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solastia · 4 years

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I’m Fine | 1

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: I'm fine. That's what he's been telling everyone the past two years since he and his soulmate parted ways.

Genre & Warnings: Soulmate au. Angst. Yoongi is pretty self-destructive at first, so be aware of that. There will be lots of destructive thoughts, drinking, fighting, making drunken mistakes (hint). And I know while you read it you won’t believe me, but this does have a good ending.

A/N: Yes, I have given up trying to make this a one shot. Yoongi wouldn’t cooperate with me, so now this is a series. I’ll try to make it a short series, but it was just too complicated for a one shot. Part of the Love Yourself anniversary collab. Be sure to check out the other authors that participated too!

For those that are familiar with the picture in the banner and are wondering where his the open knee went, no I did not suddenly become a puritan. Yoongi’s knee got flagged so I had to color it in

@sweet-honey-boy is the artistic genius behind the pretty banner

I’m fine.

Such a common phrase. Meaningless these days, really. Just a couple of words thrown together so you’d have something to respond with when someone else throws out the equally meaningless greeting of “How are you?”

They don’t really care how you are, they just want to seem like they do. They’ve already zoned out and have their planned response of “Good” ready and waiting.

“I’m fine.”

He mumbled the phrase, shaking the proffered hand of the bride’s cousin as they all waited their turn to go into the room and greet her. It was the same phrase he’d repeated at least twenty times today alone as old friends and family of the bride asked him how he was with pity shining in their eyes.

The same phrase he’d been using for two whole years since his soulmate broke up with him and moved on with her life.

Yoongi could still remember the first time he’d learned about soulmates. It had been in the second week of his kindergarten class when one of the kids next to him started giggling as his arm slowly began to be filled with doodles. Hearts, smiley faces, and stars soon lined the boy's arm from elbow to wrist. The teacher then decided to use all the kid’s collective excitement to explain about soulmates.

Apparently, there were many different types of soulmates. There were the ones that could write on their skin, like their fellow classmate. There were some that could speak to each other in their heads. Some that had timers on their wrist marking down how long until they met their match. And those were only some of the many ways that their world had that all led to the same idea - finding your soulmate. The person meant to be that one perfect person for you.

Yoongi had gone home that very night and tried to figure out what his type was. He wrote “Hello, my name is Min Yoongi” on his arm, along with a little doodle of Kumamon. Nothing happened. He went to the bathroom and tore off his uniform, searching his skin for any sort of marker or timer, maybe even a tattoo or a bruise that he couldn’t remember getting. His skin remained unblemished beyond a couple of moles.

Over the next few years, he’d secretly researched and experimented with every soulmate type he could find. He never saw any strings, heard any voices or songs, felt anything out of the ordinary. At times he felt a flicker of fear over the stray thought that maybe he didn’t have one. But that couldn’t be right. Everyone had one, right?

When his father divorced his mom- who was his soulmate - and left them both for another woman, that was his first lesson that maybe soulmates weren’t all they were cracked up to be anyway.

By the time Yoongi hit college, he already felt like he’d lived three lifetimes. He was now broken and bitter by life, having spent most of his youth working to care for himself and his heartbroken mom. She’d never recovered after his father left. Instead, she became a hollow shell of the loving woman she’d once been, content to sit at home and do the bare minimum to stay alive, mourning her piece of shit “soulmate” that never even bothered to check up on his own son. He had to force her to eat and sleep, to go outside and get some air and sun. He often ran home from school terrified he’d find her dead, but she kept going thanks to him. There were many times over those years that Yoongi had fought not to give up and do something stupid himself.

Sometimes she’d meet someone during her rare times out alone that would bring a flicker of life back to her eyes, but they usually turned out to be assholes that would pick fights with Yoongi and try to control his vulnerable mother. He was quick to run them off. Yoongi took on any job he could to keep them both fed and housed, even if the rooftop apartment that they’d been forced to move to was crumbling.

Yoongi hadn’t even planned to go to college, as it had seemed such a far off dream for someone like him. He already worked three jobs just to stay alive; where would he get the money to go to college too? Then his father passed away - some drunk driver, according to his latest paramour - and left Yoongi with more money than he’d ever seen before. Apparently, the old prick had been doing quite well for himself while Yoongi and his mom had been forced to live in squalor.

So, Yoongi being the practical soul he was, decided that instead of spending it all at once and buying some huge lavish home and three cars he would instead invest in going to college and getting a great job so that he’d never have to be poor or dependant on anyone else ever again. He got his mom set up in a nicer apartment with a caregiver and saved everything else, packing up to go live life for himself for a change.

One thing he’d forgotten about college is that there were people everyfuckingwhere. A whole new group of people curious about his soulmate, where was his soulmate, what was his marker. He’d long ago determined that either his soulmate was dead or the fates had decided his life wasn’t shit enough so they’d not give him one just for shits and giggles.

So, to shut everyone else up, he decided to show them exactly what he thought of the soulmate system and the belief that you should save yourself for them. He slept around with anyone willing. Didn’t give a fuck if they were taken or not. If they had a soulmate or not. What they were, what they were majoring in, even their fucking names - he didn’t care.

And with the amount of soulmated people he’d had in and under him, it just further proved his point that soulmates were a shit concept.

So he pushed the thought of his nonexistent soulmate from his mind, instead focusing his days on getting the best grades he could to ensure the highest paying job, and his nights on fucking, fighting and drinking to his heart's content.

As usual, Yoongi’s life was about to be flipped upside down. And it was all Jackson Wang and his stupid party’s fault.

While he wasn’t a fan of frat boys themselves, Yoongi had to admit that the bastards threw the best parties. Jackson Wang was one of the few frat guys he could tolerate because the guy was too nice to hate, so when the party was at his place, Yoongi was a frequent visitor. The place was packed tonight, and while he didn’t like the crowd, he certainly enjoyed having a nice selection to choose from for his evening entertainment.

Yoongi leaned against the kitchen counter as he sipped his whiskey. It was a shit brand and a shit year, but was still a rare treat at one of these things that usually served the cheapest beer and fruity crap meant to entice girls into drinking more. Yoongi guessed that his roommate had talked to Jackson about grabbing some to keep Yoongi happy. He appreciated the attempt.

He hadn’t been planning on going to this party since he still had a report to finish, but his roommate Namjoon claimed he needed the backup. He was convinced one of the members of this frat was his soulmate. His soulmate marker was a birthday, but he claimed he felt funny every time he looked at him. Instead of saying anything to the guy, Yoongi deduced that Namjoon’s plan was to stare at him creepily from across the room.

“Yoongi hyung, he’s so pretty. Like, super pretty. Don’t you think he’s pretty?” Yoongi guessed he was supposed to be included in the conversation since his name was used, but it sounded more like his friend was thinking out loud.

“Yeah, he’s not bad. You should go tell him you think he’s pretty. He looks like the type that would appreciate it.”

“I can’t,” Namjoon whispered.

“You can. I believe in you,” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean I really can’t. My feet won’t move.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fine. Stay here.”

“Wait! Yoongi, don’t...”

Yoongi set his cup on the counter and ignored Namjoon’s protests as he strode purposefully into the living room. When he was in front of his target - a pretty man nearly as tall as Namjoon with pillow lips and an eternally amused expression - he sighed wearily.

“Look. You see that guy trying to hide by the kitchen counter? That’s Namjoon, my roommate. He’s super fucking smart, but also kind of stupid. He’s also kinda like a big ass rottweiler that thinks he’s a lap dog. He thinks you’re his soulmate, but he’s the type that would rather pine from afar for the rest of his life rather than face rejection, so can I ask what your marker is? I realize that’s personal and you can tell me to fuck off.”

The man’s face went from confusion to amusement and finally settled on something that he was sure a few romantic poets would fight to the death to describe.

“It’s a birthday. The twelfth of September.”

Yoongi nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Go get him. Just remember that’s he’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on. And, you know, the best friend speech. You hurt him I’ll...I dunno. Do something.”

“Thanks. I’m Seokjin, by the way. I guess I’ll talk to you guys later,” he smiled and went towards the kitchen, the little sway in his hips telling him Namjoon had no chance against that one. The poor lug was currently trying to straighten up and look cool like he hadn’t just been cowering in the kitchen.

Yoongi snorted and turned away to give them their privacy, looking around the room for someplace to lounge. Before he could leave, one of the girls in the group that Seokjin had been talking with tapped his arm.

“That was really cool of you. Jin’s always talking about meeting his soulmate, so I’m sure he’s over the moon right now.”

Yoongi faced the speaker and his breath hitched. He’d seen cuter girls, sure, but...there was...something about this one. He didn’t know what this strange feeling in the pit of his stomach was. Maybe the shitty whiskey was finally getting to him.

She was looking up at him expectantly and he finally remembered that she’d said something.

“You’re fucking pretty.”

What the fuck? He’d meant to say thanks and then maybe try to sweet-talk his way into her pants. Where the fuck had that come from?

Even her blushing face was cute. He wanted to make a run for it, but at the same time he kinda just wanted to keep looking at her.

“I wish you were my soulmate.”

Her squeak of alarm, followed by her hand slapping against her mouth as she stared at him with alarmed eyes led him to a mind-fuck of a conclusion.

“Well, I think you got your wish,” he mumbled.

Her hand dropped and even her stunning smile wasn’t enough to quell the growing panic Yoongi felt. She was pretty, and looked nice, and was his soulmate.

He had a fucking soulmate.

And thus began what would be the first of the many, many times Yoongi would hurt the person he was supposed to protect the most as he turned tail and ran.

Yoongi had spent a lot of time in his youth wondering what his soulmate quirk could be. He’d always thought that the ones that could hear each other's music could be cool, or even the ones that could speak telepathically. His friend Taehyung and his soulmate Jimin could write to each other on their skin. Even that could have been neat.

Yoongi’s super amazing totally not problematic quirk was that he couldn’t fucking lie to his soulmate.

All those years wondering if his soulmate was dead or if he just didn’t have one, when it was just that he needed to meet them for it to work. He wondered if she’d grown up thinking he was dead too. That thought just made the guilt he felt raise even higher. She’d probably been thrilled that he was alive and in front of her for all of two seconds before he dashed her hopes and dreams running off like he had.

But here’s the thing. There are universally known facts about him:

Min Yoongi loves sleep. Min Yoongi likes music. Min Yoongi hates soulmates. Min Yoongi lies.

Sometimes his lies were simply to amuse himself at the expense of his friends. Being sarcastic, making up fake rumors, that kind of thing. No big deal. Sometimes it’s to protect those friends. Telling Taehyung his drawing his great when it looks like Yoongi could do a better job with his toes. Telling Jimin that he could barely notice the giant zit the size of the moon on his forehead. Telling Joon that that girl he’d been hung up on probably got busy, not that Yoongi had warned her to stay the fuck away when she tried to sneak into his bed right after she’d hooked up with Namjoon.

The problem was that most of his lies are about himself. He tells people he’s fine when he wants to jump off the nearest bridge. He tells Joon he remembered to eat and sleep when he’d really been a filthy goblin working on his project for two days straight. He has an hour-long panic attack in the bathroom and tells people he has IBS. He tells his mother she’s not a burden that ruined his childhood. He tells everyone he’s fine being soulmate-less and he didn’t feel lonely.

He lies.

And now the universe is laughing in his face because they’ve presented him with someone he literally can’t lie to. Not to protect himself, not to protect her. There was no way any relationship they tried to have wouldn’t end in disaster.

The very thought of having to bare himself to someone that much was utterly terrifying...and yet he was still more afraid of the look that Kim Seokjin was giving him from Yoongi’s doorway.

Namjoon and Seokjin had hit it off disgustingly well, enough so that ‘Jin’ had practically been living in their dorm room for nearly three weeks. He’d turned out to be a cool guy, and Yoongi imagined he would get along with him fairly well if only he’d stop sending him death glares over the breakfast table.

Except for now Jin’s moved on to glaring at him from his own bedroom door.

“I’ve had enough, Yoongi. Y/N’s my friend and a sweet girl. I’m tired of seeing her sad. Fix it.”

“Jin, this isn’t like you and Namjoon, okay? I never wanted a soulmate,” Yoongi sighs, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm. He just wanted the guy to get the fuck out and leave him to his miserable existence.

