost my favorite school (AGAIN GDI!!!) and gained the school I taught a semester at in 2019....I had my first day there on Wednesday. Schools actually started back on September 1st so there was some drama as the BoE didn’t communicate fast enough about our school changes. We legit got told on the 27th of August (on a Friday) our schools were changing effective September 1st, but somehow some of our schools found out on the Monday 30th August. In July we were told we would be changing schools at the end of September, so.a lot of ALTs and schools were left short changed, not having opportunities to say goodbye to co-workers or students/having their planning for the semester more or less thrown out the window too. I love my job. I really dislike the way the BoE treats us, the Japanese assistant language teachers and our schools.

The new school I have is used to having an ALT there twice a week, who plans all the lessons and executes them. I’m at three elementary schools. I'm only at each once a week, I want to plan, but being that I miss an entire lesson in between visits, it's going to be difficult to do so. Not impossible, but being that I'm already doing it for two other schools, who are at two different places in the textbook ah…….. From what I have talked to my new supervisor about though, it sounds like the teachers have taken on more of the lesson planning and I'll be able to contribute ideas when I'm there. I just want to and wish I could do more without being confused all the time. (This is all usually done in my second language too, not in English so extra levels of confusion and miscommunication abound).

I feel like this at my JHS too a lot of the time. I want to contribute more, but even with constant communication with my main in school supervisor (who is a badass and pretty much on the same page about everything with me) I still feel about as useful as tits on a bull. Especially now that classes have been cancelled and or shortened, there's less time to do stuff. Any game or activity I plan is usually cut in favor of making up time in the textbook. When I'm in class, I'm back to being a tape recorder, the fun police and general nuisance.　

Also in the last week...my two of my schools were shut due to students testing positive for the rona. This is the second time my schools have had a scare in the last 8 months. And by shut, I mean the students were all at home, but the teachers all had to come into the office. Because why not I guess….. I mean, the cases increasing is really not unexpected with the amount of people who were travelling over obon and the increase of cases due to the Olympics/Japan being slow on vaccinating/delta being the dominant strain/Japan's leaders doing relatively little except asking shops and restaurants to limit people coming in at one time and closing before 8pm. I know my schools weren't the only one shut either - but still High Schools were having their sports days this week. I kept on seeing groups of kids hanging in the park after, so that was a little bit nerve wracking.

It's just frustrating - we’ve been on half days to “minimize the risk of infection” for kids and teachers, as if only being at school from 8am through to 1pm is going to reduce the risk. My schools have only just started testing out Microsoft teams and Zoom lesson equipment. Thankfully our school’s run in this time was contained real quick, the family was super good about informing us when they got their results back, and the fact they needed to be tested. The homeroom teacher and the students from the same class were the only ones tested, and they all came back clear, which was nice. But the information came back so SLOW.

I’m a little irritated because I found out on Wednesday night what was going on, and even if I am vaccinated, I am super worried that I will end up being the covid monkey due to being at different schools three days out of five. I think other than being worried that I will catch it myself and get real sick, my biggest fear is that I will be protected from bad symptoms from the vaccine, but still be able to pass it onto some of my more vulnerable friends and students. The whole thing is a mess.

Other than Covid and BoE drama, life is good. I’ve had a couple of other big changes - both fantastic and not so great, but yeah. I have my health (and health insurance!) for now. I have a job, for now. I have a sense of existential dread for the next 12 months, but we’ll see where we end up. Life post JET is going to be way less cushy and I am TERRIFIED. I mean, I have a BA in Eng/Ling and no idea what to do with it…..because I am NOT suited for academia.

TLDR: Love my job. Don’t like the system. What is life? Future scary.

#life on JET #blog post #life in Japan #jet programme #jet program

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years

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RIOT

(PLEASE DON’T REPOST/REBLOG)

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal.

Pairing: Zuko x f!Reader

Characters: Zuko, Katara, Aang, Toph, Sokka.

Requested: I guess?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: Part nine of “destiny is a funny thing”.

previous part

A/N: Next part! Tell me what you think!

All prisoners mingled in the yard, where Sokka, Suki, Hakoda, Zuko and you finally met. “This is it! We have to start a riot,” Sokka said. His father claimed to be fit for the task, trying to get another prisoner angry by shoving him, but failed. “This isn’t working,” His son stated. But then Chit Sang appeared behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey you! You’re lucky I didn’t rat you out,” He smiled. “but my generosity comes with a price. I know you’re planning another escape attempt, and I want in,” You raised a brow at him, but turned to Sokka when he had this certain look in his eye. He had an idea. “Actually, we’re trying to escape right now, but we need a riot. You wouldn’t happen to know how to start one, would you?” The man huffed. “A prison riot? Please,” He grabbed another prisoner, lifting him up in the air and lifting him up and down. “Hey! Riot!” And the people started chanting. “Riot! Riot! Riot!” And several blasts of fire went off. Hakoda looked shocked for a moment, before mumbling to himself. “Impressive,”

“Good, we have a riot, now all we need to do is grab the warden, and get to the gondolas!” Sokka said, pointing above. “And how do we do that?” Zuko asked from beside you. “I’m not sure,” The prince groaned at that. “I thought you thought this through!” “I thought you told me it’s okay not to think everything through!” “Maybe not everything, but this is kind of important!” He rubbed his forehead, while you looked between them, wondering if you should interrupt or let them solve it on their own. Eventually Chit Sang took the descision off your shoulders. “Hey, uh, fellas. I think your girlfriend’s taking care of it,” Your heads turned, as he pointed towards Suki, who hopped on the heads of the rioters, before jumping and flipping onto the tower. You all started running to get to her, while she easily defeated the first guard with a few quick jabs, taking out the rest of them with the same ease and finally grabbing the warden. Once you arrived, completely out of breath, Suki had already gagged him with his headband. “We’ve got the warden! Now let’s get out of here!” She said, and Hakoda raised his brows. “That’s some girl!” Sokka smiled proudly. “Tell me about it,”

“Come on guys, we’ve got to go!” You said, maing a run for the gondola. “We’re almost there!” You heard Suki call out from behind you, but already more guards we’re trying to stop your group. “Back off! We’ve got the warden!” You heard Zuko from behind you, and as you turned your head you could see him block the flames from the guards. “Let’s go!” You arrived at the door first, ripping it open. “Everyone in!” Suki said, jumping in. Once the group was complete, Zuko started the gondola, kicking the handle a few times, trying to break it. The guards rushed towards him, blasting fire, as he tried to reach you. “Zuko!” you yelled as he jumped. You leaned out of it’s window, gripping his hand tightly. You groaned upon lifting his whole weight, trying to get him up. Luckily, Sokka was there to help him, dragging him inside where he landed right on top of you with a gasp. “We’re on our way!” Suki cheered, while the two of you stared at each other, before quickly getting up. You avoided his gaze, reminded of the kiss you’d almost shared in the cooler. The atmosphere between you sizzled and hissed like a fire. You could only hope that the flames weren’t high enough to alert the others. The only thing that would resolve in, is endless teasing. He knew that as well as you did. And yet you could feel his burning stare at your profile. “Wait! Who’s that?” Hakoda, Sokka and Suki were all staring out of the windows. As the two of you joined them, you spotted new faces appearing on the platform. And to your dismay, you knew exactly who they were. “That’s a problem. It’s my sister and her friend,” You huffed, barely able to imagine that someone as vile as Azula could have any genuine friends. Looking up at your group, the princess snatched a pair of handcuffs froma guard’s belt and ran forward. Meanwhile Ty Lee jumped onto the cable, running along. After elevating herself to the line below her friend with a fire blast, Azula used the cuffs to attach herself to it and propelled herself forward.

“This is a rematch I’ve been waiting for,” Suki said in a determined tone, a grim look in her face. “Me too,” Zuko rasped, turning his head to look at you. You gave him a brief nod. Then you began climbing onto the roof with Sokka and Suki. Once she was within reach, Ty Lee flipped into the air, lading right in front of the Kyoshi Warrior, who growled and assumed a battle-ready position. Azula on the other hand, pulled herself up on the roof, facing her brother and the Water Tribe boy. You got caught up in the middle, switching your sight between both sides. The princess took her stance, performing a kick sending blue fire at her opponents, but Zuko blocked it. Now Ty Lee got active as well, trading blows with Suki. Your friend was able to block most of her hits, but soon you saw an opening in her defense, the circus girl was ready to take. You formed a whip of fire around you, lashing it into her direction and forcing her to the edge. “Thanks,” Suki grinned, before refocusing, once Ty Lee came back out on the other side. Behind you the two royal sibling were wildly blasting fire at each other, only barely interrupted by Sokka who managed to draw Azula back to the edge with his sword. As you turned, you could see Zuko going for a finishing blow, but his sister dodged, staying on the gondola and responding with a huge blast so wide, that it would’ve reached Suki and Ty Lee, had you not blocked it with your own.

But then the gondola started rocking back and forth, causing Sokka to lose his balance. He slid to the edge, which had Zuko sprinting to his rescue and Azula casting another blow. You covered the boys as they got back up, while ty Lee jumped up to the top of the wire, to see what was going on. “They’re about to cut the line!” And as the guards worked to stop your escape, you noticed another gondola approaching behind you, heading inbound. And apparently, so did Azula. “Then it’s time to leave,” She smirked, blasting herself up in the air. “Goodbye, Zuko,” She simpered, reaching the opposite rooftop. Ty Lee backflipped, landing next to her, but looked back at you with concern in contrast to Azula’s sadistic smile, much to your surprise. “The gondola’s about to go!” Zuko confirmed and Hakoda rubbed his neck. “I hope this thing floats,” You nibbled on your bottom lip, brows furrowing in concern. There was nothing you could do to stop them from here. You were completely out of reach. As you looked to your right you could see the gears in Zuko’s head turn, mulling over the possibility of a solution, just as you were, but then... then it continued in motion!

