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fishxx · 4 years

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Se Qing and the Naked Truth

February 24th, 2017

Below the rooftop of a Beijing building that shudders against a glaucous sky of factory moans is an unextraordinary office building. In it, perhaps on the sixth floor, sits a man in a suit at a desk. The phone on his desk rings. He probably picks it up. Maybe he shifts his weight in his seat, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. Maybe he texts his wife, tells her not to wait up, a client needs this or that document tonight.

It’s 11 degrees Celsius, and a pair of broad-boned feet rest on the ledge of the rooftop above the office building. The owner of the feet crouches over them, back bent round as if in a snail shell. He looks down to the street below, speckled with pedestrians bundled in scarves and cars blaring their horns. He thinks about what kind of people might be in the office building.

Seven months prior, he’d written in a series of diaries published online:

我总是能听到开枪的声音，开始的时候我有点害怕，时间久了，也就习惯了，那声

音也像有人在用槌子往我脑袋里钉钉子，好像有一个建筑工地，有人要盖摩天大楼

，盖了这么多年也没盖好，好多无家可归的人在我的脑袋里面哭啊闹啊，我要被吵

死了，他们不让我睡觉，也不让我出门。不睡觉也好，不出门也好，反正每天出门

前，穿上精心挑选好的衣服，照着镜子怎么看都觉得像要去参加自己的葬礼

I am always hearing gunshots. In the beginning it scared me a little, but over time I’ve

grown used to it. Someone has taken up a hammer and is knocking nails into my head,

it’s a construction site where someone is erecting a monstrous skyscraper, they’ve been

building it for years and it still isn’t done yet. The many homeless people in my head are

crying and jibing, they won’t let me sleep, won’t let me out the door. Staying home and

awake suits me just fine, because every day before heading out, after putting on the

clothes I’ve selected so meticulously for myself, and looking into the mirror, it looks to

me as if I’ve dressed to attend my own funeral.

It had always felt this way. For much of his life, since his childhood in a suburb of Changchun, the capital of China’s northeastern province of Jilin, Ren Hang had felt as if he was stumbling through a shadowy psychosis, a jammed film reel in disparate shades of gray.

Still, through the fog of voices and visions clouding his consciousness, in Ren’s pulsing circuit board of veins, he has always felt a deep connection to his family, to his hometown, to China.

And this has never wavered, even as he moved what seemed continents away to study marketing at 17, to live in the 4-to-a-room cramped quarters of Beijing’s university housing, high from the ground, amidst the haze and cancers and pollution of a city of chaos.

–

Fragmented light splashes across the bare thighs and torso of a man whose face cannot be seen. Each hand holds a disco ball, whose mosaicked faces refract the flash’s exposure. Between the disco balls, an erect penis. In another photograph, from the last series Ren published, two nude men sit curled atop one other on the ledge of a building, pasted against a jumbled, silver skyline. Their eyes meet the camera’s gaze steadily.

As Ren crouches on the windowsill, many of these photos are already on exhibition at Foam Fotografiemuseum in Amsterdam. Museum curator Mirjam Kooiman says of the work, “It’s visual poetry. It’s without limits.”

Ren is not without limits.

The man in the office shuffles a stack of paper, maybe. He sighs when the phone rings again. Perhaps he stares at the minute hand on the wall clock.

Ren, some days, can’t tell wall clock from whiskey.

He rises slowly in the frame of the window. Stands, looks. Maybe he is naked, like so many of his subjects are. Maybe, as always, he’s meticulously selected what he believes to be the proper attire for the occasion. In one month he’ll be 30. He is always hearing gunshots.

He steps into the air.

–

January 15th, 2010

我只会注意那些病态，结巴，物质，2维思维，单亲家庭的男孩。有一种男孩是我

在涨潮几个小时之后会打电话给他，听到他的声音我知道虽然我还在水底，但是我

还没有溺亡。

I will only pay attention to those morbid, stuttering, material, two-dimensional- thinking

boys in single-parent families. There is a kind of boy who calls me after hours of high

tide. Hearing his voice, I know that although I am still underwater, I am still not dead.

Huang Jiaqi has the broad, hopeful eyes of youth and lips full as if they’d been stung by honeybees.

It’s been nearly a year since he ran away from home, leaving his university entrance examinations unfinished, his childhood tucked somewhere in diaries with thick-pulp pages, like those still made by tired men in the Qinling mountains.

At only 18, Jiaqi is slight of build, and can often afford nothing more to eat than a box of fried rice with a cucumber for five yuan. He devours the meal shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover, beneath the opaque and oppressive Beijing sky.

Jiaqi and Ren sleep in a house with five or six others who pad silently through the space like apparitions, also hungry.

Ren takes Jiaqi to rooftops. He snaps his shutter.

And with friends pitted naked against mosaicked Moroccan-style floors, between red curtains backlit by pale light, in reeds and bushes, amidst the haze of cigarettes in dingy apartments, Ren snaps his shutter. Boys and boys, girls and boys, girls and more girls mingle, mangled in limb and wire and branch.

Ren graduates from his compact analogue camera to a $29 Minolta X-700 film model. He is not interested in digital cameras. He says, “I like film. It’s exciting to wait.”

His work is featured in small group shows in Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Nanjing.

Still, it seems no one in the art world knows Ren Hang’s name.

Jiaqi knows Ren Hang’s name, his mother’s name, the pock-marks of his left cheek, the sound of his heartbeat. In and out and in and out like the tide.

Jiaqi is Ren’s greatest muse, the reason for all things.

In eight years, an image of his face will splash the cover of an international art book published by Taschen and Ren Hang will be dead.

–

June 8th, 2008

写给周耀辉的信

每个人都是同性恋，每个人都是霸权者，每张脸都打上马赛克，每颗心都穿上防弹

衣。所有的亲吻都是一味毒药，所有的拥抱都是一个牢房。

Letter to Zhou Yaohui:

Everyone is homosexual. Everyone is a hegemonic person. Each face is marked with a

mosaic. Each heart is wearing a bulletproof vest. All the kisses are blind poisons, and all

the hugs are a jail cell.

Ren books his first solo show in 2010. It opens in July under the name “Eat Naked Lunch!” at Yuyintang, a cozy underground live house in Shanghai.

One photograph features a young woman lying on her back, her knees drawn against her bare chest. Between her legs sprouts a tangled bouquet of leaves and red wildflowers. No genitalia can be exposed in the photographs on display, though the work Ren produces is often explicit, featuring cigarettes with seething red heads protruding from vaginas and lilies with their stems tucked into anuses.

He begins to exhibit quietly in other galleries and live houses.

And gradually, like a moonflower unfurling, Ren Hang’s work begins to bloom in the art world. The influence of boundary-pushing erotic photographer Robert Mapplethorpe becomes increasingly apparent, yet curators and collectors insist they have never seen anything like it before.

They are eager to comment on its starkness, its unapologetic sensuality, its balance and color, and its function as a bold fuck you to the Chinese government.

–

In the spring of 2018, Chinese social media platform Weibo announces a three-month “cleanup” effort of its site, a censorship initiative launched on the heels of President Xi Jinping’s new cybersecurity jurisdiction. Weibo quietly begins removing all content related to homosexuality. In response, social media users storm the platform with the hashtag #Iamgaynotapervert.

Though homosexual sex was decriminalized in China in 1997, members of the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face prejudice and a dearth of political discourse about their rights. Today, gay marriage is still not legally recognized in a single continental Asian country.