“I don’t really give a fuck,” Jin yelled.

Yoongi lowered his arm and glanced at Jin, impressed. He hadn’t known the other had it in him. He looked a little ridiculous and red-faced, but still, Yoongi had never heard him curse before.

“This isn’t just about you, Yoongi. She’s part of it too, whether you like it or not. She thought she didn’t have a soulmate and then you suddenly appear. Now she has a soulmate, but one that’s apparently rejected her. She’s a mess. Fix it.”

Jin walks towards Yoongi and throws a slip of paper on the bed, staring down at him as haughtily like a rich Korean mother from a drama. Without another word, he leaves and shuts the door as Yoongi picks it up, seeing the number on it. Hers, he assumes.

He sighs and ruffles his hair. He’s not a total asshole. He supposes he should at least meet with her and tell her why they couldn’t work.

He punches in the number and sends a text before he can talk himself out of it.

It took them three days to coordinate their schedules enough to meet (or the both of them had tried to push it forward as much as possible), and now they were finally sitting across from each other in neutral territory. Yoongi had figured meeting for a cup of coffee was probably cliche, but it was a safe choice and was somewhere he felt comfortable. It helped that Taehyung was a barista here and he would probably go along with it if Yoongi needed help escaping.

Yoongi gripped his cup of black coffee hard, gathering the courage to speak to her. Y/N looked tired, and maybe a little like she’d lost weight in her face, like she hadn’t been eating well. The thought that he’d upset her that much added another layer of guilt to the growing pile in his chest with her name on it.

“First of all, I wanted to say sorry for running out on you the other night. That was cowardly of me and kind of a shithead thing to do. So...sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the table.

He looked up again when she sighed.

“Thank you. That hurt me a lot,” she cringed, like that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say, and he supposed it wasn’t. Their soulmate quirk was a difficult one.

He ground his teeth as he fought the scratching in his throat, trying his best to word things in a way that wouldn’t scar her for life.

“Look, I just don’t trust this whole soulmate thing. The idea that your happiness revolves around this single person is bullshit. And...I’m terrified,” he grits out, hating how vulnerable he sounded.

She nods, “Yeah, it’s pretty scary. But, I don’t really think it’s about your happiness revolves around someone. More like, there’s this person that’s meant to help you become the best version of yourself, and maybe you can find your happiness together.”

Yoongi scoffs, stopping himself from saying anything sarcastic with a long sip from his cup. She was still so naive.

She chews her lip and suddenly there’s a look in her eyes that makes his pause and pay attention.

“It’s just...okay, so I thought you were dead most of my life, like I’m sure you thought I was. I thought that all of my future relationships were just going to be me being used as a placeholder until their soulmate comes along. And then maybe I’d find someone else who didn’t have a soulmate and we’d settle for each other. I thought that my chance at finding actual love was gone, and then you...,” she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “You show up in front of me, being all fucking gorgeous and funny and a great friend - and alive. Sure, we probably have the shittest soulmate quirk and the fact that I’m rambling all this is proof of that, but Yoongi, you’re alive. I’m alive, and we’re soulmates. We have a chance. Can’t you at least give us a chance?”

Some part of him wanted to warn her about what she was getting into. He knew he would hurt her. He knew he would fuck everything up. But the truth was...he wanted to try. Something told him she was worth it. Was that just part of the whole soulmate brainwashing bullshit? He didn’t know, but the thought of leaving her behind today and never looking back felt wrong.

Yoongi sighs wearily as he observes her glassy eyes, knowing that this wouldn’t be the first time he’d make her tear up but unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“Yeah. Let’s take a chance.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts!au #soulmate au #yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #solastia #I'm fine #love yourself anniversary collab

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mordigen · 3 years

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Wicca is a Sex Cult - you won’t change my mind. Pt 1

I have always had a since of unbelonging and curiosity my entire life. So, I’d like to believe that my ‘path’ in the craft has been eternal. But, if we are scrutinizing - I guess you could say it didn’t really begin until I was about 9-11 years olde. Can’t remember the precise age or year - just how it went, and my friends that started on that path with me. When you are olde enough to start developing your own likes and interests, olde enough to start having questions about anything and everything in the world around you - and young enough to have complete reckless abandon and lack of frontal lobe development to indulge such questions, curiosities, and probably otherwise, not the *smartest* of explorations. But boy, did we make some memories.

But this was also the time when only the ~rich folk~ had internet in their homes, where the rest of us were reduced to the free 10 minute sessions at the public library which came with the intrusive screaming of dial-up, met with properly humiliating glares of disgust and disapproval that was just too much for a bunch of pre-teens to handle. So what other options could were we possibly left with? Well, if you had guessed the idle corners of book stores’ New Age sections, you would be correct, friends! And what else could be found on New Age shelves in the early-mid 90s but Wicca in all it’s Llewelyn glory?? Nothing, friends. The answer is nothing, unless you hoped to find a few odd horoscopes, a token copy of the Necronomicon stashed away behind some UFO conspiracies from the O.G. David Childress & Co. But if you were looking for anything spiritual in nature beyond the status quo puritan American heritage? Nothing, friends - except Wicca.

So, needless to say - this was my only experience at this age with anything magically or pagan inclined whatsoever. Now, I came from an immigrant family, lived in an immigrant neighborhood, went to an international school with friends of immigrant families so we were well versed in stories of other customs and cultures - but always in an intangible way. Just stories, things of fictions or long-dead ancestors which no longer exist. I personally came from a mixed-bag family, Irish Pagan, Southern Methodist, strict Catholic, Native Shamans. So religious discussions were always heated topics of animosity - so people just didn’t talk about it, either out of spite and grudges, or just to avoid constant fights. So though I had family that participated in pagan rites, they didn’t talk about them - and they certainly weren’t teaching me anything (not yet anyhow, more on that later) So these books we perused, for hours without buying to the chagrin of the bookstore employees, were really the only introduction and information we had to go on with regards to anything spiritually related to the magical or to the pagan - and we took it as gospel, as we didn’t know any better - and I simply thought this was the modern term used today for a whole vast array of pagans and witchcraft followers. I thought it was a modern day term for a very olde religion. That is what I truly believed for years, especially with my Irish background - and the very heavy Irish influence in Gardener’s foundation of his religion, I felt like YES - I had finally found what had been calling to me for all these years. This was right, this is what I was meant to be - as a lot of the tales he recounted I had remembered being told, or reading, in my families books and stories my entire life. I recognized the names. I knew what “feast days” he was referring to - this was my blood, my heritage - and this MUST be what my family and ancestors had been following - and this MUST have been why I felt so out of place for so long : I was meant to find this.

It was awe inspiring, it was liberating. It was exhilarating.....until it wasn’t. One day, after restocking the shelves with a new shipment, did we stumble across the works of Gardener himself. Wherein book after book, chapter after chapter, detailed the use of ‘Skyclad’ rituals and initiations through the ‘Great Rite’ and meditation through the ‘Great Rite’, and visualization through the ‘Great Rite’, and energy rising through the ‘Great Right’ and just about anything and everything through the use of the ‘Great Rite’ or some incarnation thereof. In the particular books that we read, there were even specific instructions on how to handle ritual situations involving young children and minors, with or without parental involvement, and the importance of secrecy.

This should be a red flag to anyone with a brain cell.

But, for some reason, it wasn’t. My friends ate it up - the fact that they were being referred to, and treated, as adults and equals. What is more enticing to a bunch of hormonal preteens/teens who are certain they know everything, than to be treated as the adults they are very certain they absolutely are? We even had intent debates and discussions with each other where we defended that it was completely respectable and not at all inappropriate. We hung on the language they used as proof that, see, they are not creeps - it is at our discretion, and intimacy level. Using words to be extremely specific about consent, and age, and detailing liaisons between mentors/students and members/High Priest(ess)es to not take place until they are of age and to be very mindful of that at all times. It felt all sorts of wrong to me at the time, but I was in complete denial - it just felt uncomfortable because it was new to me. We made arguments that our very strict, closed-minded Christian influence was why it felt uncomfortable.

As a now wizened adult, not only is this “language” and position the very same argument pedophiles use to skirt the law and rationalize their actions as simple fantasies and free speech, but there is the bigger issue of the “secrecy”. Officially, on record, they are pillars of responsibility and advocates or legal boundaries and sensitivity -- but behind closed doors, don’t ask, don’t tell. Whilst making a not-so-subtle point to acknowledge all the legal boundaries, in the same breath they advocate the freewill, and consent of the member - regardless of age. Making the not so intuitive leap to assume that age is an afterthought if the member should be a willing participant. Nonevermind to the impressionable mind and intimidation or persuasion a younger member may be susceptible to - if they agree, then whose to stop them? Using the guise of secrecy as an underlying tenet of the faith. They aren’t “hiding” anything if their rites and rituals and teachings are just an understood secret knowledge only bestowed upon the most worthy individuals - or even that they are protecting the sanctity of such important rites by not publicly discussing them all willy-nilly. Nor do they bat an eye on the fact that presenting these rites and secrecy in such a prestigious manner would lead a younger audience even more inclined to actively participate, AND more inclined to also stayed shut-lipped about it -- as why wouldn’t they?? They are special. They are the chosen ones. They aren’t like everyone else - not just ANYONE would be allowed this opportunity. These are classic grooming techniques, that you can find examples of in the cases of sex offenders and sexual predators all over the world, let alone key tenets seen in nearly every other publicly recognized sex cults - so why is Wicca the exception?

What bothers me more looking back at these discussions we had is that they were completely unprovoked -- nobody had challenged us, nobody had warned us that this sounds fucked up - no one had ever tried to stop us or steer us away. This was just our knee-jerk topic of discussion and reaction to what we CHOSE to follow. We knew from the get-go that there was something shady going on, our gut and our subconscious was screaming at us to not be those dumb little girls....and we were desperately trying to rationalize it to ourselves without realizing that’s exactly what we were doing. And our rationalized denial won - for a while, at least.

I started straying more and more from that path ever since that day. But, as this was all I had at my disposal to build my world on, I only strayed so far. Other paths still seemed like the works of myth and legend - not “real” beliefs - so I stayed the course, just tended to keep my mouth shut and smiled and nodded when such debates continued on amongst friends. Eventually, several of my friends found local covens to join. They were sweet, and innocent. They opened up certain meetings and classes to new members as a sort of “tiral” phase - to see if it were a right fit. One of my friends in particular went to many of these. She came back with all these fantastic stories and experiences. Learned so many cool new things, and was really growing and developing and learning in the craft. She now had her very own mentor, and I found myself seething in envy. They were all growing and flourishing, and I was left in the dark with my nose stuck in books just dabbling. So I gave in, and went to some meetings with her. They were innocent and informative enough - meditation lessons, a fun Ostara celebration. Sermons on the Summerland and origin stories, God-specific lessons so we could learn all the various pantheon and what they represented. Workshops on creating candle spells, and how to properly sage and cleanse a space. We did yoga. We danced, we played instruments and tries to get into a trance-state. We had potlucks. It was fun. And so we decided to join.....

(...continued)

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coolmarriagerecords · 4 years

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Johan Kugelberg's Top 100 DIY Singles

From Ugly Things via http://www.hyped2death.com/Kugelberg100.html

1. The Desperate Bicycles -The Medium Was Tedium (Refill Records, 1977 UK) The Desperate Bicycles are the yardstick for this obscurist sub genre. No one did it as easy or as cheap as them. Of the slew of unfathomable brilliant pop 45's, The Medium Was Tedium is the apex: The enthusiasm, anger and joy de vivre that oozes from the tracks contained within has me reaching for Village Green-Kinks and first album Cramps to describe the passion. For drunken, leftist dorm-room intellectuals to describe the faith and for Dez/Chavo-era Black Flag to describe the power ? notwithstanding that the recordings themselves are of 4-track bedroom shut-in lo-fi jangle. Too bad the band don't want the material re-released but a good thing indeed that the records barely rate at all in the collector scum price guide pantheon.