”Who’s that?” Sokka asked, leaning out of a window, as everyone joined him. Back down on the platform was a girl. A girl with raven hair and a red robe. “It’s Mai!” Zuko’s shock was evident on his face and a shiver ran down your spine. The daughter of a Fire Nation General and the princes former lover was helping you escape? But why? And by the look of your team mates, you weren’t the only one wondering about her intentions. You shook your head, banning the negative thoughts from your head, as you reached the top of the hill. “Well, we made it out. Now what?” Suki questioned and looked at Sokka, who noticed Zuko standing still. “Zuko, what are you doing?” He mumbled a response. “My sister was on that island.” “Yeah, and she’s probably right behind us, so let’s not stop!” Zuko shook his head. “What I mean is she must have come here somehow,” Your eyes widened in understanding and you joined him, walking up a hill by the sea. “There!” You pointed a finger, eyes lighting up. “That’s our way out of here!”

All of you reached the Western Air Temple by nightfall. Zuko, Sokka and you exited the ship first, once it was returned, where Toph, Katara and Aang already waited for you. “What are you doing in this thing? What happened to the war balloon?” Katara asked as soon as she spotted you. You bit your bottom lip, rubbing your arm. “It kinda got destroyed,”

“Sounds like a crazy fishing trip,” Aang smiled, holding his staff, before Toph chimed in. “Did you at least get some good meat?” Now a soft smile appeared on Sokka’s face. Sweet enough to make the corners of your own lips curl. “I did. The best meat of all. The meat of friendship and fatherhood,” He spoke as Suki, Hakoda and Chit Sang came out. “I’m new. What’s up, everybody?” The man said, waving. Katara teared up, overjoyed to be surrounded by her entire family once again. “Dad?” She ran to embrace him. “Hi, Katara,”

“How are you here? What is going on? Where did you go?” She rambled the next second, making you laugh, while Sokka grew sheepish. “We kind of went to a Fire Nation prison,” Hakoda pulled him into the hug, holding both of them close. “Seriously? You guys didn’t find any meat?” Toph complained, pouting slightly. Inching towards her, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders from behind, resting your chin on her head. “Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. We’ll get you your meat,”

tags: @zvkonation @viva-la-millennia @randomness501 @drheinzd @kaylove12 @duh-dobrik @yeetscreetiwannaeat @ashnkamfeun @hailkyoshi @shortmexicangirl @animexholic @sorrythatspussynal @mochminnie @ninadewitt @iamthecabbage

#zuko x reader #prince zuko #avatar imagine #avatar zuko #zuko imagine

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chiseler · 3 years

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The House of D

As one of his final acts in office, Mayor Jimmy Walker broke ground in 1932 for the New York City House of Detention for Women, built on the site of the old Jefferson Market jail in Greenwich Village and colloquially known as the House of D. According to sociologist Sara Harris’ Hellhole (on John Waters’ list of recommended reading), It was intended as a model of prison reform. Opened in 1934, the twelve-story monolith of brownish brick with art deco flourishes loomed behind the old Jefferson Market courthouse on Sixth Avenue, looking more like a stylish if somewhat cheerless apartment building than a prison. Windows were meshed instead of barred, and the one sign on its exterior merely gave the address, “Number Ten Greenwich Avenue.” There were toilets and hot and cold running water in all four hundred cells, and it was going to focus on rehabilitating its inmates – prostitutes, vagrants, alcoholics and/or drug addicts – rather than merely punishing them. From the start the reality was at variance with the intentions, and the facility quickly became infamous as a combination of Bedlam and Bastille. Within a decade it was chronically overcrowded with a volatile mix of inmates: women who couldn’t make bail awaiting trials that were sometimes months off, women already convicted and serving time, alcoholics and addicts, the mentally ill, violent lesbian tops, street gang girls, hookers and other lifelong multiple offenders, and teenagers spending their first nights behind bars. Tougher, more experienced prisoners brutalized and sexually assaulted the weak and inexperienced. So, of course, did the staff. The halls rang with the howls of inmates suffering the agonies of drug or alcohol withdrawal. There were cockroaches and mice in the cells and worms in the food. Village lesbians called it the Country Club and the Snake Pit. The IWW organizer Elizabeth Gurley Flynn did time in the House of D, as did accused spy Ethel Rosenberg and Warhol shooter Valerie Solanas. In 1957, Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement, spent thirty days there for staying on the street during a civil defense air raid drill. Her ban-the-bomb supporters picketed outside every day from noon to two; the Times called them “possibly the most peaceful pickets in the city.”

Despite its bland exterior, the House of D made its presence very known in the neighborhood through the daily ritual of inmates yelling out the windows or down from the exercise area on the roof to the boyfriends, girlfriends, dealers and pimps perpetually loitering on the Greenwich Avenue sidewalk – a carnivalesque Village tradition for almost forty years. Waters first caught the spectacle in the early 1960s. “It was amazing. No one can ever imagine what that was like. All the hookers would be screaming out the windows, ‘Hey Jimbo!’ And all the pimps would be down on the sidewalk yelling stuff.” Writer and film producer Jeremiah Newton initially encountered it at around the same time. “It was this huge, monolithic building, looking like the building the Morlocks dragged the Time Machine into, and the girls were always yelling down, screaming obscenities and throwing things out the window. It was the biggest building there. I sat on a stoop watching the people walk by. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.” The Village writer Grace Paley lived near the facility in the 1950s and 1960s, and walked her kids past it regularly. She wrote that “we would often have to thread our way through whole families calling up – bellowing, screaming up to the third, seventh, tenth floor, to figures, shadows behind bars and screened windows, How you feeling? Here’s Glena. She got big. Mami mami, you like my dress? We gettin you out baby. New lawyer come by.”

Women arrested at antiwar rallies during the Vietnam era found themselves locked up in the House of D with the hookers, junkies, crazies and butch lesbians. On Saturday, February 20 1965, two eighteen-year-old college students, Lisa Goldrosen of Bard and Andrea Dworkin of Bennington, were arrested during an antiwar protest at the UN and sent to the House of D. There, they later testified, they were brutally mistreated and humiliated by male doctors “examining” them for venereal diseases, and forced constantly to fend off the rough advances of other inmates. They were not allowed to use a telephone until Monday. That March, the New York Post ran an exposé based on their testimony. They didn’t experience anything other women hadn’t for thirty years by then, but in the 1960s those other inmates were overwhelmingly poor black and Hispanic women. Dworkin and Goldrosen were white, middle-class college coeds. As so often happens, that’s what it took to generate public outrage.

When Grace Paley herself was arrested at another war protest some months later, she was detained in the facility. Conditions had slightly improved in light of the outcry the Post had stirred up. Paley had been arrested before at antiwar protests, but it had always resulted in at worst overnight stays. This time a judge threw the book at her and gave her six days. “He thought I was old enough to know better,” she later wrote, “a forty-five year old woman, a mother and teacher. I ought to be too busy to waste time on causes I couldn’t possibly understand.” At least she could look out her cell window and watch her kids walking to school.

In October 1970, Angela Davis was arrested in the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge at Eighth Avenue and Fifty-First Street and taken to the House of D. It was not her first time in Greenwich Village. She was born in 1944 in Birmingham, Alabama, where her father was a car mechanic and her mother was a teacher and a civil rights activist. They lived in a black neighborhood called Dynamite Hill because the Klan had firebombed so many homes there. With help from the American Friends, she and her mother moved to New York, where her mother studied for her Masters at NYU while Angela attended Elisabeth Irwin High School in the Village. She went on to study philosophy at Brandeis, the Sorbonne, and at the University of California, earning her Ph.D. One of her teachers was Herbert Marcuse. By the late 1960s she was an avowed Communist, a member of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and affiliated with the Black Panthers. She lectured in philosophy at UCLA until 1969, when her Communist and radical affiliations got her fired.

In August of 1970 a black teen named Jonathan Jackson took over a Marin County courtroom and demanded the release of his older brother, Panther member George Jackson, from nearby Soledad prison. He took the judge, the district attorney and three jurors hostage. In the attempted getaway, Jackson, the judge and one other person were shot and killed. When police discovered that Davis, who knew George Jackson, was the registered owner of Jonathan’s weapon, she was charged as an accomplice to murder, a capital crime in California. She fled the state, which put her on the FBI’s most wanted list. A beautiful twenty-six-year-old with a huge and magnificent Afro, she became a global pop star of the revolution a la Che Guevara. When the FBI arrested her she’d spent a few days walking openly in Times Square, unrecognized because she’d slicked down the Afro and dressed like an office worker.

Within thirty minutes of her being locked up in the House of D a crowd of protesters began to gather outside the monolith, chanting; prisoners stood in their windows and chanted along, their fists raised. The NYPD sent a Tactical Defense Force unit – riot police – and House of D officials turned off all the lights inside, hoping to quiet things down. Instead, women set small fires in their cells, and demonstrators cheered the flickerings in the windows. They dispersed without major incident. Placed in isolation, Davis went on a ten-day hunger strike. She spent nine weeks in the facility while fighting extradition to California, where, she was quite convinced, she’d be convicted and put to death. In fact she would be acquitted of all charges in a San Francisco courtroom in 1972, after spending eighteen months behind bars.

Davis was the facility’s last celebrity tenant. Through the 1950s and 1960s, Greenwich Village civic and neighborhood groups had constantly called for the facility to be removed to some location more appropriate, which is to say far away from where they lived and walked their children to school. More liberal souls in the neighborhood thought it should stay, fearing that if the women were shifted to some more isolated location they might be all the more easily mistreated. Before he wrote the hit Broadway musicals Hello, Dolly! and La Cage aux Folles, Villager Jerry Herman wrote a satirical revue called Parade, which included a song about the House of D controversy:

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Keep her and shield her from all who wish her harm

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Cornerstone of Greenwich Village charm…

So I say fie, fie to the cynic

Know that there’s love in these hallowed walls of brown

There’s love in the laundry, there’s love in the showers,

There’s love in the clinic

'Twas built with love, my lovely house in town

Save the tramp, the pusher and the souse

Would you trade love for an apartment house?