The Dream of the Red Chamber, the Qing dynasty-era novel oft considered the peak of Chinese literature features a number of steamy same-sex relationships, and passages of dialogue brazen enough to make even the most indiscreet of patrons blush: “What’s it to you if we fuck asses! It’s not like we fucked your dad,” says one character. Hand scrolls of the same time period depict what appears to be recreational sex between male friends, one colorful panel portraying a man hiking up his robes, sitting upon another man’s lap while they enjoy a cup of tea.

So whence came the disdain for homosexuality in China? Anthropologists argue that the influence of Western socio-cultural norms and exposure to foreign media rendered the subject taboo, casting shame over same-same relationships as the perverted product of delinquency or mental disorders. Others assert that the filial values of traditional China that have dominated social life since the era of Confucius are to blame.

Ren says, “We hide the body in our culture,” because it is “a demoralization to show what they think should be private.” But instead of hiding, Ren rebels—worshipping both the sacred and the sacrilegious in the human form, twisting and contorting it into geometry and shadow.

Everything about Ren’s photography is charged with the electric current of sexuality. Much of it is homoerotic. Much of it is not. As one curator puts it, “There’s no hierarchy between the female and the male model in his work. It’s very telling about these tendencies of sexuality and queerness in Chinese society and how his generation is dealing with it.”

What does this one represent?, they ask. It must be a commentary on the political state of modern China, they whisper.

When asked whether his pictures are meant to inspire or incite a sexual liberation in China, Ren responds flatly, “A sexual liberation? No.” He says, “Nudes have always been around. We were born nude. So I don’t think there’s anything to revolutionize. I just photograph things in their more natural conditions.”

Ren Hang didn’t intend to become a photographer. He became one accidentally, toying with a compact camera in the ennui of his days at the Communication University of China, snapping photographs of his roommates here and there, often naked, scuttling to the showers from their room with four bunks like narrow coffins stacked atop one another.

Perhaps he didn’t intend to become a poet either, although after his death, Tim Crowley of the KWM Art Center in Beijing says, “He was, in a way, a poet who just happened to be a great photographer.”

At times, he writes:

"My cock"

When soft, it’s like a piece of meat

When hard, like a knife

I give you soft when you eat

Wait for you to eat hard

Use it to kill you

And, at other times:

"Real desperation"

I found

My breasts are bigger every day

My vagina is wider day-by-day

I can be ashamed

I can hold hundreds of rivers

My time is finally coming

But I also felt for the first time

What real despair is

I stand in the highest place

But I dare not take a look below

And as Ren Hang comes barreling into the world of contemporary Chinese art with images that incite gasps, fury, and arrests, he perplexes and enchants by straddling, unapologetically, the worlds of straightness and gayness, of kink and custom, of truth and deception, of masochism and tantrism, of woman and man.

–

May 9th, 2013

还有一次连续几天晚上我都觉得我的隔壁睡了两匹马，我能听到他们的喘息，还有

那种马的“突突”的鼻音，我每天回到家都小心翼翼地怕吵醒了他们，有一天我的朋

友来家里住，我跟他说，我的邻居是两匹马，他们一直在睡觉，你今晚还是不要洗

澡了，洗澡的声音太大了，我们说话走路也小声一点，不然会吵醒他们的，我已经

三天没洗澡了。我朋友说我疯了。我说，他们不是一般的马，他们会说人话，会躺

着睡觉。开始他以为我在开玩笑，但是我的表情越来越严肃，他说你真是疯了。后

来我也不知道该怎么跟他解释，他再也没有住过我家。

For a few days in a row, I felt like there were two horses sleeping next to each other. I

was very careful not to wake them. One day, my friend came to stay at my place. I told

him that my neighbors are two horses. They have been sleeping. You shouldn't take a

shower tonight. The bathing sound is too loud. We can only speak quietly. Or I will wake

them up. I haven't bathed for three days. My friend said I was crazy. I said that they are

not ordinary horses. They speak ‘people’ and lie down to sleep. At first he thought I was

joking, but my expression became more and more serious. He said that I was crazy.

Later, I didn't know how to explain to him. He never stayed at my house again.

In China, mental illness is like homosexuality. It exists. We don’t talk about it.

–

April 5th, 2016

我适应了逆来顺受，就像掷骰子，每次都掷到同一个点数，后来你发现，其实每一

个面的点数都是一样的。这个房间里我最熟悉的就是头顶的那块天花板，它就像我

的天空，白色的天空，没有任何阴晴变化的天空，我幻想过楼上的邻居就是住在天

上的神仙

I have adapted to obey just like a die that is rolled over and shows the same number every

time. In the end you realize that each side of the die is exactly the same. I am most

familiar with the ceiling from my room. It’s like my sky, a white sky. There is no

pleasant change in my sky. I imagine that my neighbor from upstairs is an angel living in

heaven with the gods.

“I love China, and I like shooting Chinese people,” Ren tells Vice Japan. “The more I’m limited by my country, the more I want my country to take me in and accept me for who I am and what I do.”

Ren is arrested a number of times—for shooting nude models in public places, where indecency is punishable by up to six months’ jail time, and, perhaps more scandalously, for self-publishing.

The Chinese government exercises nearly complete control over the press, and the country’s commitment to extensive media censorship is a well-documented phenomenon. Self-publishing, while technically legal, is a highly regulated procedure requiring an ISSN number and authors’ compliance with mandatory censorship policies.

Ren begins publishing his work underground in 2011 with the help of a friend who works in printing, knowing that he will never be able to publish his work otherwise, as the distribution of explicit photo or video content in China is illegal. The Communist Party once dubbed pornography “spiritual pollution.”

In 2015, in the vindictive heat of a Beijing summer, when asked about if he considers his pictures erotica, Ren tells a magazine intern, “I don’t like the word ‘erotica’ (in Chinese, qing se). I prefer ‘pornographic’ (se qing). I think it’s more direct.”

In China, a lifetime behind bars may await anyone who produces, disseminates, or sells “obscene materials.”

Naturally, Ren sets out to do all three.

Within five years, he produces 16 of his own zines and monographs, filled with glossy pages of penises urinating into corded telephone receivers, bodies twisted into fantastical shapes, vaginas splayed open like raw wounds. Many of the earliest of these books were sold underground in small shops whose owners knew his work.

A posterboy millennial, Ren has generated cult followings on his Weibo, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles. He publishes his photography freely on his website, alongside collections of poetry and an unassuming tab on the sidebar menu bar labelled “My Depression.”

His website is shut down unexpectedly. Once. Twice. Again. Law enforcement officers swarm Beijing galleries in wailing Volkswagen Passats, calling for the stop to his exhibitions. A man attends an exhibition and spits on one of the photographs.

He is arrested, but never imprisoned. While Ren operates as an anomaly, a dark creature inhabiting the fringes of Chinese society, authorities seem ambiguous about his status as a criminal. Is he a political rebel? Is he subverting the zhengfu?

They hesitate further because the mind of China is evolving. The economy, taking new shapes.

Chinese citizens born in the 1980s were taught that the country’s “pillar industries” included the automotive, construction, mechanical, electrical, and petrochemical sectors. But these categories are not static. In recent years, biotechnology, advanced energy, and IT have made their way to the forefront of the economy. These new pillars are China’s loyal heed to the call of science. Yet—more than anything—they’ve become the cherubim upholding the god that is capitalism to this country of atheists.