2. Beyond The Implode -Last Thoughts EP (Diverse Records UK 1979) Barrett/early-Floyd psych as good (or better) than any Soft Boys, obscurist strum & drang way more passionate than any Flying Nun band I've heard and Inflammable vocals of the purest Oxbridge confusion. The Spacemen 3 never did anything to match this record. [Messthetics #6]

3. V/A -Weird Noise EP (Fuck Off Records UK 1980) The legend doesn't start here, but at least this isn't a cassette-only release in an edition of 50 copies or so like the majority of the Fuck Off Records oeuvre. This lines up the finest advocates of tuneless bashing within the UK late 70's underground: The 012, Danny and the Dressmakers, the Instant Automatons, The Door and the Window and finally the Sell Outs who seem to be Danny and the Dressmakers under a different moniker. The cut "Please Don't Make Another Bass Guitar Mr. Rickenbacker" showcases one of the odder qualities popular music can have: The ability to disorientate the listener. "Simply the very best in bad music" indeed! [Danny...Messthetics Greatest Hits]

4. Desperate Bicycles ? New Cross, New Cross (Refill Records, UK 1978) The godlike power of "I Make The Product" or "Advice On Arrest" (two of the songs on this six song EP) deliver a little salvation of sorts ? the Desperate Bicycles make you believe, make you feel a sense of belonging. Music does that when it is this good. 5.Slugfuckers ? Three Feet Behind Glass EP (No label Australia 1979) Invoke the god Nyarlathotep they do, cover Manson-songs w/o ever having heard him they do, shmear on the middle class art school elitism thick they do. This is an extreme record; noisier and more abrasive than most first generation industrial stuff, a hell of a lot more punk than, say, the Lewd and intelligent in a scary, vicious bullying kind of way. A blazing, hard record at the same time as everything is slightly out of tune, kind of inept and sorta shoddy sounding.

6. Popes -Knup In Your Eye (Vatican Records. UK 1980) This appeared on the worldwide punk list a few issues ago, and educated guesses can be made for this appearing on any other lists I might do in the future. Not only is the record the cats pajamas as far as relentless art school mirth goes (Derek & Clive go through puberty, again!) but the throb and spark of the band makes for repeated play. And then we have to tag on the swollen nostalgia of my friend buying the only copy at the Rough trade shop in 1980 leaving me with none until Bill Forsyth digs one up for me in his back room, oh yeah, and one for Geoffrey too.

7. The Flak -EP (Northern Records UK 1980 (?)) Starts with a depressed "why am I here" poem and moves straight along into "Knocking on Heaven's Door" done dorm-angst-diy-style. This is followed by what sounds like the band attempting a Joy Division-style song the first time they pick up musical instruments. Completely inept, utterly charming and brilliant indeed. Top shelf genre defining DIY.

8. Fatal Microbes -Beautiful Pictures (Small Wonder, UK 1979) Certainly the best record with Honey Bane on it. Charming, relentless punk-crazed homemade guitar crunch. The window of opportunity of the UK underground musicscene in the late 70's is clearly demonstrated here: I doubt the Fatal Microbes stupendous teen energy could have been nurtured in the world of merchandising deals and first-look demo A&R we live in today.

9. The Silver -Do You Wanna Dance (Black Label Finland 1980) The Silver -No More Grease (Black Label Finland 1979) A riddle wrapped inside an enigma etc. The band appears to be around 12 ? 13 years old. They hail from Finland where the trail grew cold a long long time ago. Maybe upon the release of the record. Pussy Galore without post-modern baggage. "Love Theme from the Snails" as performed by SPK. 12 year olds virtually destroying a recording studio captured on tape, not once but four times.

10. Instant Automatons -Peter Paints His Fence EP (Deleted Records UK 1980) More Fuck Off/Street Level-related sublime nonsense. The battle call is the track "People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music" which states: "I was at a pub the other night, when a bunch of mods came in, they eyed me up, then they asked me: Hey man what's your scene? Are you a hippie a mod or a punk? Got a scooter or a motorbike? I can't understand why they burst out laughing when I told them the music I like, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free I had a girlfriend named Josephine, she liked Abba and the Bee Gees. She thought music was about lawyers and accountants, percentages and legal fees. Just the other night we stayed up late, playing records til half past ten, then I played the Danny and the Dressmakers tape and I never saw Josephine again, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free" The gospel, folks. From God's mouth to your ear via the Instant Automatons. [Instant Automatons 'Another Wasted Sunday Afternon' CD]

11. Sir Alick and the Phraser -In Search of the Perfect Baby (Black Noise UK 1980) As Chuck Warner put it: They wrote beautiful pop songs then destroyed them. More Homosexuals pseudonymous mystique. The intelligent reader who followed our previous musings on this band and their universe know how much we love them and how much they perpetually pull our collective leg. No straight-ahead answers in this lifetime which is fine ? fine as far as record collecting is concerned, fine as far as lifemanship is concerned.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

12. The Four Plugs -Biking Girl (Disposable Records UK 1979) The subtle charm of marginal culture: Truly marginal culture where 1000 singles were pressed more than 22 years ago. How many got lost? How many are never being played? How many are stored in a box in the attic? How many are being played repeatedly on turntables that cost ten times as much as the recording and pressing of this given 45? "She used to be my biking partner ? she used to be my biking girl. We used to go for rides in the country side". A true punk rock/diy statement issued by the Damaged Goods people, who knew their Chesterton and Thomas Browne.

13. The Evening Outs -Channel (Refill Records UK 1980) Super-fierce skronk from a pissed-off pseudonymous Desperate Bicycles. Puts that no wave stuff to shame, really.

14. Puritan Guitars -100 Pounds in 15 Minutes (Riverside Records UK 1980) How much it cost to make the record and how long it took. Genius sturm und sturm und sturm und drang clank from a seriously inspired one chord wonder.[Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #104]

15. The Flying Brix -EP (Modello Records UK 1980) So subtle it can barely be heard: A band consisting of Wally's and Erberts, with the odd dead-end yob or two. This record could've been released by Illegal, Fuck Off or fit in on Carry On Oi. It could also have been performed on an episode of Noddy or by Flanagan & Allen. Ur-English music, this.[Messthetics #104]

16. Shrinking Men/Beevers -Hazards in the Home EP (Pop Records UK 1981) The Beevers present a Guthrie-esque talking blues here, except that it isn't a blues, but a charming DIY-shuffle, and that Woody Guthrie as far as I know never sang about the plight and blight of the office boy. The Shrinking Men in turn showcase an angry, loutish anti-army rant that Phil Ochs would've been pretty proud of I think. And there you have it: The folk music connection rears its uncombed head. [Beevers -Messthetics #6]

17. Handgrenades -Demo To London (Phonographics (?) USA 1980 (?)) Coulda fooled me ? Excellent primitive punk/chug/diy from Noo Yak City! Who woulda thunk? Somewhere between "Pink Flag" and Fuck Off Records.

18. Homosexuals -You Are Not Moving The Way You Are Supposed To (Black Noise UK 1980 (?)) An untouchable band, and the lack of a retrospective isn't much of a crime in this house (I have lots of their records snicker snicker snicker) but in other people's houses it sure is. As if Gang of Four would've been any good, as if Wire would've immersed themselves in dub, as if indeed. Parallel universe chart toppers indeed. We all know that there is at least one world out there in the ultra-cosmos where the proverbial kids are kicking these jams daily. A truly inspired and inspiring record..[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

19. Cindy and the Barbi Dolls -Press The Shutter EP (A Not Major Production UK 1980) Dorm angst at its very best. Dark, brooding overtly romantic without gothing it up, these jams have the same lurking power as the pre-Joy Division Warsaw EP or the spookier first line up Soft Boys tracks. A possible sister band to Beyond the Implode in the sense that they play a curiously British form of psychedelic music in the midst of the DIY lack of musical chops. This Cornwall band were seemingly very hip to musical peers, thanking the Desperate Bicycles, the Mekons and Ralph and the Ponytails on the sleeve. There are musical (and one lyrical) nod to the Kinks "Village Green Preservation Society" as well. A very good thing. [Messthetics #7]

20. Versatile Newts -Newtrition (Shanghai Records UK 1980) If this record hadn't existed we would've had to invent it: The marriage/blend of the Swell Maps, This Heat and the TV Personalities. In equal chunks with no lumps. Gadzooks! [Messthetics #103]

21. Pink Dirt -Hey Sir (No label Norway 1979) As far as inept, crazed joi de vivre goes ? Here's the acme. I've written this one up before and will do it again. While this is obviously a straight-ahead angry punk rock band, the abandon and enthusiasm of this record could raise the dead. An angry rant against organized religion ("I have this to say tonight ? never, never get involved with christianity!") howled in a barely English Johnny Rotten-imitation by some Norwegian genius backed by shitrock more primitive than the first Endless Boogie rehearsal. There is no sleeve, no labels, just the legend "Pink Dirt Hey Sir/Hooker" scrawled in magic marker. Who were these gods and why did they walk among us? Please email me if you know anything about the people behind this stunning art experience.

22. Scrotum Poles -Revelation EP (One Tone Records Scotland 1980) Helicopter Honeymoon is going to be played at least three record collector funerals I know of, not including mine. The mighty, mighty Scrotum Poles, proudly proclaiming "DIY! We love the TV Personalities" on the shoddy, xeroxed sleeve. Their website (http://home.switchboard.com/hornstreet) is highly recommended, though we're hesitant to vouch for its complete veracity. Here's how they tell it: "'Pick the Cats Eyes Out' featured lyrics found on the back of a set list by one of the first Dundee punk bands, Bread Poultice and the Running Sores..." [Somebody please send us a demo tape!] "Helicopter Honeymoon," meanwhile, came from a headline "in the Sunday Post." What we should add for American fans is that "cats eyes" are what Brits (and Scots) call those little orange reflectors embedded in highway pavement: "Cats Eyes Out Ahead" used to be a common roadside sign. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #105]

23. File Under Pop -Corrugate (Rough Trade UK 1979 (?)) Godlike DIY power. Primitive grunting, out of tune skeletal instrumentation and noises recorded at Heathrow. I know a guy with an extra copy who'll swap it for Butchy Butch and the Butch Butchers.

24. Nancy Sesay and the Melodaires -C'est Fab (It's War Boys UK 1981 (?)) Un-musical, un-punk and possibly unpleasant music hall-esque skronk/DIY by the godlike Homosexuals using one of their myriad of pseudonyms. And whence you can't imagine the doofus art wank getting any more unlistenable, they spin on a dime and throw in a beautiful chorus sitting on top of a backwardsy funky drummer beat. I am, as per usual, in awe. Shall I hook some enterprising young bootlegger up with a CDR of all their stuff?

25. Performing Ferret Band -Brow-Beaten (Dead Hippy Records UK 1981) Deeply moving primitive musical fumble from this rare 45 by the masters behind the in my mind most seminal LP to come out of DIY. The eponymous Performing Ferret Band LP, which features jaw-droppers such as "Plastic Macho Man", "Fizzly Drinks" or "Great Duos Of Our Time". Fantastic over-enthusiastic juvenilia of an almost supernatural beauty. The Performing Ferrets - no one told us CD (Messthetics #216)

26. Different Eyes/Royston - Shish EP (Tuzmadoner Records UK 1979) One of the two masterpieces released on the Tuzmadoner label (the other being a 12" comp entitled, uh, "folk music" bringing up more parallels to skiffle that we should probably choose to ignore). Royston are like Flanagan & Allen fronting the world's greatest shit rock band. Different Eyes sound more lethargic than anyone else I've heard I think, and I used to work for Pavement's label. Simon Gilham from either Royston or the 'Eyes later played in Colin Newman's solo band. [Royston -Messthetics Greatest Hits and #1; Different I's -Messthetics #101 (plus their even better track from Folk Music)]

27. Homosexuals -Hearts In Exile (Black Noise UK 1978) Words fail me. As far as beauty goes, this is like Mozart or Shirley Collins. Probably their greatest moment. Somewhere along the lines of Brill Building and traditional UK folk and the Upsetters and ESP Records all at once in perfect harmony. A milestone, I think, and a record that I'd place in a timecapsule of 20th century folk art.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

28. Andrew Klimek -Felt Hammer (Mustard Records USA 1979) The guitar break alone sends this one soaring over the sky scrapers. Has that patented and most beautiful basement 4-track sound down pat even though I get more and more convinced that all those legendary Cleveland bands all were record collector rock of the umpteenth degree. Extraordinarily self-aware, sly and with meticulously thought out records, this one being no exception. The pompous liner notes on the sleeve of the 45 proves me right. You got to be some kind of Apples in Stereo-type shmuck to brag on a record sleeve that you put the bass guitar through a ring modulator.