Dworkin and Goldrosen’s testimony before a commission studying conditions at the House of D helped lead to its being shut down in 1971. Inmates were moved to a new facility on Rikers Island. After some debate about possible new uses for the Village monolith, it was simply torn down in 1973. The site is now a small, fenced-in garden. In 1974 Tom Eyen’s spoofy play Women Behind Bars, set in the House of D in the 1950s, premiered. John Waters’ star Divine performed in a later production.

by John Strausbaugh

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funknrolll · 4 years

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Michael Jackson's They Don't Care About Us: The relevancy of the unmatched protest-masterpiece still actual today.

They Don't Care About Us, was perhaps the most monumental and relevant form of audiovisual protest, which force was specifically to draw the attention to social and political issues such as hate, racism, prejudice, police brutality. The form of art is cultivating an ideological allegiance with the greater social plight for minorities. With his art, Michael became the voice of the voiceless, of the oppressed, of the neglected, of the abused. Yes, Michael Jackson was THE voice.

Hi music lovers, today's topic is Michael Jackson's They Don't Care About Us the song and the music video.

It was from September 1994 to March 1995 that Michael recorded and released HIStory, his 5th studio album. The work was one of the artist's most personal artistic outputs, where music turned into a mirror reflecting Michael's deepest sorrows, fears, anger, and frustrations. It was then when Michael let his music speak louder, providing a perfect clap back to all those who questioned and speculated. The album was a double-disc of greatest hits, HIStory Begins, and new material HIStory Continues.

Speaking of They Don't Care About Us, it is the second track on HIStory Continues, following Scream and precedent to Stranger In Moscow. The song is a straightforward response to the ruthless and ubiquitous injustices perpetrated upon him and more in general upon black people by the racist forces of the white cultural hegemony. Extremely compelling is the aura of pure rage and frustration articulated in They Don't Care About Us, both in the record and in the two poignant and groundbreaking music videos (The Prison version and the clip shot in Brazil), released to accompany the track as a single.

Personally, when I began to approach Michael's music, I did not quite understand the real deep meaning and message the song was delivering. However, as I grew up, I developed interest and curiosity regarding the significance of this timeless masterpiece. Particularly the visual interpretation caught my attention. Hence, this article will entail the information I found through my research. The two videoclips released, were, and still are, wildly exhaustive pieces of art, expressly crafted to challenge our very seldom corrupt societies, people's beliefs and mindsets.

Moreover, in these short movies, the artist did not miss the chance to channel his frustrations and rage through his distinct blueprint that turned everything he did into pure gold. There is a broad range of aspects that compose the audiovisual endeavors that are worth discussing. These elements comprehend the lyrics, the human rights violation, racism, and social injustices; all these perspectives are the fulcrum of the whole work. The acute and fierce language contributed to making the artistic output more impactful.

It is now interesting to also analyze They Don't Care About Us from a Post-Colonialism theoretical standpoint. Firstly, for those not familiar with the Post-Colonialism theories, it is a study of all the effects colonialism had on cultures and societies, concerning both European countries, that brutally conquered other nations, and how the lands and populations won responded and most importantly resisted those invasions and trespasses. Furthermore, the study of Post-Colonialism as a body of theory has and is still going through three major stages. The initial one entails the first phase of awareness of the social, psychological, and cultural unjust condition of inequality and exploitation, enforced by being in a colonized state. Secondly, a struggle for ethnic, cultural, political, and economic autonomy begins. As a consequence, there will be a growing awareness of cultural overlap. Eventually, I would say that some of the post-Colonial elements are quite evident in the two music videos.

The song and the two music videos are eloquent protests against racism. Michael speaking in the first person gives a platform to all the voiceless minorities, offering an accurate and poignant depiction of their conditions of merciless oppression, that stripped minorities of their humanity, pride, and most importantly their rights. Related to the concept of racism, with a simple yet efficacious line, Michael addresses the still hugely relevant and actual issue of police abuse and brutality, which is the central theme of the Prison Version short movie. The artistic output was magistrally filmed by the genius Spike Lee, in a real prison in Queens, New York. The opening sequence shows black schoolchildren standing behind a wire fence in the snow, chanting the chorus of the song, providing a visual accompaniment to the introduction we hear on the record. As the beat kicks in, the scene displayed is quite impressive and provocative, because it employs a poignant and immaculate montage of explicit documentary footage.

The clips complementing the short film are retrieved from the footage of the Rodney King beating and subsequent LA riots and the brutal police beatings of African American people. We then witness the swell of an atomic mushroom cloud, followed swiftly by footage of a Japanese child sitting alone and crying amid a devastated Hiroshima. Alongside, we see a close-up image of an African boy face swarming with flies, then the assassination attempt on George Wallace. Subsequently, come on the screen, some pictures of the student rebellion on Tiananmen Square in China, and finally some footage from the Vietnam War. All these footages contribute to making the video so harsh to the point of getting the audience uncomfortable. In the scenes taken in the cell, Michael appears to be haunted by the ghosts of beaten people.

his film stands out for its immediacy and accuracy, yet these clips do not incite destruction nor hatred, but rather the opposite. Indeed, those footages are stressing compassion, a peaceful reaction to a hurtful and horrible situation, and political reunification. Thus, this is another reason why there is not even a trace of violence or sign incitement to hatred or aggressive reactions. Those were not merely television images, but real-life pictures of a horrid reality of human humiliation, abuse, and suffering that sadly surround us everywhere, that break into our everyday lives through television, social media and computer screens. In the video, the tension is palpable yet, the revolt is peaceful and not suppressed by the guards. However, Michael openly expresses his anger with demonstrative insolence. For instance, he sweeps tableware off, hits a guard's baton right in front of his face. Interestingly, the artist is the only prisoner who moves freely and around the dining room, demonstrating against the disregard for human rights and laws by authorities. During the whole short film, Michael tries to convince people to fight for their rights, raising the spirit of protest against oppression and humiliation.

However, in reality, prison riots never end with prisoners slamming fists against the tables or dancing on top of them and, Michael was very well aware of it. The last scene of the video shows the artist free and running up the stairs, glancing back, running away from the penitentiary in a Brazilian favela (might this be the red thread that connects the first short movie with the second video?) while his scream still lingers in the air … Leaving eventually an open question which is asked through ASL American Sign Language: "I don't know what lies ahead… Where will this spirit of struggle lead me, where will it further manifest?" This part honestly gave me chills!

The second version of They Don't Care About Us was shot in Brazil in February 1997, precisely some parts were filmed in the central district of Salvador de Bahia. The footage where Michael is wearing the iconic Olodum t-shirt and dances with Brazilian people was taken in a favela in Rio. However, for the artist, it was quite a struggle to manage to shoot the short movie in Brazil because the local authorities intended to prohibit the filming, expressing their dislike for the project, given that it would have shown the country in an unfavorable light. Yet other authorities approved the project because it would have been an influential means to draw the world's attention to the condition of poverty. Thus, the region might have benefitted from having such a big platform offered by one of the most prominent artists on earth. However, after the Brazilian government allowed to film the video for 20 days, it changed its mind abruptly and reduced, vastly, the filming period to 5 days only. The Brazilian version opens with a girl speaking in Portuguese saying: “Michael, eles nao ligam pra gente.” which means “they don’t care about us.”, then showing the whole favela with an aerial shot. Eventually, Michael gets out of a door and starts performing.

Although this version is still impactful and manages to deliver the message impeccably, I would say that it presents some fundamental differences from the so-called prison version. Indeed, even though some policemen who look stern and indifferent are part of the short movie, in the Brazilian clip, the atmosphere is quite different from the previous one. As a matter of fact, the festive whirlwind of colors, rhythms, and dances are what reminds the audience of the social meaning of the song.

Furthermore, the vivacious and colorful performance is backed by members of the local cultural and musical group: Olodum. The organization was and still is of particular importance as one of its primary purposes was to combat racism and help cultivate a sense of self-pride and affirmed identity among the Afro-Brazilian community in the region. The organization as well provides a springboard for the promotion of civil rights on behalf of all marginalized groups. Hence, it was not a mystery the reason why Michael was aligned with Olodum, to the point that he supported the organization by wearing their merchandise in his short movie. The display of solidarity was reciprocated, through the act of the collective performance of the group’s musicians who contributed with an additional layer of live percussions and vocals, over Michael’s original studio recording.

Moreover, the language as well plays a fundamental role in this creative output. Indeed, the lyrics and the whole message delivered with this piece were not exuding revenge or aggressiveness, which were typically used to fuel accusations and rage. Au contraire, the song is the manifestation of the indignation and the energy of resistance, empowering self-control and fortitude against repressions. Hence, I would say that the song does not contain a single trace of aggressiveness, and its content and energy stay perfectly within boundaries. The language and expressions employed to address the issues are particularly relevant to explain the horrid effects colonialism and post-colonialism have had on the populations affected and thus to protest against the neglect of fundamental human rights.

Furthermore, it is interesting to point out that the element of the language expresses the manifestation of spiritual endurance and disobedience against the oppressors and lying accusers immaculately and, therefore, the dualism between the artist singing in the first person and the "Us" contained in the title and refrain of the song. Although TDCAU is addressing some social and political injustices, it may as well be true that Michael has attempted to convey his frustrations and anger in this piece, turning them into a timeless audiovisual work of art. Arguably, this could as well be the reason why the artist decided to release two variants of the short movie, the prison video featuring a crude and powerful documentary and the flamboyant, colorful Brazilian clip.