What is largely unexpected is the State Council’s 2009 announcement to make “culture” one of its pillar industries by 2020. In 2016, the Ministry of Finance earmarks nearly four and a half billion yuan in funding for cultural development initiatives. Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen are booming. The art world, rising.

“The market in China has greatly matured, and this has enabled us to present exciting, emerging artists from China and across the Asia-Pacific region,” says Alexander Montague-Sparey, the Artistic Director of Photofairs Shanghai.

It’s no wonder that authorities cannot put their thumb on Ren Hang with enough accuracy to stamp him out like a cigarette butt. Instead, they fumble with his burning edges.

–

May 19th, 2011

这几年你一直在寻找一张失踪的桌子，生活在一只倾塌的杯子里，逐步进化成愤怒

的杯底。这世界就是离你这么近，却摸不着，又看不清楚。就像一束光要和影子做

爱，那么难，我活得像一个影子。却只能再黑夜里出没。

In the past few years you have been looking for a missing table, living in a falling cup,

and gradually evolving into an angry cup. This world is so close to you, but it can't be

touched. Just like a beam of light to make love with a shadow, so difficult, I live like a

shadow. Only to haunt the night.

Ai WeiWei is China’s most beloved and most despised political dissident. The irreverent artist is known for designing the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics and for his controversial visual arts challenging the institutions of modern Chinese society. In 2014, he exhibits an entire collection featuring only photographs of his left hand pitted against the background of famous global monuments and religious buildings, his middle finger raised in bullish protest.

The state media deem him a “deviant and a plagiarist.” He’s arrested in April of 2011 and held for 81 days by authorities. Officials allude vaguely to his “economic crimes” without filing specific charges. His assistant, Wen Tao, mysteriously disappears and is never seen again.

In the consistent spirit of controversy, he champions the work of underground photographer Ren Hang.

In 2013, he curates an exhibition called “FUCK OFF II” at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, featuring the works of Ren and 36 other contemporary Chinese artists, many of whom are pioneering a neo-avant-garde driven by a need to challenge the sociological, environmental, and political climates of modern China. It contributes to a burgeoning, global Ren Hang following.

Ren always maintains that he is simply making pictures the way he wants to make them.

“Politics is interested in me,” he tells the press at the OstLicht Austrian photography gallery in 2015, “but I am not interested in politics.”

–

March 23rd, 2015

我昨天在超市

偷了一管牙膏

前天把邻居的锁孔

用口香糖堵住

上周把小区门口的

一排垃圾桶

全都踢翻

每次我做了坏事

都觉得生活好像

又变得美好了一些

I was in the supermarket yesterday,

I stole some toothpaste

The day before yesterday,

I blocked the neighbor’s keyhole with chewing gum

Last week, at the neighborhood entrance,

I kicked over

A row of trash cans

Every time I do bad things

I feel like life

Is getting better again

Ren hasn’t spoken much to his family since he left Changchun at the age of 17.

He calls his mother. He paces the length of his apartment slowly, watching one foot move in front of the other, the pattern in the floor’s wood grain rendered into clusters of tiny faces.

“I’m wondering if you’d like to model for me in a photo shoot.”

His voice hangs in the air like a bird riding a current of wind.

“Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” she finally laughs.

He is jarred by the realization that his parents must know everything. Here, all along, he believed they couldn’t have suspected a thing.

Of course he doesn’t want her to take off her clothes—she’s his mother, for goodness sake.

She doesn’t mind.

He insists that a bra and underwear will do just fine.

“Okay.”

She smokes a cigarette. Ren snaps his shutter.

Expressionless, she holds a pig’s severed head. Ren snaps his shutter.

–

February 2nd, 2010

《我爱你》

想在你身后，

看你走路的姿势，

盯着你并不丰满的屁股看。

想去你家。

想跟你睡一张拥挤的铁床，

在半夜突然醒来，

舔你的眼睫毛，

摸你冻裂的嘴唇。

想在早上抢着穿你的内裤，

让你穿我的，

看你站着小便，

拍下你用过没冲的厕所。

"I Love You"

Want to be behind you,

Look at your walking posture,

Stare at your not-so-plump butt.

Want to go to your home.

Want to sleep with you on a crowded iron bed,

Wake up suddenly in the middle of the night

Lick your eyelashes,

Touch your cracked lips.

Rush to wear your underwear in the morning,

Let you wear mine,

Watch you standing, urinating,

Photograph the toilet you used without flushing.

Sometimes Ren darts into traffic, or lunges himself ahead of an encroaching bus, only to leap backward at the last moment. Sometimes he stands too close to the platform’s edge in Beijing’s swollen subway stations. When he swims in the chlorine-blue pools of hotels around the world—places where his work is championed, where he receives bottles of wine and dinners of black caviar and foie gras from museum directors—he keeps his eyes closed, lets his body sink to the bottom of the basin, listens to the muted sparkling of the water.

He feels most at peace when he is close to death.

“Since I was seventeen,” says Jiaqi, “the most important thing for me has never changed—to protect you and to protect our love.”

Jiaqi is well on his way to establishing himself as a leading fashion stylist, editor, and model. He makes his own pictures, too. In 2018, his photography glosses the cover of Tatler Hong Kong.

He snaps an iPhone photo of Ren. Beneath the glow of a red umbrella amidst geometries of sunlight, Ren stands in a blue Umbro soccer tank top. He looks into the distance blankly, his broad and elegant cheekbones lending to his perpetual appearance as gaunt, as exceedingly gentle, as older than he is. It seems so far removed from the world of art that they both have learned to inhabit in different ways.

–

January 10th, 2013

《最亮的光太快》

我从来不想变成最亮的光

最亮的光太快

比流星还快

我愿意变成黑夜

我愿意缓慢得就像静止

我愿意经常被你遗忘

偶尔被你仰望

即使在那仰望里

我只是一张背景

“The Brightest Light is Too Fast”

I never want to become the brightest light

The brightest light is too fast

Faster than meteors

I would like to turn into night

I am willing to be slow like static

I am willing to be forgotten by you often

Occasionally you look up

Even in that gaze,

I'm just a background

Ren Hang steps into the sky.

The gray of Beijing’s carbonate heavens flashes against fragment of glass, of skyscraper, of silver branch. Perhaps a bird darts past, cutting through the air careless—careless as one must be to have been given the great gift of flight without cognition of one’s privilege.

Perhaps before peace,

He sees his mother’s face. Her harsh mouth in a line, a stream of smoke curling around her.

Perhaps

He sees a boy with bee-stung lips.

The boy says: “I didn’t even know about this thing called depression the first time I saw you crying and telling me you wanted to set the flat on fire so we could die together.”

Maybe he hears the boy’s voice ringing in his ears, a kind of private, radiant sonar.

“You said you were my home, and I was yours.”

These words are true.

But these ideas are all simulation, are all romantic projection.

The BBC runs the headline: Ren Hang: Death of China’s Hotshot Erotic Photographer.

It is all romantic projection.

He is not an erotic photographer. He is, unapologetically, a se qing photographer, an artist of the bizarre and the beautiful, unmarried to any creed or movement, an artist brazenly throwing forth pictures of a violent peace, an artist, an artist, an artist. A mere observer of his world.

And he is, by no means, a hotshot. He is simply a student of the human condition—what his lover calls, “a kid who loves life, but lacks the skills to live it.” He is only human, diseased and obsessed, incurable and in love.