29. Mekons -Never Been In A Riot (Fast Records UK 1978) Way before they became icky hippy-punk icons for aging counter culture types across the world they released a couple of singles of gorgeous nihilist slop. This is the first, and the funniest and the noisiest.

30. Jelly Babies -De Nada EP (No label name UK 1981) Simply heaven. A clumsy speed-chug with lyrics about a day of roller-skating and lovely pre-pubescent boozy backing vocals. Genius. Extra-tinny sound, extra passionate execution. I've quoted this portion of the notes on the (shoddy xerox, natch) sleeve: "Recorded at Dirt Cheap Studios, the best studios in the whole wide world by Grant Showbiz, the most silly person in the whole wide world, who steals your food and has a nice red guitar with a super tremelo arm which somebody gave him." Like Blake, the words transcend space, time and mortality. You need this record. Crunchy granola collectors should also note that I have personally seen at least five different (shoddy xerox) picture sleeves for this record where the priority can be determined with relative accuracy using the carbon 14 method. [one from the EP is coming on London v.III: another song from the EP demos appears on Messthetics Greatest HISS (Messthetics #110)

31. Thin Yoghurts -Girl On the Bus (Lowther Street Runner Records UK 1980) More sing-a-longa-slop-charm. You can take the limey out of the music hall but you can't Cute, touching and romantic lyrics about lusting over some tasty lassie on the bus to the kippers factory. They did this record as well as a cassette, which is a hundred bucks in your sweaty palm, if you send it to me. [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

32. Lucky Pierre -This Could Be The Night (No label USA 1984 (?)) Scuzzy, phenomenal art-rant by some Ohio Bowie-boy who'd re-record these musical chairs of Chain Gang, Klaus Nomi and cocaine freebase ten years later for Trent Reznor's label adding a "industrial dance beat" to the mess and changing the band name to Prick. Supposedly (some record-log-pincher told me) there were only 50 copies pressed for Lucky Pierre to use as record deal bait (also the reason that the lyrics are etched on the flip together with a ten second excerpt of the song). Well, I guess it worked. I seem to recall seeing a video for the re-recorded version on MTV during ol' Pierre's 15 seconds in the spotlight. The awe-inspiring power of this record remains tho'.

33. Skabb -78 EP (Mistlur Sweden 1978) Track 2 side one is jaw-dropping Opus-style DIY-crunch punk with Kriminella Gitarrer-guitar breaks. I can't believe this isn't a hotly pursued record by herd-following punk rock turd-swallowers round the globe. Fantastic slop-o-rama-lama-fa-fa-fa production too.

34. V/A -Angst In My Pants double EP (Street Level UK 1979) Imagine how good the previous 33 records on this list are, as I guarantee by risk of punishment of rock writer hyperbole, that this is doubtlessly one of the finest records I've ever heard, and the second greatest compilation in the history of rock! How can I say this wonders Rutger the Punk from his bedroom in Krakow ? Well the proof is in the pudding: Not only does the record include some of the finest recorded moments by the legendary Instant Automatons (who unknowingly channel the Monks!), 012 and the Door and the Window, but furthermore a rare vinyl appearance by the Digital Dinosaurs, heralded by me, Mario and Geoffrey in that most smug sort of way as unheralded gods of music! If that ain't enough you get some fine TVP-related spurts from the Missing Persons and extremely do it yourself DIY frenzy from the Midnight Circus. Who in "Silicone Baby" and "Hedonist Jive" have out-poignanted a tow-truck full of Aimee Mann's and Michelle Shocked's edgy humanity and funny as shit to boot. [Digital Dinsaurs and Instant Automatons are on Messthetics Greatest Hits: Midnight Circus have their own CD...And there's more on Deleted/Street Level at the Instant Automatons website]

35. Pleemobielz -Dagenlang Balen (Kamikaze Records Holland 1981) More sociological sloganeering a la Midnight Circus here: Dagenlang Balen which needlessly translates as "fuck all day" roars through the speakers with all the might of a bunch of over-testosteroned 16 year old virgins singing about what they think it'll be like to have sex some day. Tinniest sound in history. When a copy finally showed up on my doorstep after the fucking (literally!) record had spent a solid 10 years on my want list my expectations were quite low since anyone I had talked to who had heard the record all stated that it was weak/a waste of time etc. Well: It being a want list staple has more to do with the scarcity of the disc than it being a desirable punk rock record. However: It is an extremely desirable record if frenzied DIY bliss is your chosen poison.

36. Just Urbain -Guns & Guitars (No label Australia 1979) Another amazing DIY record from Australia, this one definitely sports a spiritual kinship with SPK, the Slugfuckers, the first Thought Criminals record, and those Systematics and Tactics records I need to find. Very dark, scuzzy art-damaged DIY that (a la Cabaret Voltaire or early SPK) is well aware of the fine krautrock musics coming out of Germany on Ohr or Sky a few years previously. The proto punk of say Neu or Cosmic Jokers is here handled with poisonous skronky passion.

37. The Gags -Sex Ist Schau (Leg Auf Records Germany 1981) And then one has to simply wonder if the belly laughs generated by this piece of vinyl have racist connotations: How much are we allowed to laugh at the Germans? This might be the stiffest record I've heard. The vocals lyrical bark manages to reanimate Basil Fawlty's classic performance in the "Germans" episode as well as the Sprockets. The jams are crazed. Stiff, yes, but crazed.

38. Desperate Bicycles -Smokescreen (Refill Records UK 1977) Their debut, more aggressive than a lot of the other classics and maybe it was the year. This is the 45 that launched hundreds of others: Two songs on one side to save mastering costs, the cheapest packaging, music that had to be documented, and it didn't matter if it was done in the cheapest and easiest way imaginable. [Messthetics #8]

39. Butter Utter -Jävlarnas Jul (Leonid Breznjev Records Swe 1977) Took me ages to find this one. Extremely inept, Shaggs-like fumble with a certain Je Ne Sais Qui of punk rock aggression. A lot of Killed by Death-types paid a lot of moola for this one, that some guy hyped to the moon in a Boston straight-edge fanzine back in the 80's. Only truly "punk" in the musical disaster sense of the word.

40. Cut-Outs -DIY (EMI UK 1979) Great novelty pop monster complete with carpentry noises. Possibly not a DIY record at all, but since the genre is made up by people like me this is a DIY record cuz I sez so. [NOT on Messthetics #7]

41. Massmedia ? EP (Massproduktion Swe 1979) Debut sloppiness from future KBD mainstays. There is no discernable musical ability to be found on this record and yet they play and play and play. The energy level is however awe-inspiring.

42. Dagens Ungdom -EP (Mistlur Swe 1980) Having an art school wank with Dagens Ungdom. Brilliant faux-DIY released on one of the major noo wave era indie labels of Sweden, home of Ebba Gron. All songs have titles nabbed from Kafka books, lyrics are more adjective heavy than a tub full o' Morrisey and the music is flawless DIY stumble n' fumble.

43. The Discounts -Selling Records (Original Records UK 1980) Blank 1000-yard stare DIY novelty straight out of High Fidelity. The lyric is a monologue as by a bored-to-tears record store clerk. The jams are sub-sub-sub-Blockheads DIY stumble. Extremely amusing.

44. Grinder Wickford's So Boring -EP (Wax Records UK 1979) Forget punk rock, bring in hick-rock! The aliases of the band read: "Dav-Id, Si-Kic, Terry-Ball, Stu-Pid and Holy-Grail"!. Three band members have moustaches! The singer is wearing a Rocky Horror t-shirt! The a-side is a "humorous" ditty about the acne problem of Spiderman, reflecting the sleeve front depicting some fool in a Spiderman costume driving a tractor, The b-side is an anti-fuzzy dice song. Genius. It is obvious to me that Wickford wasn't boring at all as long as you hung out with the bold gents of Grinder. The songs range from primitive clunky riff-rock to DIY jangle of the highest order. Messthetics #101

45. Psykik Volts -Totally Useless (Ellie Jay Records UK 1979) More Music Hall-punk DIY genius. The spirit of Vivian Stanshall is looming large; as is the empty pint glasses littering the room as this 45 is stuck on repeat. All together now: "It's to-tal-ly useless"!! The sleeve bears the legend: "Side A: recorded in a sock, Side B: recorded in a morgue. May god bless vocalist and songwriter Victor Vendetta. Now pardon me while I go to the corner and cry.

46. Raisinets -More Fun To Play Than To Listen To (Fun-Ethic Records USA 1979) Fantastic record-collector hippie-punk a la Gizmos/Afrika Korps/Half Japanese. Primitive guitar duets complete with questionable production values and mucho muchacho helpings of pure static. Great post-arrest pre-OD lyrics making fun of Sid too.

47. Dag Vag -Dimma (Ball Records Swe 1978) Two years after this record was released, Dag Vag were playing new wave-scented white-boy reggae to sell-out crowds all over Sweden. This, however, is a one-man band bedroom project by a Träd Gräs & Stenar roadie who had discovered punk rock and the DIY scene. Beautiful dark/sinister home studio atmospherics, killer fuzz guitar and demented lyrics about psychiatric care and drug experiences. A great record. And by all means: Don't buy any other Dag Vag records after you've obtained this one.

48. I Jog & the Tracksuits - Redbox (Tyger Label UK 1978) More lost artform unique stumble-rumble from the UK. Sounds like it was recorded under water this one. A petty miracle of a pop tune with a sublime lyric about waiting for the bus. Gotta bless em for the stamina it takes to get a record out: Recording, Mixing, Mastering, Designing, Printing, Approving, Distributing, Balancing. All to get a little song about missing the bus heard by me 22 years later.

49. Injections -Prison Walls (Radioactive Records USA 1980) This has always been an extremely desired and expensive record in KBD/Japanese Tasty/Moustache circles, and it doubtlessly deserves its inflated price tag even though we aren't talking chainsaw-buzz punk rock per se here.

50. Devils Hole Gang -Free The People (Slow Burning Fuse Records UK 1979) Huge moustaches, huge choruses, and a record that sounds like it was recorded inside one of those Moroccan hotel showers that basically consist of a huge tube of aluminum siding. My pretentious nature is such that I feel forced to unleash the folk art metaphor for this again. If your friendly neighborhood rare record dealer charges you a couple of C-notes for this and you feel like your being had for big G's by the sleaze, then remember that you are investing in art, not buying a record!!

51. Funboy Five -Life After Death (Cool-Cat Daddy-O Records UK 1980) A pure pop record indeed, but where pricey production values would've turned this into a memorable Stiff Records 45, the band's lack of bucks and resulting throwaway/enthusiasm production and energy has created a masterpiece. Both sides are stalwarts for a neighborhood sing-song or a rousing music hall chorus. Punk rock music hall: A genre waiting to happen again! [Messthetics #101]

52. How To Get Rich In Rotterdam - Dapper Dan (Vormgeving Rotterdam Records Netherlands 1981) Brilliant, plodding art-slop that reeks of inside jokedom. This record is a reason unto itself to pay ebay prices for vintage drum machines.

53. Come -Come Sunday (Come Organization UK 1979) Before William Bennett became the Benny Hill of industrial noise, his band Whitehouse were called Come and released a single and an album which both are quite lovely homemade art-dirge crankiness, a friendly psychedelic kind of crankiness indeed.

54. The Riotous Brothers -Vicki's Dancing (Riotous Records 1980) How all these disparate bands came up with a sound this cohesive is a mystery to me. Any of the hints handed to us through fanzines and interviews only mess things up further: Yes, anyone could form a band, make a record, start a record label indeed. Where it gets weird is why so many of them harbor a similar tinny guitar sound, cardboard-y drums, messy synths, inept recording techniques, smart-assed lefty lyrics and nasal singing tone. This was not a movement. It was just a bunch of stuff that happened. That's all. This record has the beautiful simplicity of a Shaker chair or a Maine seafood soup. The swanky speedpunk of "Operation Zero" or the plink-a plunk-a guitar solo on "Emotional Cripple" will some day have their own wing at the Victoria and Albert museum. Make my art primitive!