Furthermore, another element related to the Post-Colonialism discourse is how the artist and more in general black people and minorities are very seldom victims of unjust and appalling stereotypes that are addressed in the line “Don’t You Black Or White Me". This brief but straightforward segment of the song could be subjected to double interpretation. On the one hand, there is Michael Jackson, a man, a human being, a son, a brother, a father, a friend, who from the day he was born was put under the magnifying lenses of the whole world, his audience and tabloids. Most of the times he was judged, wrongly, bullied I would say, to the point that he could not even enjoy his life anymore without the anxiety of being abused, ridiculed and humiliated by people who did not take a second of their lives to do their research on his works, life, and what he stood for. Therefore, this line, specifically, is how the artist expressed his frustration towards those utterly racist reactions towards him. On the other hand, Michael decided to extend this statement to a broader scale, becoming the brave advocate who gave voice to all the voiceless people who were victims of racism, prejudice, ignorance in all their nuances and degrees.

Moreover, as Michael responded to the critiques received for the straightforward and sharp lyrics during a press release for the New York Times in 1996 " The song, in fact, is about the pain of prejudice and hate and is a way to draw attention to social and political problems. I am the voice of the accused and the attacked. I am the voice of everyone. I am the skinhead, I am the Jew, I am the black man, I am the white man. I am not the one who was attacking. It is about the injustices to young people and how the system can wrongfully accuse them. I am angry and outraged that I could be so misinterpreted." He was the voice of the angry and outraged voiceless.

To conclude, They Don’t Care About Us with its first-person narration, the refrain, and the two iconic music videos, the socially and politically challenging lyrics and message, relates to the problems minorities face every day. They don’t really care about us means they, the society, privileged white people, the governments, do not care about the minorities, about the voiceless who have been abused, oppressed, robbed of their rights. They don’t really care about the people. The challenging lyrics and footages in the prison version offer us a chance to reflect on the importance of these topics. Not to mention the actuality of the song, which is remarkably accurate and relatable to the modern world and times we are living in. This artistic output is the greatest, most compelling and influential statement against every injustice perpetrated against all human mankind, and will forever be part of Michael's and the world's legacy. Therefore, the questions my reflection generated are: is this the world we want to live in? Are these the world and the society we want our children to grow up into? Is this the world without prejudice, ignorance, abuse, oppression, no equality, and equity we want for ourselves? And for the white folks like me: are we using our privilege wisely, to uplift, amplify the voices, the needs and wants of our brothers and sisters who are part of minorities and are facing some serious major struggles and discomforts? As Michael asked at the end of the short movie: “ I don’t know what lies ahead… Where will this spirit of struggle further manifest?”

Reflect deeply.

Thank you for your attention💜 Peace. G✨

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omfgtrump · 3 years

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Impeachement: The sequel

There is always prison. Even Mitch McConnell is banking on it. We will get to his Emmy winning performance at the impeachment trial in short order. But before we do, let’s take a look at the trial.

The house managers did a great job, but I believe they posed the wrong question. Instead of focusing on “inciting an insurrection,” which The Don was guilty of, they should have impeached him with these words from the constitution: “I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic…”

Their case would have been simpler and made it more difficult for the Republicans to reject. (Though it probably wouldn’t have changed the end result.)

They could have presented it in a few minutes. In fact, for simplicity’s sake, they could have just presented one thing to support their case:

When The Don knew that the vice president had been whisked away (from his phone call with Tommy Tuberville), and was watching in real time the chanting of “hang Mike Pence, the gallows for a hanging erected before his own eyes, what did the president do?

He incited them more with this tweet:

“Mike Pence didn’t have the courage to do what should have been done to protect our Country and our Constitution, giving States a chance to certify a corrected set of facts, not the fraudulent or inaccurate ones which they were asked to previously certify. USA demands the truth!”

Senators, look into your hearts and Mike Pence’s eyes in the photo on the screen and think: Can I vote to acquit the man who cravenly urged a mob on to kill his vice president?

Yes? Wow. Mikey, Mikey, is your life that cheap? After all the genuflecting at the feet of The Don, you became a traitor just like the rest of them and your fellow Republicans didn’t seem to care. If you were actually hung, would that have been enough to break the spell he has over your party? Would they still have acquitted him on a technicality?

Let’s try again.

Ok, Law and Order Party. Please turn your attention to the photo of slain police officer, Brian Sicknick and say out loud: “Blue Lives Matter.” In your hearts, can you vote to acquit?

Yes? So now repeat after me: “Blue Lives don’t matter. Blue Lives don’t mater.”

If you wanted to hammer the nail further you mention that the Don watched it all on TV with glee.

When implored by Ivanka, Chris Christie and others to intervene, to say something to put an end to the madness, he ignored them and probably asked for more ketchup for his burger and another Coke.

When Mayor Muriel Bowser of Washington made a formal request for assistance in a phone call with the Army secretary, Ryan D. McCarthy. At 1:49 p.m., as the Capitol Police asked Pentagon officials for help from the National Guard, Mr. Trump tweeted a video of his incendiary rally speech.

When Kevin McCarthy, Minority Leader of the House, implored him to do something to calm things he said:

“Well, Kevin, I guess these people are more upset about the election than you are,” he said.

And to add a cherry on top they could have used The Don’s final words to the rioters:

“Go home. We love you. You’re very special.”

Say what? “We love you? You’re very special? Tell that to the family of officer Sicknick. Tell them how special these people were who were acting on your behalf and murdered this police officer and injured more than 100 others. BTW, have you even sent your condolences to the family? Do you even think about it for one minute?

And what about a second cherry-on-top from his last communication, five hours after the insurgency began?

“These are the things and events that happen when a sacred landslide election victory is so unceremoniously & viciously stripped away from great patriots who have been badly & unfairly treated for so long. Go home with love & in peace. Remember this day forever!”

The only thing missing from this was “all of you patriots are entitled to two free nights at Mar-a-Lago for a big reunion bash.”

But that’s the thing. The Don would never do that because he actually despises and has disdain for the very people he has built his brand on. They would desecrate his property. To him, like those in the military, these people are losers and lowlifes. They have been, and will continue to be, just a means to an end to his desire for adoration and power.

Now let’s circle back to the “Grim Reaper,” whose performance as a morally outraged politician was so extraordinary it made me wretch. He is nominated for a special Emmy for playing a politician pretending to give a shit when he couldn’t care less.

In a cynical display of ‘now you see it, now you don’t’, McConnell, who refused to call the Senate back into session to hold the trial while Mr. Trump was still in office, argued that he could not be convicted once he no longer was in office. In other words, once he made the decision to delay the trial until The Don was out of office, he had already created an escape hatch for himself and his cronies despite the fact that there was legal precedent for the trial.

After acquitting, McConnell went to the podium and delivered a blistering analysis of The Don’s actions.

“There’s no question — none — that President Trump is practically and morally responsible for provoking the events of the day. No question about it.”

“The leader of the free world cannot spend weeks thundering that shadowy forces are stealing our country and then feign surprise when people believe him and do reckless things.”

“Whatever reaction he says he meant to produce by that afternoon, we know he was watching the same live television as the rest of us. A mob was assaulting the Capitol in his name. These criminals were carrying his banners, hanging his flags and screaming their loyalty to him.”

He added: “He did not do his job. He did not take steps so federal law could be faithfully executed and order restored. No, instead, according to public reports, he watched television happily — happily — as the chaos unfolded.”

And then the great pivot:

“We have no power to convict and disqualify a former officeholder who is now a private citizen.”

Some are praising McConnell for blasting The Don even though he didn’t vote to convict. At lest he finally spoke the truth about The Don. To this I say: Fuck that noise!

McConnell is a spineless, immoral sleaze bag. The Don incited the riot and was derelict in his duty to protect, but you allowed him to promulgate the “Big Lie” (that he won the election) for so long, that he was able to stir his troops into believing that the election was stolen. So despite your political move to express outrage, you and your Republican cronies bare responsibility for the insurrection. You as their leader bare the most. You are a national disgrace and will be remembered as a man who colluded with a would be demagogue for four years. You fed the monster who became more and more bloated with his power. You allowed his behavior to go unchecked for political expediency and your intoxication with your own power. You have let our country down and contributed to the madness we lived through for four years. You are a coward. History will remember you for this and it won’t be fondly!

I end as I started: There is always prison.

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#IFTTT #WordPress #trump #politics #potus #capital hill #washington dc #white house #america #usa

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therainbowwillow · 3 years

Text

Previous part: https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640627005428318208/therainbowwillow

Part 9!

Premise/last time on this Hadestown AU: Challenged by the Fates, Hermes scrambles onto the train out of Hadestown just in time. Eurydice and Apollo treat Orpheus’s wounds. Hyacinthus takes a nap. Persephone considers filing for divorce. Achilles and Patroclus silently brood over the fact that they’re sharing a train car with Apollo, who indirectly (okay, not that indirectly) murdered them during the Trojan war. Dionysus encourages his mother to please divorce his homicidal father already. Thanatos and Hypnos flee Hadestown on foot. Hades hides to avoid the riots (that he totally caused by trying to kill Orpheus, this is his fault.)

(can you tell writing a synopsis is sometimes my favorite part of this process? I’m a first time fanfic writer, okay? Let me have this!)

—————————————

Hades slides the last lock into place and begins to barricade his bedroom doors. Being walled up in his living quarters, he thinks, does not look good for his image. Then again... what image does he have left to preserve?

He tries not to remember the pain and terror in Orpheus’s eyes. He was helpless. He hadn’t struggled, only given a desperate plea for his life.

Hades knew Orpheus had escaped. He’d watched Hermes from his tower, as he’d wrapped the wounded poet in his coat and carried the boy away from his confinement.

Hades had been given a choice when the boy arrived: appease the workers by letting Orpheus flee or kill the boy and appear strong. He’d taken the middle route. His shades had no respect for him any longer. Now, they pounded at his bedroom door, chanting Orpheus’s name.