So more than likely,

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He does not take note of the clouds reflected in the windows of the office building tearing through space, or the dusky thrush floating above him. He does not see his mother’s stern face or hear the voice of Huang Jiaqi.

More than likely,

He thinks of nothing.

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He refuses to become the brightest light.

The brightest light is too fast.

Kendra Clark is a New York-based editorial content creator and part-time residential student in the creative writing master’s program at the University of Cambridge. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in or are forthcoming in Into the Void magazine, The Evansville Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

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renee-writer · 5 years

Text

Utopia Chapter 7 The Shadowy Man

“How is it going?” His voice is gravely and weak but there iss power behind it. The man he is speaking to shakes as he focuses on the report in his hands.

“The rate of minority births is way down. It is less then 15% at last count. The rate of disabled births is also decreasing.

“Decreasing? Why just decreasing. It should be completely stopped.”

“I ahhh…Well, some couples choice to..”

“No!” He have raises from his chair and the other goes to run. “Stop! No, I say. There is no choice anymore. The disabled babies will be stopped before they draw breath. There is a pill. We will see it is given to the women that carry these 'useless' babies. It will look like a miscarriage. That is what we will do.. Now, why is the minorities still reproducing?”

“They—ahh---well, some of the doctors don’t want to go along with the new program.”

“Well, we just have to convince them to. We will up the incentive. A thousand per healthy white or Asian, pure babies. Two thousand for the prevention of a minority or damaged birth.”

He knows not to argue with him. What he really thinks he keeps to himself. It is the only way to survive. Arguing with the Boss can not only get you fired, it can get you killed. He has witnessed it.

“Now, for the future. Were are we in the process of isolating the gene that predicts sexuality?”

“They are close.” He reluctantly says. He has relatives that are homosexual. He knows what will happen when they find the gene, those babies will be as rare the Down babies and as the brown and black babies.

“Excellent. Now, to just get the other doctor's on board. We will get them there. They will see the need. Even if we must get rid of those not on board. Yes, they will all see the need for it. We are building a better society. A lot less poor needy people. A lot less unattractive people. More healthy, normal people. Yes, they will see the need in the end. That is all for today.”

He scurries out glad to have escaped the Shadow man, once again. He will be called back in a week's time. He shudders to think what fresh horrors will await him

#my writing #my ocs #the futuistic one #utopia?#the shadowy man

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im-a-goner--foryou · 6 years

Note

Hear me out,,,, dark!tony as like a priest or something at a boys catholic school and peter is his student and one day in confession peter tells tony he has homosexual thoughts and like tony makes him tell him who he is and ends up fucking him as like a way to cleanse him or something?? Idk

((satan, seeing me sin for the 48654th time and sighing as he adds another strike to my record: this bitch spending eternity in hell)) Peter’s parents are very religious people, so the very minute their son is old enough for education they’re shipping him off to a Catholic boarding school, well known for it’s strict unforgiving regime; and Peter is a naturally shy and meek boy, so combined with the harsh discipline there he becomes more obedient and eager to please than ever– in fact the preachers have always praised him for being so ‘pure’ and ‘untainted’.

And then the church of the school finds a new priest after the last one resigned, a man by the name of Tony Stark; with a mysterious and slightly disconcerting aura and unreadable dark eyes, but his records are impressive and he’s very experienced so they hire him. At Tony’s very first day of work he stands behind the altar, watching all the students file in, and immediately his predatory gaze is drawn to a young boy in the mass, fresh-faced and so delicate, like one of an angels’. The sweet polite boy who always greets everyone with a shy smile and a small bow, who’s eyes are the prettiest amber huge and innocent, hair a mussed and floppy hazel brown with a particularly stubborn curl falling into his eyes everytime Peter would glance up occasionally to peer through tangled fluttering lashes. “Yes, Father Stark?” he’d question, voice lilting softly, and Tony would replay that exact image, picture of innocence, when in bed every night; a calloused hand wrapped around his rock-hard weeping cock as he thrusts his hips up, eyes squeezed shut so he can visualise glassy syrup eyes looking up at him and rosy pink lips wrapped tight around his cock. The name of his dirtiest fantasy, that walking temptation dressed in religious whites– is Peter. And Tony’s instantly decided that the boy would be his, his to kiss and touch and admire; his to ruin.

Peter is undoubtedly innocent, and it speaks volumes about the priest that the very thought of tainting the boy arouses him so much. Because it does, when Peter would drop to his knees to pray with his hands clasped atop his thighs and thin lips forming around f words of the Lord, seeking for His protection from dark shadowy figures of the devil and not knowing that the very man reading from the Bible at the front of the church is who he needs protection from the most. But Peter trusts him; oh, he is completely devoted to Tony, the kind priest with his strong yet gentle hands and words of wisdom, always offering the right solutions to all of his problems and dirty sins. Which is why he always picks Father Stark’s sessions at the confessional booth, seeking redemption from the man he trusts irrevacably; spilling his deep secrets and admitting aloud his filthiest fantasies that are mere child’s play to the priest seated behind the screen.

“Father Stark,” Peter would whimper almost tearfully, “I– I’ve been having the wrong thoughts again, please forgive me.”

“Tell me of them, child,” Tony would reply as the boy opposite him sits, unknowing of the slow movements of his hand against his crotch, the priest grinding the heel of his palm roughly against his cock through the material of his robes; because he just can’t stand it, being so close to his prettiest temptation with just a piece of wood separating them both.

“I’ve been having impure thoughts,” Peter admits softly, clearly ashamed, and Tony has to repress the moan clawing its way up his throat. He lets out a pained hiss instead, one that the boy clearly misinterprets as disgust– for his next words come out in a tumbled rush, high and pleading. “Oh Father, I don’t know what to do, I… I’ve tried reciting phrases all night, completing all my penance, but they don’t work. There’s something wrong with me.”

Tony bites his lip so harshly he tastes blood, heat pooling heavy in his stomach and rushing through his veins, blood pounding in his ears. He can’t take it anymore; doesn’t want to resist temptation any longer. It’s finally time, time to reap the sweet fruits of his efforts. Everything he’s done since he first laid eyes on Peter was all for this moment, and he will wait no longer. Standing up onto his feet, he slides the door of his side of the confessional booth open and steps out, hearing the hitch of breath from the other side. With shaking fingers, he draws the curtain on the other end; revealing the huddled boy inside, huddled against the walls, honey eyes bright with tears.

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter sniffles, blinking up at him, small hands fisted in his robes that Tony yearns to tear from his body, to reveal the porcelain-pale skin so unmarked and pretty that he’s only previously gotten flashes of. The priest steps in, cornering him closer to the wall; the surrounding walls forcing them into close proximity, their breaths loud and heavy in the shared air.

“It’s alright, Peter,” Father Stark says, voice low and rough, as he reaches down to clasp the teen’s quivering chin, using a finger to tilt his teary face upwards; marveling at flushed cheeks and plump red lips parted slightly. “I’ll cleanse you of all your sins. Make you pure. Just open that pretty little mouth wider for me.”

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henrylevesconte · 6 years

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Title: God Lies In All Realms

Pairing: Henry Collins/Billy Orren

Rating: Mature, minor character death, graphic descriptions of death/the dead

Words: 1,242

Summary: Five times Henry Collins thought he saw the ghost of Billy Orren, and the one time he did

Chapter 1.