55. Partizans -Goods (A-Noyz Records UK 1980) Chain Gang's retarded English cousins. Ace!!

56. Amor Fati -Economics 100 (Yuck/Flesh Records USA 1984 (?) Very angry anti-r&r/anti-big-business slightly tongue in cheek rant that shows spiritual kinship to "Rat City" by the Art Attacks. Vertical Slit/V-3. The odd blend of wanting in, wanting to play the game and wanting to stay the fuck away that is symptomatic for a lot of Ohio underground musicians (Shepard, Hummel, House etc.)

57. Desperate Bicycles -Skill (Refill Records UK 1978) Blazing DIY-shuffle and unmistakenly Bicycles. More pro production which has this one slip further down the list. Still godlike though.

58. Sarah Coffman -Titta Jag Ar Död (Konkurrenz Rekårdz Sweden 1980) Excellent primitive shit-rock by band from my hometown!

59. Hornsey At War -Deadbeat Revival EP (War Product UK 1979) Extremely amusing ultra-sloppy DIY. No discernable production values, sound-as-filtered-through-ground-beef, emotionally charged out-of-tune vocals, crackly guitar (broken cable?) and a true aura of dead end yobs (and jobs) instead of the more common middle class art school vibe as prevailing on most DIY records. Hornsey At War are complaining about English radio too: "They won't play this record on the radio because it poses a threat!" Here tis again: That charming blend of hubris and defeatist that seems to penetrate the psyches of most people involved in underground music and/or collectors of it.

60. Take It -How It Is (Fresh Hold UK 1979) Stunning out of control DIY/noise not unlike a more frenzied Soft Boys, a more good Gang of Four or a less psychotic SPK. Igor and Simon seem like a couple of gents with some hardcore political and intellectual pursuits, and like the Desperate Bicycles before them I sense that the choice of releasing a noisy cheaply recorded 45 with a xerox cover was an act of some sort of political defiance, back in the day where such an act was not co-opted from the ground up by extreme sports and Wall Mart hair dye. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #2]

61. Rough Cuts EP (Z-Block Records UK 1980) Inspired sampler of four bands (The Boywonders, The Ghoulies, The Czechs and the Decadent Few) two of which tell us their age on the cover (The Boywonders are all 16, The Czechs are all 17). Humbling thought that such musical spirit could be mustered at such a tender age. Great variety of flavors too: The Boywonders great inept, spooky DIY strut where the band might think that a reggae influence is prevailing, us knowing that the stumbleblock shuffle bears more resemblance to ancient Celtic airs, the unbearable beauty of the Czechs utter disregard of tone, meter and signatures or the Ghoulies oddly Booker T-esque chug n' scrape. The business, all and all. [Boywonders and Czechs on Messthetics #104: The Z-Block Story is here]

62. The Petticoats -Normal (Bla-Bla-Bla Records UK 1980) Ripping good-kind-feminist anti-normalcy rant. Spiritually uplifting in a way not dissimilar to first-hand experience of medieval church architecture, I shit you not. Recorded at Street Level which means that this record is Fuck Off Records related.

63. Reducers -We Are Normal (Vibes Product UK 1978) The sub genre Geoff Weiss-punk is hereby coined to describe this record. High-energy ineptitude. There is a strange kinship to the Pink Fairies/Deviants axis on this record ? A similarity in energy and attack, notwithstanding that the Reducers really don't know how to play their instruments very well. [Messthetics #1]

64. Il Ya Volkswagens - Kill Myself (Mechanical Reproductions UK 1981) One more year in the rehearsal space for these guys and I wouldn't be writing this. Discernable elements of gothrock and Bauhaus influence can be noticed as a faint vapor in this aural air to speak it in goth-speak, the crunch of the slightly sour guitar, the plodd of the (genius) bass line and the all-in slouch of the lethargic vocalist and the cracked-everyday electronics elevates this dirge into an 18 carat DIY-cruncher.

65. Quite Ridiculous Nonsense -Identity Crisis (No Label USA 1984) Most ace industrial wank of that rare late 70's variety. Wildly entertaining experiments in four track flatulence and transistor radio static.

66. Pervers/Deutscher Abschaum split 7" (Suff Productions Germany 1984) The Godhead. Reminds me of Teddy and the Fratgirls or the Foams in the sense that one gets the notion that these must have been fun gals to hang out with or date. The timeless splendor of the arty urban misfit girl: Her goofy charm and no-holds-barred enthusiasm for all that she found weird, interesting or sexually appetizing. A toast to the art school weirdo outcast girls of the world: May they forever paint their room black or read Hermann Hesse to you in bed! The music is wild, out of control amateuristic slop goes from Electric Eels fuzzed out haterock to drumkits thrown down the stairs to minimal teen-angst and then back. Beautiful stuff. Got this in trade from Thurston Snore for some boring free jazz records back in the day. What a chump!

67. The Prats -Disco Pope (Rough Trade UK 1979) 15-year old Scottish schoolboy punks seething with rage over the demon disco. Early Downliners Sect-style one chord R&B shuffle complete with the drum breaks that made God decide not to spare humanity. Don't miss it!

68. Plast -EP (Stranded Rekords Swe 1979) Four song EP of the finest in teenage punks attempting to embrace the confusion in their head from listening to TG, Cabaret Voltaire and Pere Ubu. An ungodly racket where the hostility of the chosen sounds meets the cozy ineptitude of the random noises. Plenty of short-wave noises and the crappiest of synths. Utterly charming.

9. Raincoats -Fairytale in the Supermarket (Rough Trade UK 1979) All enthusiasm/zero chops Ubu-esque DIY-charm from these stunning ladies. This is the best of their many records. Some kinda CD anthology that I can't find right now was released in the USA on the basis of Kurt Cobain being a big fan.

70. Tone Deaf and the Idiots -Why Does Politics Turn Men Into Toads? (Blue Angel UK 1979) Tone Deaf and the Idiots how do I love thee. This flexi is taken from their debut album Catastrophe Rock which still stands alongside the Damian & the Criterions "Avant Garde", Alvaro's Drinking My Own Sperm and Kräldjursanstalten's Voodoo Boogie as peerless monuments of original thought as far as late 70's underground albums are concerned. Catastrophe rock indeed. This is what "Music from the Big Pink" would've sounded like if it had been performed by the Portsmouth Sinfonia.

71. Desperate Bicycles -Grief Is Very Private (Refill UK 1980) One of the mighty Bicycles more introspective and subtle moments. Their entire recorded output is well worth hearing, and the range of emotions they paint from their palate quite astounding.

72. Door and the Window -I Like the Sound (NB Records UK 1979) One of many brilliant anti-music art school rants by the grand old daddies of the very genre. They like sound, they don't like the Pop Group, they like noise (um yeah!), they don't like butter The list goes on and I can't say that I reached any enlightenment as such by the end of this demented scratchy noise-fumble. But the journey sure was great.

73. Slugfuckers -Instant Classic (PRS Australia 1979) Homosexuals-y whiteguy funk/noise fracture that Liquid Liquid would've been pretty stoked about. Screeching scrape and dumb jokey asides. Who could ask for anything more?

74. Happy Cadavers -Nothing New (Undefined Records UK 1982) Punk/wave slop from the Midwest ? kind of aims for the Stranglers but hits Small Wonder Records. Charming stuff. Give me a fake English accent any day.

75. The Reflections - 4 Countries (Cherry Red UK 1981) Coulda been by the Desperate Bicycles this: stop/start gurgling plodding slop with most excellent Mark P. whining on top. Patented Karl Blake crumble-o-rific drumming not to mention the ambience added by the illustrious Nag of Door and the Window celebrity status. The Reflections album is well worthy of your grease as well as it is more of the same DIY-gunk but with a more contempo Recommended Records-type sound. [Messthetics #1]

76. Reacta -Stop the World (Battery Operated Records UK 1979) Another one that demands the Desperate Bicycles as cultural cookie cutter ? A beautiful ramble with the edgy guitars of Hilton Bomber-Thought Criminals.[Messthetics Greatest Hits]

77. Crash Action Winners - Hurricane Fighter Plane (Sonic International UK 1979) Somewhere in this mess of static and filtered mud are the chord-change(s) of "Hurricane Fighter Plane". The sleeve hints at the band being American, the sounds point straight in the direction of an English middle class art school, and the record cover furthermore defines them as a bunch of record collectors to boot. Not only is a Roky Erickson tune given the same crap-o-riffic sonic treatment, but the shoddy crumb-bum picture sleeve showcases record covers by the Seeds, the 13th Floor Elevators, Russ Meyer and Question Mark and the Mysterians displayed in tasteful collage form. Messthetics #104

78. The Plastic Mechanical Pig -Book Brains (IX Recording Company Japan 1981) Tricky one here, Ricky and Paul, the two guys on the cover of the PMP 45, look like a couple of student teachers and the record sounds like a couple of student teachers recorded a Raisinets/Half Japanese hybrid on a primitive 4 track. Charming record this, with two folky DIY-punk cuts, but why on earth was it released in Japan?

79. V/A - Mell Square Musick EP (Yaw Records UK 1979) I've listened to this record a good dozen times or so, and my jaw still drops. Frenzied homemade punk where the energy could light up a medium-size town. Similar to the Tandstickorshocks, Seems Twice or Red Cross "Born Innocent" LP in its instinctive disregard for notes, chords and melody, the Accused or the 021 are more than deserving of particularly exquisite golden wings in the halls of the Valhalla of Amateurism. I bow my head. [Cracked Actor Messthetics #7; Accused and 021 - Messthetics #103]

80. Tandstickorshocks - Allan Vogalan (King Kong Records Holland 1980) The Dutch Puritan Guitars right here, it is almost spooky how similar the sound of the two bands is. Spinning these 45's makes me wonder if this music somehow managed to sidestep rock & roll and the black music tradition as a core influence. There is something about the Tandstickorshocks which at the same time manages to remind me of Schoenberg, microtonal composers and Irish tin-whistle folk music. This is, needless to say, evidence that I should get out more often, but also that these slices of true-life counterculture juvenilia are not isolated from a cultural context, but embracers of it. Even if it did take a couple of decades for these records to be collected in some kind of organized manner. The kids in Tandstickorshocls must have been aware of Wire and the Young Marble Giants, but the minimal primitive music they create is original in the same manner as the artists on Pat Conte's "Secret Museum of Mankind" compilations.

81. Foams - Paint Me (Pet Me Quick Records USA 1981) A classic of sorts. Frenzied, inept live recordings by this all-girl Austin Texas punk band. The only way that I can explain the similarities to the Slits or the Raincoats are that gals sure have a different way of looking at things, or at least playing drums. Great smutty lyrics and barky art-school vox too.

82. SST -Clutch On the Ward (Tidal Wave Records USA 1977) Super-inept hippie punk/DIY from California with lotsa early punk scenesters name-checked on the sleeve. Ted Falconi pre-Flipper on guitar.

83. The Simple Approach to Newtown Products EP (NTP Records UK 1980) My approach was to pay the inflated price the dealer was asking and happily walk home with this great record. 4 songs, four bands: Crimedesk are toilet-recorded DIY-slop, Basic Unit must be the most amateuristic goth band I've ever heard, Beat Necessity showcase only the finest in tuneless death-dirge with off-key howling and Story So Far is an awesome Joy Division/Factory Records attempt, but with no discernable musical talent. Needless to say, the whole EP is as charming as the day is long.

84. Hörförståelse -Förläst Jävel (CTR Sweden 1980) Demented art skronk of drums, bass and crap keyboards featuring out of tune vocals regurgitating about someone being an over-educated bastard. Perfect, really. A must for fans of primitive shit music.

85. What To Wear - Casual But Smart EP (Basic and Typical Records UK 1980 (?)) Inspired stumble as an attempt to play dub, The Homosexuals can do it ? These guys can't. I don't know if this given failure brought about something new, but this record is a very listenable stab at atmosphere by a DIY band with limited budget and equipment. The flip also contains a couple of amazing speed-pop DIY-rambles. [ Messthetics #104]

86. Contact -Future (Object Music UK 1979) An avantfied klutz by a band who probably wanted to be Tubeway Army one thinks as one gazes upon the sleeve. They move from sloppy pro-rock attempts to full-on art-noise to excellent DIY jingle and jangle. One of many excellent items on the Object label. [ Messthetics #106 and Messthetics #7]

87. Good Missionaries -Deranged in Hastings (Unnormality Records UK 1979) A great stop/start hiccup with the patented GM/ATV tinny guitars and peripheral production. What makes this stand out is that barely concealed aggression, like a slow fuse or something.