Thanatos had been right, of course. He was weak. Foolish. Everything was far out of Hades’s reach now. Persephone would find her mother. As much alcohol as it might take, she was strong; she’d fight the bindings of the food of the dead. She would not return to him now. Orpheus would survive. Counterintuitively, Hades finds himself hoping the boy had made it out safely. Half of him prays that Orpheus will recover and sing the world back into tune. He’ll never get to see it, Hades realizes. Orpheus’s springtime will be lost on the underworld. Nothing will change. Hadestown will never again see flowers bloom. Eventually, the boy’s song will be forgotten by the dead as the Lethe again took its hold. Orpheus and Eurydice’s persistence may well earn them a seat among the gods. They’d never again return to his halls. All Hades has is his kingdom. And he must keep his grip. He will keep his grip. He always has.

The ground trembles. Another mine collapsed or production line blown sky high, he knows. Hades shuffles through his wife’s dresser, preparing to add it to the barricade. He finds a bottle of wine in the bottom drawer with a note attatched. ‘For when I see you again, Seph!’ it reads, ‘Much love, Dionysus.’ Hades slams the bottleneck against the dresser. It shatters to bits. He pours the wine into his mouth and swallows. It reminds him of the few sweet springtimes he’d spent up above. He finishes the bottle.

—————————————

“Strong enough?” Hermes asks, handing Apollo a bottle of morphine.

“Should be. I’ll give him a dose. It’ll knock him out long enough for me to stabilize his condition. Eurydice, distract him for a second.”

“Hey, Orpheus,” she says. “When we get married-”

“We’re getting married?”

She smiles. “Oh, yes. Anyway, when we get married, you get to help me make the bouquet. And, I was thinking, we could write a nice little poem on the wedding invitations.”

“What would it say?” He asks.

“That’s your job!” She laughs.

“What would you write?”

“I dunno! ‘Roses are red, our love is true, we’re getting married to prove it to you!’”

He grins. “That’s terrible.”

“I told you! I’m not a poet.”

“Okay, so I’ll write the invitations,” he says.

“Let’s hold the ceremony outside. Maybe during cherry blossom?”

“Heads up, Eurydice, he’ll be out of it soon,” Apollo warns her.

Eurydice nods and continues, “Who should we invite?”

“Hermes and Persephone.”

“How about me?” Apollo asks.

“Oh yeah. And Hyacinthus too. Everyone we know can come! We’ll have wine for Seph and I’ll drink grape juice!”

Eurydice laughs. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“A lot,” he says. “A lot a lot.”

“More.”

“All the way to the stars?” He guesses.

“Past the stars and all the way back,” Eurydice corrects him.

His breathing steadies a little. “Can I sleep now?” He asks.

“Yes,” Apollo responds.

“When you wake up,” Eurydice says, “I’ll be right here. We’ll get married during cherry blossom once you’re feeling better and then you’ll teach me how to play the lyre.”

“Tch. Will you actually listen this time?” His words are slurred slightly by the medicine.

“I promise I will.”

“And you won’t try to throw my lyre into the fireplace?”

“I didn’t- okay. No, I won’t.”

“Good. Eurydice, I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get some sleep.”

He closes his eyes and his breathing steadies. Eurydice sinks back in her chair. “He’ll be alright?” she asks.

“Should be.” Apollo winces. “Give me a dose of that morphine or get this arrow out of my ankle, would you?”

“I’ll get Patroclus,” Hermes replies.

He returns a moment later with Achilles and Patroclus in tow. “Well,” Achilles remarks, “looks like karma caught up to you.”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “I saved the kid, now do me a favor and shut it.”

“Fine. Lay down.”

“What, on the floor? I don’t get a bed?”

“Yes, on the floor,” Patroclus snaps. “I’m not dragging you around.”

“Okay, okay.” Apollo puts his hands up in defeat and lowers himself to the ground.

“Listen, your lover boy’s asleep. So how do you want to do this?”

“Quietly,” Apollo says through gritted teeth.

“Alright.” Patroclus stuffs a scrap of cloth into Apollo’s mouth. “Bite this.”

He does. Patroclus snaps the arrow shaft. Apollo clenches his fists.

“Sorry,” Patroclus mutters, unapologetically.

“Mmmph.” Apollo attempts to reply through the cloth.

He yanks the arrow out. Apollo gives a muffled cry of pain. “Alright, there you go. A bandage and you should be fine.”

He spits out the rag. “You’re not even going to bandage it yourself?”

“No. Apollo, you guided a spear through my stomach and an arrow through Achilles’s foot. You let us bleed to death surrounded by the bodies of our fallen friends. Deal with it yourself or find a doctor whose life you didn’t end.”

Apollo stares up at the ceiling. “Take care of Hyacinthus, would you?”

“That I will,” Patroclus replies, honestly. “He’s doing well. He’ll want to see you when the pain meds wear off. So here.” He tosses Apollo a roll of bandages. “I’ll get you when he wakes.”

Hermes kneels at Apollo’s side. “You want a hand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, breathless. “That’d be nice.”

“Thank you. For helping with Orpheus. I know you would’ve liked to see Hyacinthus,” Hermes says.

Apollo half-smiles. “Orpheus is my son too. He’s a good kid, Hermes. You raised him well.”

“He admired you, Apollo. He cherished your visits.”

“I should’ve come more often,” he mutters.

“You were grieving,” Hermes reminds him. “Orpheus knows how it is. He never blamed you.”

“I’ll come by more often once this is all over. I’d like to promise him that.”

“He’d appreciate it, Apollo,” Hermes tells him.

——————————————

“Persephone?” The door opens. She turns in her seat.

“Dionysus. Come sit.” He takes a seat beside her. “What now?” she asks softly.

“You stay with me, Persephone. Demeter and I will take care of you.”

She shakes her head. “I’m bound to that place.”

“You know Demeter would find a way around it. She’d bribe Zeus. Whatever it takes, mama.”

“Remind me this, son. What did I see in that man?” She asks in a low tone.

“He was kind. Reliable. He always treated me well as a boy. Gave me a normal life. As normal as the underworld gets, that is,” Dionysus reminisces.

“What changed? What broke inside of him for him to put a knife through Orpheus? Send shades to hunt us? I cannot say that he is not the man I know, though. I’ve seen this for years.”

“I...” he pauses. “I don’t know.”

“I feared for you, Dionysus. I sent you away to keep you out of his grasp. I stayed longer winters to distract him. It wears on me, even now.”

“Mother, I can handle myself.”

“Not against Hades. I will not have you put yourself on the line for me, son,” she tells him, sharply.

“I don’t want you going back there, Persephone!” he pleads.

She shakes her head. “Hades will contact his brother. Zeus has no pity for a woman’s whining. Hades will keep his kingdom, and he will keep his wife.”

“Mother-”

She cuts him off. “Be realistic. We must work out a reasonable agreement. We need to protect Orpheus, first and foremost. If he is not protected by my contract, then I will not take it. I will plead for shorter months stuck down there, but I would hope for very little. You will swear to me that you will follow the rules laid out for us, regardless of how harsh they may be.”

“I will not,” he says.

“This isn’t up for debate. Hades owns me. He owns everything that touches his foresaken realm. I am his queen; I am his prisoner.”

“I’m not letting him have you!”

“I’m not giving you a choice, Dionysus. I bound myself to him. I cannot change the past. All we can do is try, my son.”

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites

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thebrokenblackman · 3 years

Text

KRS-One - “Ah Yeah!” Critical Analysis by Hakeem Ture

“If hip hop has the power to corrupt young minds, it also has the ability to uplift them.” - KRS-One

The musician is a natural master of vibration and emotion. Many musicians have been able to make us dance. Many have been able to draw on relatability because nobody is the only person like them in the world. Perhaps some have even made us cry or provided soundtracks for intimate moments. Only few musicians have taken on the task of socially and historically educating their listeners through their music.

Even fewer have been able to combine the mastery of teaching with mastery of rhythm. Those who do this become legends like; Nate King Cole, B.B. King, Nina Simone, Bob Marley, Chaka Khan and Fela Kuti’ and their influence lives throughout generations. In 1995 Krs-One released a self-titled album that came in the sunset of his reign. His career would mirror the sepia filter of the album cover.

This album had dominant auras of militancy and rebellion that Krs-One fans had not heard since Boogie Down Productions - Criminal Minded. Krs-One was able to both appease his day one fans and gain the younger generation of Hip Hoppers who were listening to artists such as: Nas, Redman,Das Efx, Tupac, and A Tribe Called Quest. The message and timing of this album may have been divine. Let us look at the historical events of the year(s) Krs-One was creating this album in. In 1994, the United States congress had successfully completed the first step of becoming fascist by Voting to Censure Dr. Khalid Muhammad, National Advisor of the Nation of Islam. Bill Clinton and Joe Biden led Democrats to pass the The Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act and effectively fueled the prison industrial complex. South Africa held it first election since intergrating with the apartheid government and Invisble Man author Ralph Ellison had passed. Hip Hop was the soul vehicle of expression to protest the genocide that had been going on and KRS One was one of its leaders. The youth looked toward this leader to deliver an album reflective of their mindstate and he delivered.

Imperative of a classic work of musical art, this album is composed of multiple great songs, but in my opinion the cornerstone song of the album is undeniably “Ah Yeah”. In this song he masterfully uses three 16 bar verses to empower and mobilize his listener much in the same way Dr. Khalid Muhammad did. This track starts with the establishment of an a capella warcry. He writes in response to western power’s having done such an incredible job destroying the rebel instinct that Afrikan people possess by publicly shaming our leaders and traditions. These lyrics are him trying to raise the psyche of a fallen warrior class and put revolt back in its holy place as opposed to the negative connotation that has been applied by the white power structure. He essentially made a chant-like hook with an underlying message of “This is your enemy, This is how to handle him, and THIS is okay”. The aim focuses on redirecting the accumulated anger of a traduced peoples that is often mistargeted toward self so that we may be collectively progresssive.

He bellows:

“Ah yeah, that's whatcha say when you see a devil down

Ah yeah, that's whatcha say when you take the devil's crown

Ah yeah, stay alive all things will change around

Ah yeah, what? Ah yeah!”