It started almost hours after Billy had passed, slipped from the decks and into the unforgiving sea to an icy grave. Collins’ noticed something off in the corner of his eye; a shadow that wouldn’t disappear. It would manifest into the shape of something, someone familiar but disappear the moment he turned his head to face it.

He had heard so many tales of men going mad from heartache, drove into insanity from the grief of seeing their beloved pass. In the first moments when Des Voeux held him back, Collins wanted to perish with Billy.

You could have saved him

You didn’t even try

The ship seemed to carry on and within hours tears had dried and the men were back to work, caring for the newly boarded David Young.

How could they forget someone who was breathing just moments ago?

Henry trudged on, even as the Captains approached him to dive to help the struggling ship. He noticed something stir when Commander Fitzjames put a hand on his shoulder and whispered his sympathies to him. Something meant to comfort the diver but he couldn’t quite make out the words as his aching heart pounded in his chest. It rose into a shadowy form before dissolving as Captain Sir Franklin bid him a good night.

You are going mad

Henry prayed in vain to not see him while he was down there. He was already on edge, there was no doctor to help him if something went wrong, and the officers looked at him unsympathetically before plunging into the depths. He worked on steadying his breathing so the shock of the cold wouldn’t set in, he could be in the thickest, most modern suit but even the arctic could penetrate him. Collins was at the mercy of the ocean as he worked with rigged and shaking arms to stir the ice from the propeller of poor Erebus.

The silence that was once a comfort to him made him feel worse. The thick oil caulking the inside of his helmet infiltrated his brain, as moisture collected on the port window. If he kept this up he would no longer be able to see.

Calm yourself, remember your breathing

Collins felt the hair of the back of his neck raise and a slithering sick feeling in his belly. Something was watching him- no someone was watching him from below the surface, its gaze boring holes through the back of his skull.

Do not look, you won’t like what you see

He should have listened, oh god he should have but it beckoned him to turn around to face the monster in wait; the lifeless form of Billy Orren floated towards him. He looked as he did yesterday, just as lively and pink when Billy greeted him that morning with the softest of kisses. His lips were rosy, stretched into a perverse version of a smile. Billy’s beautiful long brown hair unfurled around his head like a halo. His eyes black and unblinking, as his arms outstretched to him and remained suspended as if beckoning the diver forward to embrace.

Henry watched him with the curiosity one gives to the macabre. Billy Orren was dead, he watched him take his last breath and give up fighting the cold. But here he was, not fifty feet away. Collins wasn’t soft, he had seen plenty of corpses before this, even of people he cared about but there was something evil about this. His heart felt like it was going to give out as a voice barely above a whisper flooded into his ears as Billy blinked before him,

Henry you don’t belong down here, you need to leave this place.

“Pull me up!! Pull me up!!” Collins screamed in vain, not a single man above could hear him but they knew the signals as he tugged frantically. He jabbed at the ice block, freeing the ship as best he could while being lifted to the surface. The air supplied from the surface wasn’t enough to sustain him long as he clawed at the ropes for the safety of the ship.

Relief rushed over him as he broke free from the water, he didn’t bother to look below but he knew Billy was watching him being taken back onto the ship. Tears rolled down his reddened cheeks, ones he hadn’t noticed until they collected around the seal of his neck.

Was that the devil?

You are mad

David Young was dead and buried by the time Collins had recovered from what he had seen below. He managed to pull what little remained of him together to put on his regal uniform for the funeral on deck. He had not said a word to anyone of what he had seen, what he had heard- how could a sane man believe him. It was something he had to bury deep down in order to continue on. His father’s words echoed in his head,

“Harry you’re a good sailor but to be a man of stature you need to steel yourself.” If only it were that easy.

Collins stood awkwardly, letting the cool air sting at his face next to the two surgeons on board that didn’t have the time to help him earlier, he was forgiving of course especially upon seeing the particularly devastated face of one Mister Goodsir. It was whispered all over the ship how the assistant had stayed with the dying man until he passed.

Sir John began one of his signature sermons, his natural gift of speech and passion for the word of the Lord made the gathering less miserable to most around. If the Captain had not been around to prod at the diver while he was breaking down, he may have been more interested in whatever he had to say on the expedition.

You know they forgot about Billy and they will forget about David and if you die out here, they will forget about you too

He sounded more bitter than he meant to be but even the sting of the last sailors death didn’t seem to phase the crew. No one really knew how much Orren had meant to him, the burden a homosexual male in the British Navy buries deep down. His lover was dead and swept off to sea but he still clung to him. A part of him wished the ship would lumber forward so he wouldn’t have to worry about his corpse returning for a surprise again. If it was a spirit, it couldn’t follow them the whole expedition. By some logic it would be lost to the waters below, which made Collins far more cheerless. If there was a heaven, then his Billy surely belonged there.

Henry felt it again just as he put on his cap, cold pressing into his spine as if a hand felt its way up to his neck. The same whisper, sweet Billy’s voice pouring into his left ear away from the good doctor.

Don’t let it get you too, Henry

He had to stop himself from an attack again, he wasn’t safe from Orren, if it truly was him. Collins turned upon dismissal, hoping to see nothing as he passed towards the safety of below the ship. Hope was in short supply as a figure crept through the crowd of like-minded men, it blended with the crew, a shadow in the shape of a man he once loved.

#the terror #the terror amc #henry collins #william orren #billy orren #henry collins/billy orren #charles des voeux #sir john franklin #james fitzjames #mourning #minor character death #i write sins and tragedies

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acsversace-news · 6 years

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On paper, a script based on the dramatic murder of Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace in 1997, set in perma-tanned Miami and with a cast including Ricky Martin and Penelope Cruz, might sound like a recipe for the biggest slice of cheesecake melodrama you will get to see all year. Not that there’s anything wrong with cheesecake melodrama. From Dynasty to Nashville, when US dramas borrow the high-octane emotion of Latin American telenovelas and mix it up with cinematic opulence, it can be alchemised into TV gold.

You saw it glittering when Penelope Cruz, playing sister Donatella, magnificent in a peroxide blonde wig and skin-tight black leather, clomping around in high heels with the thuggish gait of bruiser in Doctor Martens, addresses a shadowy looking board room hours after Gianni has been shot dead outside his Miami palace by serial killer Andrew Cunanan. “I will not allow that man to kill my brother twice,” she hisses.

The Spanish actress doesn’t make much of an attempt to pretend she’s Italian – sniggering perhaps at English-speakers conception that they all sound the same and when all the Americans pronounce her brother’s name as ‘Johnny’. As a consequence, she reminds you of her wonderful she was in the same late 90s period in the films of Pedro Almodovar. Ricky Martin turns out to be a revelation as Gianni’s partner, vilified and shut out by both family and the police.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace is not just an excuse for some great fashion and Latin passion though but a real horrific tragedy, overshadowed in history by the death of Princess Diana only a month later. Edgar Ramirez gives Versace a poetic tenderness that makes you feel the senseless waste and brutality of his murder. But it’s Darren Criss who steals the show as the real American Psycho (with plenty of nods to the Mary Harron’s film) dissembling and deceiving with alarming ease, dancing to Phil Collins, his eyes flashing behind his preppy glasses.

The first American Crime Story series, The People v O. J. Simpson combined ersatz performances with an acute dissection of the growing fault lines in American society over race and the power of celebrity.