88. The Potent Human EP (L'Aventure Records UK 1980) I maintain, and not only because of my middle class lifestyle, that the Bathroom Renovations is the greatest band name in the history of rock. This EP is a four out of four winner. Brilliant DIY fumble from The Mekon (no relation), The Liggers , The Spurtz and the ultra-wah-wah power of the Bathroom Renovations. Let me type that again: Bathroom Renovations. [Liggers: Messthetics #106]

89. Disco Zombies -Here Comes the Buts (Dining Out Records UK 1980) This is my favorite of their three spectacular singles. Thw thuick brogue of an accent blends in a most interesting way with the crappy guitar and dull throb of the melody line or the voluptous Steve Severin-style bass line.

90. Record Players -Double C Side EP (Wreckord Records UK 1978) The Record Players came from Kent, which mustered a bit of a mod scene a couple years later, but otherwise wasn't much of a factor in the punk (or DIY) world. Here they've mustered up an anti-MOR rant with a chorus that comes off kind of, eh, MOR-sounding. Imagine the classic DIY trashing, bashing and gnashing, but with one big ol' chorus, and the most obvious bridge you'll ever hear. "Ignore Us" on the flip is self-defeatist art that'll piss all over any Magnetic Fields as far as smug self-hatred goes. "It's just one thing you gotta do if you want to move along, ignore the music and ignore this song ? Ignore us and we might go away". How about that. [Messthetics #1]

91. Boys and Girls Come Out and Play EP (Boys and Girls Records UK 1980) Might be a grade school project this one, and not an art school project. Bands like the Human Cabbages, The Profile and The Famous Five are very young sounding. The fragile beauty of these tunes remind me of the UK Voice of the People anthologies of field recordings of folk songs. The purity, private nature of the songs and homemade-ness makes for a truly intimate, moving listening experience. The people on this record should be proud of this slice of juvenalia 20-odd years later.[Profile -Messthetics #103 -also a Human Cabbages song]

92. False Idols -Ego Wino (Old Knew Wave Records UK 1980) Paul Morotta's unknown English nephews. This could be a Poli Styrene Jass Band outtake. Great, spazzy DIY with jazzy chording and great, supressed aggression.

93. Bandage -Republik (Bandage Records Sweden 1978) Seems as if the average age of the band members is 16 or so, and that the mere existence of this record points to the purest and most blissfully unaware state of do it yourself: Some kids in a suburb of Stockholm getting turned on by punk rock and the notion of releasing their own record. The four songs are all fuzzed out riff rock, not unlike say, the Crucified EP, but the poor quality of recording, sound separation, levels and what have you is why the record is mentioned on this list. Not that any of that was done on purpose, mind you, for any DIY-ethic of sorts. Necessity and gratification and all that good stuff.

94. 49 Americans -Big Value (NB Records UK 1979) Another hidden Fuck Off Records release? The 49 Americans certainly moved in the same circles, and furthermore share plenty of aesthetic choices with Danny and the Dressmakers or the Instant Automatons. This record consists of 14 short blasts of fuzz punk meets art wank and is absolutely brilliant.

95. Gods Gift -925 (New Market Records UK 1979) Three tuneless tunes of the finest in fuzzed-out death-dirge DIY-slop. Kilslug jamming with the Door and the Window.[Messthetics #106]

96. Mud Hutters -Declaration EP (Defensive Records UK 1979) Mud Hutters ? Information EP (Dead Good Records UK 1979) Truly original band this. Somewhere in a Heartwork Records/Rock In Opposition neighborhood, but with a real Safe As Milk-crunch. There are psych elements on both these records, moments of blistering punk rock, and a generous infusion of the Desperate Bicycles (or Thought Criminals) ethics and esthetics. Fantastic records, and mandatory listening for any fan of the underground music of the late 70's era. Unfortunately, their subsequent album isn't great. By that time the band got Gang of Four damage.[ Messthetics #106: a track from their first EP is on Messthetics Greatest Hits]

97. Horrible Nurds -Consuming Passion (Half Wombat Records UK 1980) Oddly enough, this record sounds a hell of a lot like early Problem (Sweden) on the a-side, with the b-side being Tim Rose backed by ATV in a fantastic art-rock/DIY howler In that lost art form kind of way.

98. Reptile Ranch -Animal Noises EP (Z Block Records UK 1980) Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 (one of the most under-rated bands of the last 15 years says I and ponder an upcoming UT article) are here channeled way before they even were formed by some UK art school kids. Fantastic Beefheart-y R.I.O-hybrid DIY. Passionate, crude and obnoxious, sending this record to the top shelf of any record room! [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

99. Freiwillige Selbstkontrolle - EP (Zick Zack Records Germany 1980) Ace generic DIY/punk that could've been at home on an early Rough Trade 45.

100. The Rutto - Ei Paluuta (Ikbals Records Finland 1983) Figured I'd seal the circle with this one: A record as stupendous as "Medium Was Tedium" and as prominently throwing all the weight of the DIY-aesthetic on us, the listeners. The Rutto seem to be your 1983 run-of-the-mill small town punk rockers, and this 45 is generic, frantic buzzsaw guitar 2-chord punk. The magic with this one, however, is that in between the choca-blocks of teen nihilism is a noticeable sense of wonder and joi de vivre oozing thru' the grooves, or maybe I am just getting old and sentimental. Thanks for reading.

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andersfels · 5 years

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I'm actually legit pissed that people took "cancel culture" away from other people as a way to talk about social rejection and isolation based on small, old, or even falsified infractions, or even any little mistake, and turned it into a thing for celebrities and big name people, and claimed it wasn't real because rich people could buy their way out of things or because a lot of men don't face consequences.

"cancel culture" was never meant to fucking describe how people got mad at johnny depp for being a fucking abuser while he still kept his job. it was meant to describe the 15 year old trans kid who was learning, said the word "transsexual" because they didn't know it was outdated, and had someone send their followers to send anon hate over it, and then proceed to have that cited to them as to why they suck for the next two years.

and honestly....it feels like tumblr's own cop out for the consequences of behavior, because y'all can bully people as much as you want as long as you can point at celebrities and go "see? it does nothing anyway! it's just what they deserve!"

cancel culture is real, but it only exists in small social groups, and is the result of (mostly minorities, lbr,) being beld to a standard of literal perfection or else they face something they said as a teenager being used against them for years.

I've seen people say "cancel culture isn't real" as a way to justify them sending anon hate. I'm fucking absolutely done. cancel culture doesn't apply to celebrities, it applies to tumblr kids you want to drag down because they're still learning and you never want to let anyone apologize or grow because this site's weird puritanical mindset has brainwashed everyone into thinking you have to be perfect and good from the start or you're just irredeemable. it's the standards people set out of prejudices, forever finding reasons to cancel poc by white people, by people of other sexual orientations than LGBTQ people, etc.

cancel culture is the creator of the new lesbian flag being treated to regular anons questioning her stances on things no matter how much she's clarified them, calling her a liar, and them then rejecting the flag based solely on "not trusting the creator because she used to believe bad things."

cancel culture is me being put on a "pedophile blocklist," with the citing screenshot being from my testimony of childhood sexual assault where i had said i was a hypersexual kid, because that implied that kids could in any way be sexual, and then proceeding to get triggering harrassment over the next year+ until i deleted my blog.

and tbh I'm just going to assume everyone who attaches themselves so thoroughly to "cancel culture isn't real" has shit in their past they don't want to feel guilty over wrt to treatment of other people on here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

it's a fucking cop out so you tumblr assholes don't have to feel bad about the aggressive behavior you display(ed) to other people on here. you tell yourselves it's not real so your actions don't mean anything, and i don't trust a single fucking person who says it.

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freedom-shamrock · 5 years

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Bi the Pricking of my Thumbs #3

<< Chapter 2

Cautionary note: This chapter includes a conversation about an unsupportive bi-phobic parent and hints at poor outcomes that are more prevalent among queer teens. It is offset by a supportive friend and healthy discussion.

Also on AO3.

Chapter 3

"Thank you Nadja. As a matter of fact, I do have a message for a very special group of Parisians," Ladybug said, her voice a little tinny as it played through Alya's cellphone.

"Let me guess," Nadja Chamak said brightly. "Would it be for the GLBTQ of Paris?" She gestured to Ladybug's cape, on full display in the light breeze. Magical fabrics were a dream to work with.

Chat stepped up next to his partner, and the accents his kwami had made to the suit stood out well against the black, even on the tiny screen. His boot cuffs, belt, and wrist cuffs had each been done in a different pride flag scheme.

"It's a subset of that community, yes." Her eyes cut to her partner before she turned to face the camera, personally addressing Paris. "It's unfortunately true that not all GLBTQ people are able to be out. There are some who can't risk the potential backlash. Worse still, are those for whom it would be unsafe."

"Is that really still an issue?" Nadja asked. "Pride is huge, and a growing number of people are identifying as queer in some way or another."

"We've had progress, but a complete social shift will take time," Chat said, shrugging.

Ladybug frowned a little. "I have a very good friend who wants to be out. He's fine with who he is. But his… guardian wouldn't permit it." The frown morphed to a full scowl, only fading when Chat lightly ran a hand down her back. "So I have this message for those who have family and friends who seem stuck in the puritanical dark ages. You are valid. You are not disgusting, broken, an aberration, or anything else you may have been called. You are loved. I'm here for you, not just today or this month. I'm here for you all the time. I'm asking the Ladyblog to set up some resources and a contact form so we can get you help if you need to get out of an unhealthy environment, if you feel trapped, or if you lose all hope. I don't want anything bad to happen to any of you." She glanced at Chat, giving him a soft smile.

The video froze. "Here," Alya said, pointing vehemently at the screen. "See that? That's significant."

Marinette tilted her head. "Significant of what?"

Alya rolled her eyes. "This is the kind of signal long-term romantic partners use for silent communication. And you can bet that there's a story behind this announcement."

"Really?" Adrien asked, leaning on the desk, his forehead furrowed. "Like what?"

"I bet Chat Noir lost someone important to him because they couldn't come out, maybe a sibling or a friend," Alya said, eagerly spinning her tale. "Ladybug loves him, and she's clearly doing this for him."

She wasn't entirely wrong, but she was still pretty far of the mark. "That sounds like a great fanfic plot, Als," Marinette suggested.

Nino cackled. "Nette's got a point, dude. You're taking that speculation for a roller-coaster ride."

Alya huffed. "One day you'll see I'm right," she insisted.

"Thanks for sharing this," Adrien said, his voice softer than usual. "It's an important message."

"Yeah," Alya agreed with a shrug. "It aligns well with Marinette's spontaneous Pride campaign, so I figured it was a special interest." She looked at Marinette. "How's your friend doing? The one who made you realize this was an issue?"

She considered for a moment. "I think he's doing okay." He was stupidly good at hiding his feelings, though, and that still made her worry. "I'm sure he'll be glad to know you asked about him."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of ours," Nino said. "I'm in for giving him a crash space if he needs it."

Happy warmth filled her. She really had the best friends. "Thank you."

As Nino and Alya turned back to their things, pulling out their work for their upcoming class, Adrien's warm hand rested lightly over hers. Three or four years ago, that would have turned her into a levitating babbling idiot. "Did you need something?" she asked.

Adrien nodded, his eyes wide and just a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "Could we have lunch together? There's something I need to talk to you about. Something that I need your help with."

Marinette nodded quickly. "If there's anything I can help you with, I'm happy to do so."

"Here you go." Marinette slid a plate in front of Adrien before taking a seat across from him. "A totally carb-free baguette sandwich." She winked, happy when he smiled in response. He'd seemed a little more tense than usual, and she was glad the usual line about not spoiling his ridiculous model diet still worked on him.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath in through his nose. "It smells fantastic." Despite how happy he looked about his lunch, he hesitated, his fingers going to smooth down his hair or fiddle with the cuffs on his overshirt.