Then comes the establishment of an eerie bass line. This song structure is familiar to fans of his earlier work. It was what they were longing for. For a few albums he took the perspective of being in the classroom or office as opposed to in the battlefield with his men. He had returned to fight with us like Haile Selassie. Immediately he establishes a dual level of respect. One with his men and one with his deterrent.

“So here I go kickin' science in ninety-five

I be illin', parental discretion is advised still

Don't call me nigga, this MC goes for his

Call me God, cause that's what the black man is

Roamin' through the forest as the hardest lyrical artist

Black women you are not a bitch you're a Goddess

Let it be known, you can lean on KRS-One

Like a wall cause I'm hard, I represent God”

In the first 2 bars of the preceding excerption he lets us know he intends to drop some knowledge, but it will not be filtered for political correctness or comfortability. The following 2 bars he establishes both a tone of encounterment and identity. Then he goes on to explain from which direction he came much like Saint Maurice's appearance upon the plagued people of Europe to let them know he has navigated and he is no spook. He goes on to talk to his listener and the most important of them, the women.

In 1994, fresh off a press tour on which she gained popularity from criticizing Bill Clinton, Sister Souljah published her first book that was heralded by black scholars and youth alike entitled No Disrespect. Her Influence was cemented in the minds of black youth and played a huge role in raising generational consciousness by dealing with topics like “how the black woman is viewed by black men” and “the black woman’s role in repairing the black family structure”. She had solely been awarded leadership duties by a disregarded demographic in a scapegoated culture and was handling it with the grace of Misty Copeland. Her and the women she raised to consciousness needed the camaraderie of Krs One. He goes on to sell to himself:

“Wack MC's have one style: gun buck

But when you say, "Let's buck for revolution"

They shut the fuck up, can't get with it

Down to start a riot in a minute

You'll hear so many Bowe-Bowe-Bowe, you think I'm Riddick

While other MC's are talkin' bout up with hope down with dope

I'll have a devil in my infrared scope,”

In the first five bars he addresses the enemies of the oppressed people within the oppressed people. These “Wack MC’s” are the Uncle Toms’ and Judas of the rebellious, afro-centric movement that is Hip-Hop. He says they lack discipline and do not have the self awareness to rescue themselves. In comparison with himself who uses that energy toward an ultimate goal, Independence through revolution. In the succeeding excerption KRS briefly displays the cognitive processing and coping mechanism of a warrior:

“WOY

That's for calling my father a boy and, klak, klak, klak

That's for putting scars on my mother's back, BO

That's for calling my sister a ho, and for you

Buck, buck, buck cause I don't give a motherfuck

Remember the whip, remember the chant

Remember the rope and

You black people still thinkin' about voting?

Every President we ever had lied!

You know, I'm kinda glad Nixon died.”

Throughout the preceding excerption KRS skillfully uses onomatopoeias to create a setting for his listener. There is a battle going on. Shells casings are falling to the ground and bullets are flying from high caliber weapons. He is in the thick of it and then an enemy approaches him. He musters the courage to engage with his assailant by remembering the suffrage the morals of his enemies’ elected nation-state has caused his ancestors. Then he rejoices in the death of one of their leaders, Richard Nixon.

In the second verse Krs-One addresses an age-old topic of discussion for spiritual people that was brought forth to the Afrikans of today by Noble Drew Ali, “The Prophetic Soul”. This belief dates back to ancient Buddhism in the caves of Asia taught to us by Dr. Ivan Van Sertima in his book “African Presence in Early Asia”. This belief entails that all the prophets of the world including but not limted to; Adam, Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad, and himself were the same soul being reborn until its mission is completed.” Krs-One puts himself and a couple others in this divine line of being.

“This is not the first time I came to the planet

concern every time I come, only a few could understand it

I came as Isis, my words they tried to ban it

I came as Moses, they couldn't follow my Commandments

I came as Solomon, to a people that was lost

I came as Jesus, but they nailed me to a cross

I came as Harriet Tubman, I put the truth to Sojourner

Other times, I had to come as Nat Turner

They tried to burn me, lynch me and starve me

So I had to come back as Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley

They tried to harm me, I used to be Malcolm X

Now I'm on the planet as the one called KRS

Kickin' the metaphysical, spiritual, tryin' to like

Get with you, showin' you, you are invincible

The Black Panther is the black answer for real

In my spiritual form, I turn into Bobby Seale

On the wheels of steel, my spirit flies away

And enters into Kwame Ture”

In the beginning of the third verse he briefly continues the theme of possessing The Prophetic Soul but now, he does not speak from a perspective of being the people who had the soul. He speaks from the perspective of the soul. This soul is traveling and looking for a host. In the first two bars he speaks of how he was able to travel without detection from the government’s surveillance. Then, he goes on to finally choose a host that is relevant to the demographic of people it intends to reach. This host is stylish and his image is relatable, so the people will be receptive of his message through familiarity.

“In the streets there is no EQ, no di-do-di-do-di-do

So I grab the air and speak through the code

The devil cannot see through as I unload

Into another cerebellum

Then I can tell em, because my vibes go through denim

And leather whatever, however, I'm still rockin”

After the prophetic soul latches on to the host, KRS-One, it manifests purpose with grassroot organization and motivational speaking. Being KRS-One founded the Stop the Violence Movement in 1988 and was solely responsible for mobilizing many of the most influential Hip Hoppers against Gang Violence and Culture he had plenty of knowledge to give on the topic.

“We used to pick cotton, now we pick up cotton when we shoppin'

Have you forgotten why we buildin' in a cypher

Yo hear me kid, government is building in a pyramid

The son of God is brighter than the son of man

The spirit is, check your dollar bill G, here it is

We got no time for fancy mathematics

Your mental frequency frequently pickin' up static

Makin' you a naked body, addict and it's democratic

They press auto, and you kill it with an automatic”

Too often credit for the creation and establishment of a culture or society is given to one person as opposed to being evenly distributed amongst the support structure. How many times have you been taught the legacy of all the men that signed the declaration of independence? It is likely that you’ve only been taught about Thomos Jefferson. Just like there would be no Fidel Castro without the parallel influences of Che Guevara and Camilo Ceinfuegos there would be no Hip-Hop without KRS ONE. Perhaps without his tenacity, passion, and will it would have been infiltrated and exploited before it reached its full maturity. If that would have happened America would not have its current number one export. In his prime most consumers who listened to his message and gazed upon his image said “OH NO!” from fear of what they could not understand. Today, we look at his legacy of art and effort and cant help ,but smile and yell “AH YEAH!”.

“If hip hop has the power to corrupt young minds, it also has the ability to uplift them.” - KRS-One

He bellows:

“Ah yeah, that's whatcha say when you see a devil down

Ah yeah, that's whatcha say when you take the devil's crown

Ah yeah, stay alive all things will change around

Ah yeah, what? Ah yeah!”

“So here I go kickin' science in ninety-five

I be illin', parental discretion is advised still

Don't call me nigga, this MC goes for his

Call me God, cause that's what the black man is

Roamin' through the forest as the hardest lyrical artist

Black women you are not a bitch you're a Goddess

Let it be known, you can lean on KRS-One

Like a wall cause I'm hard, I represent God”

“Wack MC's have one style: gun buck

But when you say, "Let's buck for revolution"

They shut the fuck up, can't get with it

Down to start a riot in a minute

You'll hear so many Bowe-Bowe-Bowe, you think I'm Riddick

While other MC's are talkin' bout up with hope down with dope

I'll have a devil in my infrared scope,”

“WOY

That's for calling my father a boy and, klak, klak, klak

That's for putting scars on my mother's back, BO

That's for calling my sister a ho, and for you

Buck, buck, buck cause I don't give a motherfuck

Remember the whip, remember the chant

Remember the rope and

You black people still thinkin' about voting?

Every President we ever had lied!

You know, I'm kinda glad Nixon died.”

“This is not the first time I came to the planet

concern every time I come, only a few could understand it

I came as Isis, my words they tried to ban it

I came as Moses, they couldn't follow my Commandments

I came as Solomon, to a people that was lost

I came as Jesus, but they nailed me to a cross

I came as Harriet Tubman, I put the truth to Sojourner

Other times, I had to come as Nat Turner

They tried to burn me, lynch me and starve me

So I had to come back as Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley

They tried to harm me, I used to be Malcolm X

Now I'm on the planet as the one called KRS

Kickin' the metaphysical, spiritual, tryin' to like

Get with you, showin' you, you are invincible

The Black Panther is the black answer for real

In my spiritual form, I turn into Bobby Seale

On the wheels of steel, my spirit flies away

And enters into Kwame Ture”

“In the streets there is no EQ, no di-do-di-do-di-do

So I grab the air and speak through the code

The devil cannot see through as I unload

Into another cerebellum

Then I can tell em, because my vibes go through denim

And leather whatever, however, I'm still rockin”

“We used to pick cotton, now we pick up cotton when we shoppin'

Have you forgotten why we buildin' in a cypher

Yo hear me kid, government is building in a pyramid

The son of God is brighter than the son of man

The spirit is, check your dollar bill G, here it is

We got no time for fancy mathematics

Your mental frequency frequently pickin' up static

Makin' you a naked body, addict and it's democratic

They press auto, and you kill it with an automatic”

#krs one #krs1 #hip hop #90shiphop #boombap #african art #African American Art #african history

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pinkjeanist · 4 years

Text

jordan’s rated list of old men she goes batshit over in no particular order except they’re all rated 10/10 and my commentary gets progressively more chaotic

- stay tuned for a list of jordan’s favorite NOT old men, coming to a dank river valley near you

1. piandao from avatar

- he’s only in 2 episodes but i would die for him. i think the fact that he left the military bc he wanted to and then beat the shit out of the HUNDRED FIRE NATION SOLDIERS that came to arrest him and then they never bothered him again is pretty hot. i also like how he saw sokka and immediately adopted him bc sokka’s actual dad can’t be around too much with the war going on. 10/10 would bone

2. dracula from castlevania

- im pretty sure hes like at least 500 years old so thats hot. i really like his facial hair. very old man of him. hes also the hottest bitch other than issac in castlevania so jot that down. 10/10 would let him suck my blood

3. shiro fujimoto from blue exorcist

- now i aint never been a christian but i’d give my right kidney to jesus if it meant i could bone shiro. im a slut for hot guys that read bible verses before they kill someone. hes also like. the ultimate dad. i love the way he interacts with his kids and how much he loves them. 10/10 would praise the lord

4. GIRAN!!!!!!!!!🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

- he might be the hottest guy on this list other than shiro (have you figured out my type yet?). i wanna sit on his lap while he blows smoke in my face. his confidence and sleazy attitude make me go COMPLETELY batshit. 10/10 would let him use me as an ashtray.