The second series suggests there will be similar analysis of how painfully and dangerously closeted homosexuality was and how glamour and money circulates and distorts passions like drugs. But without a long court case, the exploration this time seems more psychological than sociological – what drove Cunanon to kill Versace? Did he know him? The confabulation of fact and possible fiction and glamorisation of Cunanan, despite the beauty and drama, might make this slice of real life harder to swallow.

#acs versace #inews #bbc #bbc two #2.01 #review #article #february 2018

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zibizuba · 4 years

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Things You Should Know About The Illuminati

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The Illuminati are regarded as a cabal of probably the most {powerful} politicians, bankers, entertainers, and businesspeople on the earth. They’ve their hand in nearly each occasion that’s occurred in human historical past over the previous 2 hundred years, from the French Revolution to the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary Faculty. And regardless of their secrecy, they flaunt their energy and wealth in public utilizing Occult imagery and hand indicators. However what do we actually know concerning the Illuminati?

What’s the Illuminati? Who’re Illuminati members, and what are the Illuminati’s secrets and techniques? Is it an actual group, or an advanced conspiracy principle that adjustments relying on who’s espousing it? And what’s its actual historical past?

It may be onerous to outline Illuminati, however listed below are 20 info concerning the Illuminati, each the historic Illuminati secret society and the popular culture Illuminati conspiracy, that you simply won’t learn about. However watch out what you do with this information. Illuminati trivia shouldn’t be for the faint of coronary heart. Those that cross the cabal have been recognized to have unhealthy issues mysteriously occur to them…

Adam Weishaupt

The historic Illuminati and the one related to quite a few conspiracy theories are separate, and there’s no compelling proof they’ve something to do with one another.

The historic Illuminati motion was based by Adam Weishaupt on Could 1, 1776 in Ingolstadt, Higher Bavaria, because the Order of the Illuminati.

The Enlightenment

The Illuminati group initially got here collectively to espouse Enlightenment beliefs and struggle superstition. Aspects of this included opposition to each the Bavarian monarchy and what they noticed because the undue affect of the Catholic Church on philosophy and the sciences.

Freemasonry

The Illuminati modeled its rituals and vows of secrecy after these practiced in Freemasonry, as lots of its members have been additionally high-level Masons. At its top, the Illuminati had about 2,000 members within the numerous kingdoms that might in the future comprise Germany.

The motion’s professed purpose was “to achieve the best doable diploma of morality and advantage, and to put the inspiration for the reformation of the world by the affiliation of fine males to oppose the progress of ethical evil.” Weishaupt and his comrades additionally advocated for the abolition of prejudice and the training of ladies, who they believed must be handled as mental equals.

Charles Theodore, Elector of Bavaria

In 1777, the brand new ruler of Bavaria, Karl Theodore, banned all secret societies, together with the Illuminati. The group lasted one other eight years skirting the regulation, till lastly collapsing below the stress of a number of authorities edicts. Weishaupt was banished from Bavaria, and the group members went their separate methods.

Proofs of a Conspiracy

Two books written within the late 1700s first posited the concept the Illuminati have been a component of a serious conspiracy in opposition to the non secular and governmental establishments of Europe. They have been Memoirs Illustrating the Historical past of Jacobinism, written by Augustin Barruel and Proofs of a Conspiracy, by John Robison.

These authors noticed the Illuminati as a sinister power devoted to destroying the Catholic Church and the pure order of society.

French Revolutionary Wars

The crux of those books was that not solely had the Illuminati survived, however they have been far more {powerful} than anybody knew. Most shockingly, the Illuminati had masterminded the French Revolution with the intention to overthrow the monarchy of France and introduce Enlightenment beliefs to the downtrodden folks.

Revolutions of 1848

Barruel and Robison’s writings grew to become extraordinarily well-liked among the many higher courses and Catholic populations of each Europe and the U.S., spawning many copycat books and conspiracy theories. Worry of Illuminati plots to overthrow the assorted monarchies of Europe grew to become extraordinarily well-liked within the 1800s.

In 1848, a sequence of employee revolts round Europe have been brutally oppressed, partly due to the fears stoked by Illuminati conspiracy theories.

John Birch Society

Illuminati conspiracy theories grew within the 20th Century, usually intertwined with anti-Communist and anti-Semitic rhetoric. These theories gave rise to a grand “Judeo-Bolshevik” plot to overthrow the western world.

After World Battle II, right-wing populists just like the John Birch Society, in addition to evangelical Christian teams, continued stoking the fires of an omnipotent Illuminati controlling each side of world politics, banking, and leisure.

Pope Francis

Illuminati believers advocate that the present incarnation of the group, which can or is probably not in league with Devil, are accountable for the U.S. authorities, the British monarchy, the United Nations, the area program, all worldwide banking establishments, the monetary trade, and all aspects of music and movie.

This conspiracy principle involving the Illuminati has quite a few totally different configurations and incarnations and may vary anyplace between pressured conversion to homosexuality, to the Pope being a high-ranking Satanist.

Elizabeth II

The present political, enterprise, and royalty membership of the Illuminati is believed to incorporate Barack Obama, David Cameron, Queen Elizabeth II, George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Invoice Gates, George Soros, Alan Greenspan, Angela Merkel, Prince Charles, Henry Kissinger, and Hillary Clinton.

Katy Perry

Amongst entertainers regarded as within the Illuminati, outstanding names prior to now and current embody Jay-Z, Beyonce Knowles, Kanye West, Woman Gaga, Katy Perry, Liam Neeson, Bono, Sean Combs, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Bob Hope, George Clooney, Jim Carrey, Justin Bieber, Dr. Dre, Celine Dion, and Angelina Jolie.

Jay-Z

The Illuminati are thought to have an particularly tight grip on pop music, with nearly each outstanding trendy singer, rapper, or music producer thought be within the cabal, creating songs to unfold their message and indoctrinate the plenty. Jay-Z is regarded as one of the vital outstanding members, holding huge energy within the group.

Eye of Horus

Regardless of being a secret society, conspiracy theorists imagine the Illuminati take pleasure in publicly taunting the plenty about their energy and wealth. That is accomplished by means of coded Occult imagery, hand symbols, references to Egyptian mythology, and subliminal messages hidden in movies and songs.

Cranium and Bones

Conspiracy believers posit that the Illuminati have infiltrated each facet of American and worldwide politics. Each authorities company and bureau, from the CIA to NASA, is below their management. They use entrance teams organizations like the famed Yale fraternity Skull and Bones and {powerful} suppose tanks just like the Council on Overseas Relations and Trilateral Fee .

New World Order

The last word purpose of the Illuminati is regarded as the creation of a New World Order that might be below their management. The exercise of all non-members might be legislated and monitored within the enforcement of this order, with anybody who opposes it being herded into camps or exterminated.

The options of this New World Order embody a worldwide authorities and foreign money, enforced atheism, the abolition of faith and free speech, large depopulation and switch of survivors, obligatory monitoring and vaccination, and the normalizing of sexual deviancy, drug use, and human sacrifice.

September 11th Assaults

The Illuminati intend to perform this New World Order by means of a fancy net of staged false flag terrorist assaults (probably the most outstanding amongst them being 9/11), pointless wars the place they promote weapons to either side, pretend shootings designed to introduce gun management laws, disinformation spouted by paid message board shills, pandemics and natural disasters below their management, and, when these fail, homicide.