"Adrien," she said, gently reaching across the table to prevent him from mangling the buttoned cuff. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes.

"And I already know you need help with something, so half the battle's already won, okay?" She was relieved when his fingers tentatively wrapped around hers.

He nodded again, taking a shuddering breath. "It's just… last time I did this… it didn't go well." He was pale now, and she wondered if he was nervous enough to throw up.

"I'm so sorry that's the case." What on earth did he need to talk to her about? She chewed on her lip in thought. "Would it help if you can't see me? Like, if you keep your eyes closed or we sit back to back or something?"

"Maybe?" He sighed.

She let go of his hand and moved to sit beside him, tucking her elbow into his, and clasping his hand in both of hers. "I'm here and I've got you." She leaned against him for a moment. "If there's a way you can ease into it, go ahead. And if it's too hard now, there's always later, or on the phone."

He nodded, letting exhaling in an uneven huff. "Yeah. I… um, I want to thank you. You've always been amazing, and since we started Lycee, you've been a total inspiration to me."

She squeezed his hand, afraid that if she spoke, she'd derail him.

"Your special poster initiative for the GSA's Pride observation really means a lot to me." He sounded calmer now, his words a little rushed but the hesitation was gone.

"The one about people who are still closeted?" she asked. It never occurred to her before. Adrien was so inhibited by Gabriel's control and rules that he'd been on a grand total of two dates over the course of their entire friendship. He didn't overtly moon over anyone. But now, she wondered if there was a lot more to it he'd just had to hide.

He nodded. "Yeah. It really speaks to me... for me." His sigh was resigned now. "It's so hard watching other people get to embrace and share who they are, wanting to do the same, but not being allowed."

Her eyes stung at the injustice. "You want to come out, but Gabriel won't let you?"

He nodded. "He's…" He tilted his head back and she recognized his rapid blinking as an attempt to not cry.

"He's an asshole," she finished for him.

He let out a single bark of laughter. "You're not wrong."

She stood up so she could wrap her arms around him in a snug hug. "You're a beautiful and amazing person, and you don't deserve his crap."

"Thanks, Marinette." His arms slipped around her and he buried his face in her neck. "I thought, if I could tell one person who would understand and who could keep it secret, it might make it better."

"And you picked me?" She tightened her hug for a moment. "I'm honored." She let go and stepped back, smiling at him. "So tell me. Come out to me, and I'll treasure the fact that I know this about you. I'll support you and celebrate with you in secret until we can do it publicly."

He straightened up on the stool, grinning a little, though his eyes looked wetter than usual. "I'm bi, Mari. Like you."

"I'm so proud of you." She caught both of his hands in hers. "Now eat your lunch. I'll be right back. We need celebratory cupcakes for this."

"Really?" He brightened further.

She nodded. "Mama and Papa have a whole lovely array of Pride cakes. I'll be back." She didn't want to leave him alone for too long, but she did need a moment to gather her thoughts and regain control of her emotions. She wanted nothing more than to go over to Adrien's house and beat the ever-loving snot out of Gabriel.

It only took a matter of minutes to duck into the bakery and snatch two brightly frosted cupcakes and return to the apartment. Adrien was partway through his sandwich, smiling and looking a whole lot happier.

"Ta-da!" She placed the pink, purple, and blue swirled cupcake in front of him, keeping the rainbow for herself. "Happy Pride, Adrien."

He giggled. "You too, Nette."

They were almost done with lunch when something occurred to her. "I'm glad you felt you could share this with me. But I'm a little curious why Nino wasn't your first choice."

"Part of it was your posters, and how vocal you've been about the queer community members who aren't able to really join the community. And..." He looked down, his cheeks abruptly going pink. That was an interesting, and totally adorable reaction. "I kind of have a ginormous crush on him," he mumbled.

She beamed at him. She'd seen the way Nino's reactions to his best friend evolved over the years. "I suspect that's a mutual feeling."

Adrien shrugged. "Really?" Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I can't do anything about it other than pine in secret anyway."

"Awwww," she whined, poking at the frosting on her cupcake in discontent.

"It's so awkward having a crush on one of your best friends," he complained.

"It's only awkward when you can't do anything about it," she said, knowing this from past experience. "And you two would be so cute together." She pouted a little.

Blushing, he shrugged. "It can't be helped."

"Did your father know you weren't straight before you told him?" she asked. He'd been so worked up about telling her, she knew it hadn't gone well. But how badly did it go? How much did she need to worry?

He shook his head. "No. Despite being a man in fashion, he totally default IDs everyone as straight." He smiled sadly at his cupcake, not meeting her eyes. "He told me I was disgusting. A degenerate."

"He's the disgusting one," Marinette said. "Do you… would it be possible or better for you to move out?" As she had with Chat, she had to stomp down on her knowledge of statistics regarding depression, drug use, and suicide attempts among queer teens and young adults. "I really think it would be healthier.

He chuckled. "Actually, this whole thing has kind of made me start to consider that in a way I never had before. He's never going to accept the me I really am. He's always trying to mold me into something he finds acceptable and perfect, and it's… gross. If I have to hear one more time about how Agreste men are or aren't something, I may completely lose my shit."

Marinette rolled her eyes. "You're an Agreste man, so I think whatever you happen to do is something Agreste men do."

He looked amused by that.

"And I'm here for you whenever you need to talk about any of this," Marinette promised. "Nino and Alya will be here for you, too, even if you don't tell them everything until later. They'll understand if you frame it that you're finding it hard to live with Gabriel. They won't ask for more than you want to share."

He nodded.

"And if you're willing to share this with someone else, Luka might be a really good choice," she suggested. "They're going to understand your situation better than any of us." Luka's father had been horrified and unwilling to accept his eldest child's gender identity, and he'd been pretty put out by Juleka's sexuality. As a result, he'd vanished from their lives eight years ago, before Adrien met them.

"Oh… I hadn't even thought of that," Adrien muttered. "How's Luka's music program going? I've done a shitty job keeping in touch."

Marinette smiled, happy to talk about her sweetheart. "They're loving the classes, but the homework's… well, a lot." Though Luka had chosen a school in Paris, they weren't able to spend as much time together as they'd hoped. "They'll have a lot more time for friends once the semester's out, and I know they'd want to help you. I won't share your secrets, though. That's your choice."

Adrien's hand was warm on her shoulder. "Thanks Marinette." His smile was soft and warm. "You're such an incredible friend. I'm so lucky to have you in my life."

* * * * * * * *

Chapter 4 >>

And if you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

#Miraculous Ladybug #Pride #Bi pride #fanfic #my writing #galahadwilder #Bi the Pricking of my Thumbs #Bi-Drien #Bi-Nette #Supportive Friends #Bi-phobic parent #capes

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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The 1619 Project https://nyti.ms/2Hjvu0L

New York Times Magazine has a project called the '1619 Project' in commemoration of the first slaves brought to Jamestown, Virginia. The project provides a different perspective, from prominent African-Americans and others, than what most of us have been taught or told. Included are essays, photojournalism and poetry.

I will post several pieces from the series as I am a subscriber to my timeline. If possible please take time to READ 📖 and SHARE their stories.

"The 1619 Project is a major initiative from The New York Times observing the 400th anniversary of the beginning of American slavery. It aims to reframe the country’s history, understanding 1619 as our true founding, and placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are."

Our Democracy’s founding ideals were false when they were written. Black Americans have fought to make them true.

By Nikole Hannah-Jones | August 14, 2019 | New York Times Magazine | Posted August 16, 2019 |

My dad always flew an American flag in our front yard. The blue paint on our two-story house was perennially chipping; the fence, or the rail by the stairs, or the front door, existed in a perpetual state of disrepair, but that flag always flew pristine. Our corner lot, which had been redlined by the federal government, was along the river that divided the black side from the white side of our Iowa town. At the edge of our lawn, high on an aluminum pole, soared the flag, which my dad would replace as soon as it showed the slightest tatter.

My dad was born into a family of sharecroppers on a white plantation in Greenwood, Miss., where black people bent over cotton from can’t-see-in-the-morning to can’t-see-at-night, just as their enslaved ancestors had done not long before. The Mississippi of my dad’s youth was an apartheid state that subjugated its near-majority black population through breathtaking acts of violence. White residents in Mississippi lynched more black people than those in any other state in the country, and the white people in my dad’s home county lynched more black residents than those in any other county in Mississippi, often for such “crimes” as entering a room occupied by white women, bumping into a white girl or trying to start a sharecroppers union. My dad’s mother, like all the black people in Greenwood, could not vote, use the public library or find work other than toiling in the cotton fields or toiling in white people’s houses. So in the 1940s, she packed up her few belongings and her three small children and joined the flood of black Southerners fleeing North. She got off the Illinois Central Railroad in Waterloo, Iowa, only to have her hopes of the mythical Promised Land shattered when she learned that Jim Crow did not end at the Mason-Dixon line.

Grandmama, as we called her, found a house in a segregated black neighborhood on the city’s east side and then found the work that was considered black women’s work no matter where black women lived — cleaning white people’s houses. Dad, too, struggled to find promise in this land. In 1962, at age 17, he signed up for the Army. Like many young men, he joined in hopes of escaping poverty. But he went into the military for another reason as well, a reason common to black men: Dad hoped that if he served his country, his country might finally treat him as an American.

The Army did not end up being his way out. He was passed over for opportunities, his ambition stunted. He would be discharged under murky circumstances and then labor in a series of service jobs for the rest of his life. Like all the black men and women in my family, he believed in hard work, but like all the black men and women in my family, no matter how hard he worked, he never got ahead.

So when I was young, that flag outside our home never made sense to me. How could this black man, having seen firsthand the way his country abused black Americans, how it refused to treat us as full citizens, proudly fly its banner? I didn’t understand his patriotism. It deeply embarrassed me.

I had been taught, in school, through cultural osmosis, that the flag wasn’t really ours, that our history as a people began with enslavement and that we had contributed little to this great nation. It seemed that the closest thing black Americans could have to cultural pride was to be found in our vague connection to Africa, a place we had never been. That my dad felt so much honor in being an American felt like a marker of his degradation, his acceptance of our subordination.

Like most young people, I thought I understood so much, when in fact I understood so little. My father knew exactly what he was doing when he raised that flag. He knew that our people’s contributions to building the richest and most powerful nation in the world were indelible, that the United States simply would not exist without us.

In August 1619, just 12 years after the English settled Jamestown, Va., one year before the Puritans landed at Plymouth Rock and some 157 years before the English colonists even decided they wanted to form their own country, the Jamestown colonists bought 20 to 30 enslaved Africans from English pirates. The pirates had stolen them from a Portuguese slave ship that had forcibly taken them from what is now the country of Angola. Those men and women who came ashore on that August day were the beginning of American slavery. They were among the 12.5 million Africans who would be kidnapped from their homes and brought in chains across the Atlantic Ocean in the largest forced migration in human history until the Second World War. Almost two million did not survive the grueling journey, known as the Middle Passage.

Before the abolishment of the international slave trade, 400,000 enslaved Africans would be sold into America. Those individuals and their descendants transformed the lands to which they’d been brought into some of the most successful colonies in the British Empire. Through backbreaking labor, they cleared the land across the Southeast. They taught the colonists to grow rice. They grew and picked the cotton that at the height of slavery was the nation’s most valuable commodity, accounting for half of all American exports and 66 percent of the world’s supply. They built the plantations of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, sprawling properties that today attract thousands of visitors from across the globe captivated by the history of the world’s greatest democracy. They laid the foundations of the White House and the Capitol, even placing with their unfree hands the Statue of Freedom atop the Capitol dome. They lugged the heavy wooden tracks of the railroads that crisscrossed the South and that helped take the cotton they picked to the Northern textile mills, fueling the Industrial Revolution. They built vast fortunes for white people North and South — at one time, the second-richest man in the nation was a Rhode Island “slave trader.” Profits from black people’s stolen labor helped the young nation pay off its war debts and financed some of our most prestigious universities. It was the relentless buying, selling, insuring and financing of their bodies and the products of their labor that made Wall Street a thriving banking, insurance and trading sector and New York City the financial capital of the world.