5. all might

- he was my first fav character in bnha and is still up there with giran and compress. im not usually into big stronk men but i would die for him. i would also die for small might, perhaps even more so than stronk might. 10/10 would worship him in either form

6. kotetsu kaburagi from tiger and bunny

- hes trying his best to be a good dad. i admire that in a man. hes also super fucking hot, especially when hes fighting, and ESPECIALLY when he and barnaby are fighting as a duo. i also really ship them but we arent gonna get into that. 10/10 would become a villain just to have him arrest and wife me

7. hakoda from atla

- hes a man i would actually sneak into the fire nation and defeat the fire lord over. hes such a good dad, and hes so hot, and i love him so much. 10/10 would help him start a prison riot bc he cant do it on his own.

8. keith flick from b the beginning

i cant remember anything about him but hes so hot. when i watched b the beginning, i tried to focus on the plot but now i cant remember anything else about it bc i was constantly staring at him. 10/10 would do something to him, idk what bc i cant remember anything about him

9. captain burns from fire force

- *keke palmer voice* imma be honest, i dont know who this man is! if i saw him walking down the street, i...i wouldnt know a thing. i havent seen fire force yet but i’d bone him so fast. you wouldnt even see me comin. im like sonic, on my way to bone a dude i dont know. im a speedster. im so fast. kachow. anyway big stronk hot man with grey hair makes my head spin all dizzy mmmmhmmmmm 10/10 would bone

10. mephisto from blue exorcist

- hes fucking crazy. i like that in a man. old demon man thats off his fuckin rocker and chants in german. whenever i see him mambo number 5 starts playing in my head. hes so hot that a school of demon killers let a demon be headmaster. yes thats canon. no im not accepting criticism of this take. 10/10 would worship satan if it meant i could bone him and his wack ass eyebrows

im gonna stop at ten. ive thirsted enough. now all of china knows im horny

#jordan is thirsty for old men

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b-else-writes · 3 years

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the tiger shark and the sun

New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender RebelCaptain fusion AU! Strap in folks, this chapter is L O N G.

Read on AO3 | Read from the start

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings

Rating: T

Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. When exiled firebender Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day Cassian, last southern waterbender, meets the Avatar, she seems just another obstacle in ending the War against the Fire Nation. An obstacle he would willingly remove. But as their paths keep crossing, and the twins discover that destiny and balance are more than they expect, Jyn and Cassian find that they are more alike than they ever thought possible.

Snippet under the cut! Read the full thing on AO3!

Jedha sat at the confluence of three different regions of the Earth Kingdom. It was large, full of domed buildings and squat homes, denser than anything most of the group had ever seen. Behind them was the triangular shape of the Holy Temple. Statues and relics to some highly specific local Spirit were everywhere, a white buffalo. Cloth hung from every available surface, providing canopies. Fire blasts and desolation riddled buildings, empty gaps where kyber had once shone. They walked quickly through the packed streets.

There were the locals: fair to brown skinned people with thick black hair like Bodhi, tan skinned folk with round faces and ink-black hair in elaborate braids, and fairer skinned people with inky hair and almond eyes. The explosion of greens, browns, yellows, and whites was a riot. Interspersed were robed and masked pilgrims, pale-skinned Fire Nation officials, and the unmistakable armour of Fire Nation soldiers. Wanted posters were plastered over the city: Saw Gerrera, Enfys Nest, the Kestrel, the Avatar, her and Bodhi, deserters, and still, yet more people. The sun was setting and people were still cooking, a heady scent in the air. Voices, shouting, chanting, passports and hands where I can see them, how had the Fire Nation not tamped down on this relentless energy?

It had been a long time since Jyn had been in a city – and she thought perhaps she understood the Fire Lord’s frustration. The city was relentless, it was a gravity that shifted the ground under your feet, that drew in from all around it, for good or ill. There were too many here to control. It was perfect for Saw Gerrera’s Partisans.

Soon, Bodhi drew them towards a plain home in a market area. He rapped a quiet code on the back door. A brown-skinned older woman with greying hair opened the door. She gasped. Then she threw her arms around Bodhi. “Oh, my son,” she said, “My son.”

Bodhi sobbed into her dress. She pressed their foreheads together. They breathed as though they were each becoming part of one another. Bodhi kissed both her palms. Wet-eyed, she ushered them inside. Bodhi and his mother were speaking to each other in one of Jedha’s many languages. She heard her name. Then the older woman turned to them. “My name is Tana Rook,” she said, “Are you here, to save Jedha, Avatar?”

The twins looked at one another. “No, that is – I’m sorry, we -”

She saw Cassian’s haggrd face as he dropped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We have to meet with Saw, Madam. It’s critical to ending the War.”

They discussed heatedly as Tana pursed her lips. “I’ve never interacted with Saw. Everyone who is still left in Jedha is a rebel in their own way but I don’t -” She broke off, shaking her head. “But I know a girl who runs mercy missions for rebel cells. Hedala Fardi. I know where she works. Tomorrow I can show you.”

“Thank you,” Jyn said.

Tana eyed her and then clucked her tongue. “Aditi! Hema!” Two little girls ran down the stairs. Bodhi regarded them with distant affection. It occurred to Jyn that they had been born long after he had left. She knew he had two other brothers. Working in mines somewhere. A great wave of affection for Bodhi swept over her. Jyn reached forward and squeezed his hand. Tana was instructing them to prepare what space there was for guests and show it to them. “Then I’ll need help to prepare dinner.”

Cassian and Leia immediately stepped towards her. Han and Luke started after the little girls before remembering themselves, and sheepishly joined them. Tana arched an eyebrow. “You certainly aren’t from around here. Erso will help me.”

Uncomfortable, Jyn trailed after her to the indoor kitchen and the wooden cookfire. Tana’s dark eyes watched her as she handed Jyn a cutting knife and a series of vegetables. “What is it?” Jyn asked bluntly.

“I’m trying to see what inspires such loyalty in my son, from someone like you.”

Jyn recoiled. It had always seemed to her, in those five long years, that it had been just the two of them, against the world. You abandoned me, Bodhi had said. It was more than the horse. Jyn said quickly, “What did you mean everyone is a rebel?”

Tana gave a hard smile. “The War is not just won by those on the frontlines, or the Avatar. It is won by the baker who hides the slaves in the store, the guardian who cooks extra for the starving family, the little children who warn of who is coming. And it is lost when those with power choose to do nothing. They will crush you, too.”

And then what, she had asked. And now what? She wanted to ask, anyone, Saw, her father, Bodhi, Cassian…

Tana’s eyes said, you know.

They ate flat bread with spinach and lentil. Jyn swallowed every bite even as she felt sick beneath Tana’s gaze. She was sharing a room, more closet, with the Avatar - Leia. The other woman unrolled her sleeping mat, while Jyn settled herself down on a worn rug. What would have become of her if she had been captured? The next Avatar would be born in Fire, but that was not enough to guarantee her loyalty to the Fire Lord alone. Jyn tried to imagine her growing old in a prison in the Fire Nation, instead of killed outright. “My brother said you saved his life from Tarkin. That’s why he decided to trust you.”

Her tone was neutral. Jyn gave a non-commital shrug. It had not been a selfless decision. As she placed her satchel down as a pillow, the other woman continued.

“Thank you.”

Jyn looked up. The Ava – Leia was looking at her, calculating. “Luke is a nice person,” she said. She flashed her teeth. The implication was clear. To her surprise, Leia continued, “Why did you run messages for Saw Gerrera?”

That paused her. Jyn debated. Then, “My father thought I would be above suspicion as a spy, since I was a child and a hostage.”

A thousand emotions flitted over Leia’s face. “I, we, all were cheated out of our childhoods, too.”

(Jyn loves her father)

“Are you going to kill me, when this is over?” Jyn asked.

“Are you going to hand me over?”

Jyn’s eyes flicked over to where she could hear Bodhi talking outside. She shook her head. Leia’s gaze stripped through her. Then, “No.”

“Why?”

“I think you’re scared,” Leia told her. Leia’s eyes fell on the opposite door, where the men were staying. Jyn stilled. “I think it’s very easy to lie down and let things happen,” she said. “It’s much harder to live for something. And I know who I am, whether I want to be or not. I’m the Avatar. And I’m better than that. I have to be.”

She lay down, trustingly, and said no more. Jyn reached upwards, remembered the necklace was gone. She let her hand drop softly to her side.

#rebelcaptain #dailyrebelcaptain #jyn x cassian #jyn erso #cassian andor #my fic #writing #au: atla #star wars #fanfic

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thinkbothways · 3 years

Text

Entry 02

2020 was without a doubt the most chaotic and dazing year of my adult life. To “unpack” my take I’ll have to organize this entry as well as possible, as it’s so easy to lose track of, or even establish a point.

Toilet-Paper-Gate

The toilet paper frenzy baffled me. This topic forces me to admit my most cynical understanding of humanity as a social entity. (For the sake of keeping this interesting I’ll be as honest as possible, but I must first say that this is not a reflection of my typical feeling towards us humans.)