Whitney Houston

One of the outstanding options of the present Illuminati is their penchant for “taking out” those that threaten to reveal their plots, regardless of these plots already showing to be frequent information, and having no proof to corroborate their existence.

Amongst these “sacrificed” by the Illuminati by means of staged suicides, pretend drug overdoses or deliberate accidents embody: Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, John F. Kennedy, Bruce Lee, Princess Diana, Kurt Cobain, Aaliyah, Martin Luther King, Grace Kelly, and extra lately, Robin Williams and Paul Walker.

Barack Obama

The Illuminati are additionally thought to have killed quite a few folks related to Invoice Clinton, Barack Obama, the 9/11 “false flag,” the Kennedy assassination, and UFO analysis they need suppressed. A few of these lists stretch on to lots of of names, most with little or no connection to what they have been “taken out” for.

Alex Jones

There are an amazing many books, web sites, and YouTube movies dedicated to “proving” the existence of the Illuminati and exposing their secret plans. Among the many most well-known Illuminati foe is radio present host and conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who has created a complete net empire out of his work to convey this shadowy group into the sunshine.

Nevertheless, the entire publicly out there materials concerning the Illuminati must be approached with excessive skepticism, because the burden of proof has by no means actually been glad that the Illuminati is something aside from a conspiracy principle that would contain anybody.

Burden of Proof

To be completely clear, there isn’t any compelling proof that both the Bavarian Illuminati survived previous the 1780s or that the present model Illuminati really exists.

Due to this fact, the burden of proof rests on Illuminati believers to offer proof that helps their theories. Nevertheless, it’s not doable to show that one shouldn’t be a member of one thing that doesn’t exist. So, proof that the Illuminati both is or isn’t actual stays elusive.

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devilsknotrp · 5 years

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Congratulations, Harper! You have been accepted for the role of Elias Deere (FC: RJ Mitte). Elias is a tricky character to understand. Is he truly vengeful, or just hurting deeply? How far does his hatred towards his father go? You have written him so thoughtfully and sensitively - reading your application made us both go oh, yes, they’ve got it. We also loved the inclusion of his disability and your faceclaim change is thoroughly magnificent. The plots to come are going to mesh so well with how you’ve written him that we can hardly wait to see what happens! Altogether, your version of Elias is beautiful, poignant, and subtly melancholy. Thank you for bringing him to life. As per your notes we are only accepting you for Elias. Let us know if you’d like to be reconsidered for your other application! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Harper Age: 19 Pronouns: They/them Timezone: MST Activity estimation: I’m a pretty busy college student who has managed to get so involved I don’t know when I’ll breathe during this next semester. I’ll be on the dash as often as I can, but that will likely be limited to weekends and evenings. Triggers: [Redacted]

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Elias Deere Age (23/04/1978): 18 Gender: Cismale Pronouns: He/him/his Sexuality: Homosexual Occupation: Clerk at the Arcade Connection to Victim: He’s in the same grade as Beth and David Goode. He doesn’t know them particularly well but in a town this small, everyone now knows about the Goode family, even someone like Elias. Alibi: He was working at the arcade. He’s the only one employed there right now, and so the task of keeping an eye on everyone that comes in falls to Elias. He needs every penny he can get so guess who never turns down a shift. Faceclaim: RJ Mitte

WRITING SAMPLE

Elias knew what his classmates said about him. He was quiet and people never seemed to remember he’s there when they start talking, as long as he doesn’t say anything. It hurt, of course. To be considered odd and perverse when one presses flowers in journals and writes poems about this knotted town. It’s been his own curse to bear, one that’s been carried silently over many years.

But now, Brian was missing. And Elias was afraid.

He remembered Max Acosta. He remembered the trial, the questions Elias had that went unanswered and how easily the problems were swept under the rug, because here was an answer, handed over on a silver platter. He had followed the case almost religiously a few years after, horrified by the concepts and yet intrigued by the mind behind it. He had nightmares for months afterwards. And now it was happening again, and this time, he was the odd one out.

It was a paralyzing kind of worry, the fear that one day one of the other kids at school would say something, point the finger, share one of those lies again and then the police would be at his door and there would be nothing Elias could do, nothing but nod and sign where they tell him. It haunted his steps and hid in the shadowy corners of sleep. Never did Elias think his heart, his love of words, and his inability to abide by the standards of high school might send him to jail for the rest of his life.

Who would lift a finger to stop them? Not the majority of the school. Not Elias’ father. It was a trap, one impossible to escape from any side. The only thing left to do was hope it all went alright. But when has anything here gone right?

Elias pushed his plate away with a sigh. It was one of the few tables in the diner that was tucked far enough away from everyone else that he seemed to blend into the background, wheelchair sitting beside him ready to carry him away as soon as it all became too much. But it was quiet in that little corner, the buzz of everyone else fading into a dull noise that was hard to hear over the music.

It was as close to peaceful as Devil’s Knot ever really got for Elias.

Elias let out another sigh before opening his bag and bringing out a small worn notebook that practically fell open along its well-worn spine. Devil’s Knot was all he had to write about, for now, and even if he kept the details sparse, there was still a veritable flood of material to make use of. Now was not the time for darkness and tragedy though. There was enough of that around the town for now.

Instead, with a furrowed brow and his tongue between his teeth, Elias wrote about the bird outside the window, how the sun turned his feathers from blue into a small piece of the sky and how it sang to a little kidnapped boy.

The song would echo through the woods, picked up by more and more mouths until it was a virtual symphony calling a lost boy home. The more birds sang, the more concrete the song became, until it grew into a woman with feathers in her hair and laughter in her eyes. She walked into the woods and walked out hand in hand with a little boy. That little boy would walk into town with a smile, not a scratch on him. He’d laugh and play ball, ride bikes and make jokes. The entire horrible story ended because of a bird.

Elias couldn’t stop the smile that formed when he set the pencil down. It was complete fantasy, of course. A complete impossibility, more in line with a fairytale than the world Elias inhabited. But sometimes, people needed a little hope and a little light in the dark times they all lived in. No one would read anything Elias wrote, not for a long time, but it helped him to know he had done something.

He stood, leaving behind the money for his burger, before sitting in his wheelchair and replacing the notebook in the bag. He left the diner and began to make his way home. There was still a story to tell, of course. One Elias just didn’t want to write. Brian wasn’t back yet and whatever happened would be something for the ages. Elias just prayed he wasn’t going to find himself the monster of the tale.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Alibi Elaboration: You’d expect a lot of problems in a place like the arcade for someone like Elias. But that is, for all its flaws and constant thrum of people who would prefer to forget the clerk exists, one of the few true spaces Elias has complete control over. Yes, it pays like hot garbage on a summer’s day, but it’s his and Elias likes to look after his things. He was absolutely there when Brian went missing. He loves that place for all it’s flaws. He can just be himself in those walls and there is almost no way his father would ever step foot in a place like that. It’s a perfect haven.

Headcanons:

Elias’ favorite poets are Yeats and Frost. He personally cannot stand the gothic and romantic genres and refuses to touch either, as he doesn’t like how poetry was written in that time. He tries to avoid a lot of structure in his own poems, but he is always an absolute sucker for a good rhyme.

In any given day, Elias goes out of his way to avoid any prolonged contact with his father, preferring to do whatever it takes to get away from him in as short a time as possible. This means he will smile, nod, and agree with whatever Jeff is saying just so he can leave as soon as possible. Confrontation is not in Elias’ nature. Avoidance is, especially around someone like Jeff. How on Earth could Elias ever stand up to that man? It would take a miracle for that to happen, to lend him the strength and the will to say “no, I am not the problem here.”