It was early covid days and we were all learning about the impending threat of this virus. Slowly I saw more masks at the grocery store, the news reported it coming closer and closer to being a full global outbreak, and then I saw the toilet paper aisle at Kroger. What do I think happened? In a nutshell, people are greedy and will put themselves first when they feel threatened in any way. Hoarding TP was one way for people to create some sense of control in a situation where there really wasn’t any. I saw videos online of people literally fighting each other for the last TP roll at the store. The situation resembled a panic induced TP stock market crash. This was the first reaction to covid and it was bleak.

Covid is a situation that requires people to consider the impact their actions have on others and what happened? Totally selfish behavior. A problem was created for no reason but to bring a small sense of comfort and victory to a few.

I have fought to embrace my role as a member of society and to make compassion my default feeling towards others. Toilet-paper-gate challenged that. The pandemic had barely started and true colors were already being shown.

BLM protests, the news, the protests & privilege

This is a tough one to reflect on; it is so complex because it takes a specific experience to fully understand. An experience I can only observe. What I can do here is be as honest as possible about my personal experience; one I have never actually articulated. Here it goes:

For most of my life, I have been “asleep” in regards to the underlying racial tension that plagues our country. I was raised in a mostly white town/county in Massachusetts. The area I grew up was mostly upper-middle class and laughably peaceful. I road bikes with neighborhood kids, walked to school, and used my small allowance to buy soda at the old town market.

When I was probably around 7 or 8 years old my parents showed my sister and I the 1977 historical miniseries, “Roots.”

“Based on Alex Haley's family history. Kunta Kinte is sold into the slave trade after being abducted from his African village, and is taken to the United States. Kinte and his family observe notable events in American history, such as the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, slave uprisings and emancipation.” -wikipedia summary

I remember feeling utterly shocked by this series. Roots was my introduction to that part of our countries history. The horrifying imagery from the film is still seared into my memory. But as far as I knew, what the film depicted was only history. It was scary and evil, but nothing more than a thing of the past. For a young innocent mind like my own, it was inconceivable for that kind of evil to exist in modern times. In my world of nickelodeon, nintendo, and Harry Potter; racism just didn’t exist.

Up until I moved to Boston for college in 2010, at the age of 18, I really thought that racism was old news. I had never met a “racist” and I had never heard anyone say or do something racist. It was my understanding that everyone saw racism as despicable and it was pretty much abolished. In fact I still grapple with cognitive dissonance from that comfortable belief and coming to terms with the reality of our society.

In college I made friends of all different backgrounds. I studied fine art and saw films, paintings, performances, and every kind of subversive form of expression imaginable. I learned about important topics like “institutionalized racism” and the prison industrial complex. As I matured I noticed the racist undertones in our media. But I had not connected with the topic on an empathetic level. It seemed totally separate from my small world. At an art school you really don’t meet people that are prejudice. At least I didn’t. So to me it was a real, serious issue but it didn’t hit close enough to home to have a deep impact on my life.

Since then I’ve lived a tumultuous and exciting life that basically centered around me. I did my best to be kind and learn all I could about our world and my reality was ultimately defined by me.

The summer of 2020 was an awakening. Covid had flipped everything upside down. I was confined to my tiny downtown Columbus apartment for months.

George Floyd was killed.

When the news broke I found the whole thing sad and disturbing. But I was still asleep. The protests began and the movement was spreading throughout the country. Suddenly the movement erupted literally outside of my window. I heard the sounds and watched as a crowd of people gathered on Broad St, rapidly growing in size and getting increasingly louder. Police in riot gear lined up in front of them, marching towards them in attempt to intimidate. Pretty soon I had half of my body hanging out of the window to get a close look. The crowd chanted and pushed back on the police. They went back and forth, seeming to challenge each other to make a move. The police made the first move. Streams of powerful mace sprayed the crowd in a brown mist. Suddenly I was coughing and choking. I had never experienced mace before, nor any real violence. I think that is the moment a part of me woke up.

I think that, like in the toilet paper frenzy, people are more self centered than they know or would ever admit. For a movement to really work, it has to also have a direct effect on uninvolved individuals. The BLM protests did that. I had inadvertently gotten involved just by poking my head out of my window. That moment induced in me a new empathy. I was exposed to the smallest amount of mace and was choking and my eyes were burning. I literally cannot imagine how it would feel to be maced in the face by a police officer, but I can now understand how truly fucked up it must have been.

I think that it is in our nature to empathize with things we see ourselves in. Things that validate us and our existence. I think that an individual’s reception of art is an example of this experience. We like art that we see ourselves in. Whether it is a painting that shows a certain form of pain, or a song that describes a form of love we’ve experienced.

I think that, as the majority, white people don’t automatically see themselves in other white people. But I can surmise that minorities have that innate empathy towards each other.

From my apartment window I saw that. I imagine that, for black Americans, seeing George Floyd murdered symbolized their own murder.

I try to understand, but I can only do so within the limitations of my own experience and empathy.

I’ll never know what it’s like to be black in America. The closest I’ve gotten to that experience was breathing in a small amount of mace from across the street. Mace that wasn’t even intended for my lungs. That is my privilege. It’s something that is extremely difficult to wrap my head around.

What do I do?

With the pandemic still dominating basically everything, it’s difficult to come up with ideas. I feel more detached from society than ever before. To be honest, I don’t really know what I can do. I think we’re all kind of stuck watching the world through our TV and window. Our political climate is more volatile than ever and it’s got our attention by the balls.

Imagining a post-covid world feels like fiction. For now my plan is to listen to learn. I have a feeling that this class will be enlightening.

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daddysfangirls-marvel · 4 years

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Protest, Riots, Looting, & Trump

George Floyd

I’ve been thinking of what to say for the last few days and every time that I think I finally know what to say but then something new pops and I’m lost for words again. But I think I got it this time.

Not just America but the entire world was triggered by the death of George Floyd because police brutality is not just an American thing it’s a global thing. But the reason the entire world was triggered by this one death because there was a 10 minute video and in that video everyone got to watch as a man died, everyone watched as a grown man cried for his mama, everyone watched as a man took his final breath, everyone watched as a police officer casually put his knee on his fucking neck and killed him. And then got to learn that police officer ,Derek Chauvin, say his fucking name and don’t forget it, got to go home and kiss his wife while George body was sent to the morgue and his family got to grieve over home.

Everyone was fucking triggered by the first response after this incident was “we’ll investigate” like no bitch there is no need to investigate the shit is on camera you know what he did, we all saw what he did, arrest the cunt. If this was any other person, not an officer of the law, they would have immediately been arrest for murder and sent to prison they wouldn’t have got the opportunity to go home. There would have still been an investigation but while his ass was sitting in prison.

This was a fucked up situation and how they responded to the situation is why what’s happening now it happening.

Protest

The Protest were peaceful. The street George Floyd died on was nothing but peaceful. There’s sitting, chanting, marching, talking, laying. All the peaceful protest in the book have been used. And the police response to that was violence tazors, teargas, rubber bullet, pepper spray, flash grenades', batons, hoses, dogs, cars. I literally just watched a video of a police curser mowing through a group of protestors. These protestors are protesting peacefully they aren’t throwing anything they aren’t starting violence, they aren’t provoking violence. They are being peaceful the worse thing they are doing is screaming maybe stopping a bit of traffic, I’m sure they can take another routine.

Everything was peaceful then the police got involved, again, and peace went out the fucking window.

Riots

I got two things to say: 1) Don’t complain about the violent protest when you didn’t listen to the peaceful ones 2) don’t be surprise about the violent response when you provoked it.

If you’re shooting rubber bullet, pepper spray, and teargas in peoples face then damn straight people are going to get pissed. They were peaceful for the longest but the police responded with violence so now everyone is throwing up hands ready to fuck shit up. I’m going to scream, cry, stomp, kick, break shit, and basically throw the biggest tantrum and until someone starts fucking listening.

I believe this is similar to parenting. When your child throws a tantrum you asked them what the wrong and then you solve that problem and boom they stop crying, or at least that’s what a good parent does. The police in this case are the bad parent, the child throws a tantrum and what to they do they beat that child which only makes the child cry harder and harder and eventually the problem will be some what solved but by that time they’ve lost all trust and respect for that parent.

We are the children the government is the parent. America you’ve been through four children (Centuries) and you still don’t know what you’re doing, like what the fuck.

I’d also like to point out that the police are provoking and initiating the violence. They are leaving stacks of bricks and staged in the middle of street where known protest are suppose to be held, They are ‘blending’ into to crowds ( no you’re not bitch we see you) starting fights, throwing things, vandalizing then blaming the protestors. Video has surfaced showing showing police setting fire and vandalizing their own police cursers. Then blaming protestor (like no bitch we got you on camera stop fucking lying).

What the police are doing is equivalent to shitting in your own pant then blaming the dog.

And they’re really fucking themselves over by shooting at and arresting the media the only people who could have spun the story in their favor. We all know how bias the media can be.

Everyone screams “ no justice, no peace” and that is what’s happening.

Looting

Did everyone forget we’re still in the middle of a pandemic and the majority of America is is still unemployed and only getting $1,200 a month to pay for their necessary essentials to live, and even now not everyone is getting that. And the other Majority is either working so called essential jobs for minimum wage or risking their life to nurse others back to their health with barely enough equipment (but you’ve got enough equipment to militarize the police?).

I don’t mind people looting I don’t fucking mind at all. Half the world is either on the brink of death or the edge or poverty. And the only people to blame now is the Government who responded slowly to the pandemic, offering little to no equipment to fight the virus, and then offering little to no financial help after locking down the country and successful unemploying 14.7 % of America ( 23 million people).

I don’t mind the stealing, I mind the leaving everything a mess and trashing the place as you go. That isn’t necessary just take what you need and go.

Trump

.......Fuck you.

I’ve got nothing else to say to that ....

#black lives matter #george floyd #protest #protestors #looting #riots #trump #my essay on the situation #police brutality #fuck the police #fuck the government #police cause the violence #I see you bitch #record and report #media #this is how i feel #my option #im speechless

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