Elias has a bit of a strained relationship with religion. He knows how important it is to his family and he’s seen the art and the strength that it can bring about. But he also can’t forget about the horrors it’s caused over the centuries and how much of it is a lie crafted by men like his father to keep control of the sheep. Of course he wants to believe in something greater and stronger than himself, but sometimes the only things strong in the world are his chair and the words of people just like him. He’d never share his doubts, afraid of how that would reflect on him, but they are growing each and every day.

Kids are great. You know exactly where you stand with them and there are never any surprises. They tell it like it is and don’t bother spreading rumors. They just tell their suspicions to your face. They’re simpler than Elias’ peers and he enjoys hearing the blunt, ridiculous things that come out of their mouth. Of course, most kids don’t give him the time of day and the ones that do don’t linger for long. Those with older siblings avoid Elias like the plague, but none of that has stopped Elias from promising himself to never turn away from a kid that needs help or a friend. He knows what both of those feel like and he can’t imagine leaving someone small and vulnerable face the cruelties of the world alone.

He hates spicy food. Please don’t make him eat anything hotter than a bell pepper. His taste buds can’t handle it and then the town will have a crying Deere on their hands. It’s just not worth it.

He says he loves people and he means it. People just have to convince Elias they are worth the attention and effort he will inevitably put into their relationships. He doesn’t have it in him to have a lot of friends, but the ones he does have will be rapidly prioritized on his mental list of important things. If a friend of his is sick, he’ll show up with a store-bought cake ready to watch cartoons. He knows what it’s like to have a body that hates you sometimes so he’s there to lend a hand however he can.

No, you cannot push his wheelchair. Please don’t ask.

He doesn’t advertise it, but he has several plans all lined up in his head for revenge on people that have made his life extremely difficult. They’re never going to be brought to fruition, but it helps when the bullying gets bad to have an idea of vengeance. And who knows, maybe one day the camel’s back will break and all those ideas will come flooding out.

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anklenephew1-blog · 5 years

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California: The Rightwing Money Behind Marshall Tuck’s Campaign for Superintendent of Schools

California political activist Karen Wolfe writes in this article about the rightwing money behind Marshall Tuck’s campaign to become State Superintendent of Public Instruction. The campaign has been well endowed by the usual crowd of billionaires who want to undermine school boards and expand the charter industry. Tuck has raised at least $25 million so far, an unprecedented amount for the job of state superintendent, reflecting how badly the billionaires want control of the state.

By the end of the campaign, Tuck will likely have collected at least $30 million, far exceeding Tony Thurmond’s $10 Million, most of it from teachers and people committed to public schools and opposed to corporate influence in the schools.

Tuck, writes Wolfe, “has the same pro-privatizing platform that voters rejected when he was defeated for the position four years ago, and it’s the same education platform of Republican presidential candidates Jeb Bush and John Kasich, and Vice President Mike Pence: To deregulate public education, to outsource school services, to make it harder for teachers to gain tenure, and to expand the market of “school choice.””

Aside from the usual billionaires, Tuck accepted a contribution from an anti-gay financier, Howard Ahmanson Jr., who had previously bankrolled Prop 8, a proposition to ban same-sex marriage.

Wolfe writes:

“Ahmanson’s name set off alarm bells with LGBTQ groups such as Equality California because of his association with a dark chapter in California politics.

“In 2008, when an idealistic grassroots movement swept the country electing Barack Obama the first black President, the California ballot included Proposition 8, a measure to ban gay marriage. The Prop 8 campaign succeeded following massive funding from the religious right.

“Before the U.S. Supreme Court made the right to same sex marriage the law of the land, Ahmanson contributed $1.4 million to Prop 8.

“Money flooded into California from anti-gay groups across the land. Michigan philanthropist Elsa Prince Broekhuizen was another major contributor to California’s Prop 8, giving $450,000. Readers will be more familiar with Broekhuizen’s adult children: U.S. Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos and Blackwater mercenary founder Erik Prince.

“An anti-gay crusade is foundational to their philanthropic activism. Ahmanson once told the Orange County Register, “My goal is the total integration of biblical law into our lives.”

“Ahmanson may have adopted his religious and political agenda as a close follower and funder of the now deceased “Rousas John Rushdoony, a radical evangelical theologian who advocated placing the United States under the control of a Christian theocracy that would mandate the stoning to death of homosexuals.”

“It would not be a stretch to say that Ahmanson and members of the Prince and DeVos families are part of a Dominionist kabal, using extreme wealth to reorient American government toward extremist Christian doctrine. They regularly attend The Gathering, a “shadowy, powerful network” of hard-right Christian funders, according to an investigation published in the Daily Beast.

“The Gathering is as close to a ‘vast right-wing conspiracy’ as you’re likely to find,” Jay Michaelson reported. Attendees are the “wealthiest conservative to hard-right evangelical philanthropists in America, and have led the campaigns to privatize public schools, redefine ‘religious liberty,’ fight same-sex marriage, [and] fight evolution…” he wrote. It was at The Gathering where Betsy DeVos said she wants to “advance God’s Kingdom” through public schools. It was there that she and her husband said that school choice was a way to reverse the history of public schools displacing the Church as the center of communities.

“DeVos and Ahmanson are each doing their part as religious warriors in the crusade. With the help of a compliant Congress, DeVos is exploding the barrier that historically separated American public education from religion. She has promoted school vouchers to pay for religious schools, withdrawn Obama Administration guidance that protected transgender students, and is trying to give churches the chance to reclaim their place at the center of communities by expanding school choice.”

When a statewide LGBTQ group complained about Tuck accepting $5,000 from Ahmanson, Tuck returned the money. But the same advocacy group—Equality California— pointed out that Ahmanson had contributed $57,800 to Tuck’s 2014 and urged him to donate that amount to programs for LGBTQ youth. That money was never feturned or contributed elsewhere.

Source: https://dianeravitch.net/2018/10/21/california-the-rightwing-money-behind-marshall-tucks-campaign-for-superintendent-of-schools/

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zibizuba · 4 years

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Adam Weishaupt

The historic Illuminati and the one related to quite a few conspiracy theories are separate, and there’s no compelling proof they’ve something to do with one another.

The historic Illuminati motion was based by Adam Weishaupt on Could 1, 1776 in Ingolstadt, Higher Bavaria, because the Order of the Illuminati.

The Enlightenment

Freemasonry

Charles Theodore, Elector of Bavaria

Proofs of a Conspiracy

These authors noticed the Illuminati as a sinister power devoted to destroying the Catholic Church and the pure order of society.

French Revolutionary Wars

Revolutions of 1848

In 1848, a sequence of employee revolts round Europe have been brutally oppressed, partly due to the fears stoked by Illuminati conspiracy theories.

John Birch Society

Pope Francis

Elizabeth II

Katy Perry

Jay-Z

Eye of Horus

Cranium and Bones

New World Order

September 11th Assaults

Whitney Houston

Barack Obama

Alex Jones

Burden of Proof

To be completely clear, there isn’t any compelling proof that both the Bavarian Illuminati survived previous the 1780s or that the present model Illuminati really exists.

In regards to the creator: Viral Luck

Inform us one thing about your self.

Associated

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