But it would be historically inaccurate to reduce the contributions of black people to the vast material wealth created by our bondage. Black Americans have also been, and continue to be, foundational to the idea of American freedom. More than any other group in this country’s history, we have served, generation after generation, in an overlooked but vital role: It is we who have been the perfecters of this democracy.

The United States is a nation founded on both an ideal and a lie. Our Declaration of Independence, approved on July 4, 1776, proclaims that “all men are created equal” and “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.” But the white men who drafted those words did not believe them to be true for the hundreds of thousands of black people in their midst. “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” did not apply to fully one-fifth of the country. Yet despite being violently denied the freedom and justice promised to all, black Americans believed fervently in the American creed. Through centuries of black resistance and protest, we have helped the country live up to its founding ideals. And not only for ourselves — black rights struggles paved the way for every other rights struggle, including women’s and gay rights, immigrant and disability rights.

Without the idealistic, strenuous and patriotic efforts of black Americans, our democracy today would most likely look very different — it might not be a democracy at all.

The very first person to die for this country in the American Revolution was a black man who himself was not free. Crispus Attucks was a fugitive from slavery, yet he gave his life for a new nation in which his own people would not enjoy the liberties laid out in the Declaration for another century. In every war this nation has waged since that first one, black Americans have fought — today we are the most likely of all racial groups to serve in the United States military.

My father, one of those many black Americans who answered the call, knew what it would take me years to understand: that the year 1619 is as important to the American story as 1776. That black Americans, as much as those men cast in alabaster in the nation’s capital, are this nation’s true “founding fathers.” And that no people has a greater claim to that flag than us.

In June 1776, Thomas Jefferson sat at his portable writing desk in a rented room in Philadelphia and penned these words: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” For the last 243 years, this fierce assertion of the fundamental and natural rights of humankind to freedom and self-governance has defined our global reputation as a land of liberty. As Jefferson composed his inspiring words, however, a teenage boy who would enjoy none of those rights and liberties waited nearby to serve at his master’s beck and call. His name was Robert Hemings, and he was the half brother of Jefferson’s wife, born to Martha Jefferson’s father and a woman he owned. It was common for white enslavers to keep their half-black children in slavery. Jefferson had chosen Hemings, from among about 130 enslaved people that worked on the forced-labor camp he called Monticello, to accompany him to Philadelphia and ensure his every comfort as he drafted the text making the case for a new democratic republic based on the individual rights of men.

At the time, one-fifth of the population within the 13 colonies struggled under a brutal system of slavery unlike anything that had existed in the world before. Chattel slavery was not conditional but racial. It was heritable and permanent, not temporary, meaning generations of black people were born into it and passed their enslaved status onto their children. Enslaved people were not recognized as human beings but as property that could be mortgaged, traded, bought, sold, used as collateral, given as a gift and disposed of violently. Jefferson’s fellow white colonists knew that black people were human beings, but they created a network of laws and customs, astounding for both their precision and cruelty, that ensured that enslaved people would never be treated as such. As the abolitionist William Goodell wrote in 1853, “If any thing founded on falsehood might be called a science, we might add the system of American slavery to the list of the strict sciences.”

Enslaved people could not legally marry. They were barred from learning to read and restricted from meeting privately in groups. They had no claim to their own children, who could be bought, sold and traded away from them on auction blocks alongside furniture and cattle or behind storefronts that advertised “Negroes for Sale.” Enslavers and the courts did not honor kinship ties to mothers, siblings, cousins. In most courts, they had no legal standing. Enslavers could rape or murder their property without legal consequence. Enslaved people could own nothing, will nothing and inherit nothing. They were legally tortured, including by those working for Jefferson himself. They could be worked to death, and often were, in order to produce the highest profits for the white people who owned them.

Yet in making the argument against Britain’s tyranny, one of the colonists’ favorite rhetorical devices was to claim that they were the slaves — to Britain. For this duplicity, they faced burning criticism both at home and abroad. As Samuel Johnson, an English writer and Tory opposed to American independence, quipped, “How is it that we hear the loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of Negroes?”

Conveniently left out of our founding mythology is the fact that one of the primary reasons the colonists decided to declare their independence from Britain was because they wanted to protect the institution of slavery. By 1776, Britain had grown deeply conflicted over its role in the barbaric institution that had reshaped the Western Hemisphere. In London, there were growing calls to abolish the slave trade. This would have upended the economy of the colonies, in both the North and the South. The wealth and prominence that allowed Jefferson, at just 33, and the other founding fathers to believe they could successfully break off from one of the mightiest empires in the world came from the dizzying profits generated by chattel slavery. In other words, we may never have revolted against Britain if the founders had not understood that slavery empowered them to do so; nor if they had not believed that independence was required in order to ensure that slavery would continue. It is not incidental that 10 of this nation’s first 12 presidents were enslavers, and some might argue that this nation was founded not as a democracy but as a slavocracy.

Jefferson and the other founders were keenly aware of this hypocrisy. And so in Jefferson’s original draft of the Declaration of Independence, he tried to argue that it wasn’t the colonists’ fault. Instead, he blamed the king of England for forcing the institution of slavery on the unwilling colonists and called the trafficking in human beings a crime. Yet neither Jefferson nor most of the founders intended to abolish slavery, and in the end, they struck the passage.

There is no mention of slavery in the final Declaration of Independence. Similarly, 11 years later, when it came time to draft the Constitution, the framers carefully constructed a document that preserved and protected slavery without ever using the word. In the texts in which they were making the case for freedom to the world, they did not want to explicitly enshrine their hypocrisy, so they sought to hide it. The Constitution contains 84 clauses. Six deal directly with the enslaved and their enslavement, as the historian David Waldstreicher has written, and five more hold implications for slavery. The Constitution protected the “property” of those who enslaved black people, prohibited the federal government from intervening to end the importation of enslaved Africans for a term of 20 years, allowed Congress to mobilize the militia to put down insurrections by the enslaved and forced states that had outlawed slavery to turn over enslaved people who had run away seeking refuge. Like many others, the writer and abolitionist Samuel Bryan called out the deceit, saying of the Constitution, “The words are dark and ambiguous; such as no plain man of common sense would have used, [and] are evidently chosen to conceal from Europe, that in this enlightened country, the practice of slavery has its advocates among men in the highest stations.”

With independence, the founding fathers could no longer blame slavery on Britain. The sin became this nation’s own, and so, too, the need to cleanse it. The shameful paradox of continuing chattel slavery in a nation founded on individual freedom, scholars today assert, led to a hardening of the racial caste system. This ideology, reinforced not just by laws but by racist science and literature, maintained that black people were subhuman, a belief that allowed white Americans to live with their betrayal. By the early 1800s, according to the legal historians Leland B. Ware, Robert J. Cottrol and Raymond T. Diamond, white Americans, whether they engaged in slavery or not, “had a considerable psychological as well as economic investment in the doctrine of black inferiority.” While liberty was the inalienable right of the people who would be considered white, enslavement and subjugation became the natural station of people who had any discernible drop of “black” blood.

The Supreme Court enshrined this thinking in the law in its 1857 Dred Scott decision, ruling that black people, whether enslaved or free, came from a “slave” race. This made them inferior to white people and, therefore, incompatible with American democracy. Democracy was for citizens, and the “Negro race,” the court ruled, was “a separate class of persons,” which the founders had “not regarded as a portion of the people or citizens of the Government” and had “no rights which a white man was bound to respect.” This belief, that black people were not merely enslaved but were a slave race, became the root of the endemic racism that we still cannot purge from this nation to this day. If black people could not ever be citizens, if they were a caste apart from all other humans, then they did not require the rights bestowed by the Constitution, and the “we” in the “We the People” was not a lie.

On Aug. 14, 1862, a mere five years after the nation’s highest courts declared that no black person could be an American citizen, President Abraham Lincoln called a group of five esteemed free black men to the White House for a meeting. It was one of the few times that black people had ever been invited to the White House as guests. The Civil War had been raging for more than a year, and black abolitionists, who had been increasingly pressuring Lincoln to end slavery, must have felt a sense of great anticipation and pride.

The war was not going well for Lincoln. Britain was contemplating whether to intervene on the Confederacy’s behalf, and Lincoln, unable to draw enough new white volunteers for the war, was forced to reconsider his opposition to allowing black Americans to fight for their own liberation. The president was weighing a proclamation that threatened to emancipate all enslaved people in the states that had seceded from the Union if the states did not end the rebellion. The proclamation would also allow the formerly enslaved to join the Union army and fight against their former “masters.” But Lincoln worried about what the consequences of this radical step would be. Like many white Americans, he opposed slavery as a cruel system at odds with American ideals, but he also opposed black equality. He believed that free black people were a “troublesome presence” incompatible with a democracy intended only for white people. “Free them, and make them politically and socially our equals?” he had said four years earlier. “My own feelings will not admit of this; and if mine would, we well know that those of the great mass of white people will not.”

That August day, as the men arrived at the White House, they were greeted by the towering Lincoln and a man named James Mitchell, who eight days before had been given the title of a newly created position called the commissioner of emigration. This was to be his first assignment. After exchanging a few niceties, Lincoln got right to it. He informed his guests that he had gotten Congress to appropriate funds to ship black people, once freed, to another country.

“Why should they leave this country? This is, perhaps, the first question for proper consideration,” Lincoln told them. “You and we are different races. ... Your race suffer very greatly, many of them, by living among us, while ours suffer from your presence. In a word, we suffer on each side.”

You can imagine the heavy silence in that room, as the weight of what the president said momentarily stole the breath of these five black men. It was 243 years to the month since the first of their ancestors had arrived on these shores, before Lincoln’s family, long before most of the white people insisting that this was not their country. The Union had not entered the war to end slavery but to keep the South from splitting off, yet black men had signed up to fight. Enslaved people were fleeing their forced-labor camps, which we like to call plantations, trying to join the effort, serving as spies, sabotaging confederates, taking up arms for his cause as well as their own. And now Lincoln was blaming them for the war. “Although many men engaged on either side do not care for you one way or the other ... without the institution of slavery and the colored race as a basis, the war could not have an existence,” the president told them. “It is better for us both, therefore, to be separated.”

As Lincoln closed the remarks, Edward Thomas, the delegation’s chairman, informed the president, perhaps curtly, that they would consult on his proposition. “Take your full time,” Lincoln said. “No hurry at all.”

Nearly three years after that White House meeting, Gen. Robert E. Lee surrendered at Appomattox. By summer, the Civil War was over, and four million black Americans were suddenly free. Contrary to Lincoln’s view, most were not inclined to leave, agreeing with the sentiment of a resolution against black colonization put forward at a convention of black leaders in New York some decades before: “This is our home, and this our country. Beneath its sod lie the bones of our fathers. ... Here we were born, and here we will die.”

That the formerly enslaved did not take up Lincoln’s offer to abandon these lands is an astounding testament to their belief in this nation’s founding ideals. As W.E.B. Du Bois wrote, “Few men ever worshiped Freedom with half such unquestioning faith as did the American Negro for two centuries.” Black Americans had long called for universal equality and believed, as the abolitionist Martin Delany said, “that God has made of one blood all the nations that dwell on the face of the earth.” Liberated by war, then, they did not seek vengeance on their oppressors as Lincoln and so many other white Americans feared. They did the opposite. During this nation’s brief period of Reconstruction, from 1865 to 1877, formerly enslaved people zealously engaged with the democratic process. With federal troops tempering widespread white violence, black Southerners started branches of the Equal Rights League — one of the nation’s first human rights organizations — to fight discrimination and organize voters; they headed in droves to the polls, where they placed other formerly enslaved people into seats that their enslavers had once held. The South, for the first time in the history of this country, began to resemble a democracy, with black Americans elected to local, state and federal offices. Some 16 black men served in Congress — including Hiram Revels of Mississippi, who became the first black man elected to the Senate. (Demonstrating just how brief this period would be, Revels, along with Blanche Bruce, would go from being the first black man elected to the last for nearly a hundred years, until Edward Brooke of Massachusetts took office in 1967.) More than 600 black men served in Southern state legislatures and hundreds more in local positions.

These black officials joined with white Republicans, some of whom came down from the North, to write the most egalitarian state constitutions the South had ever seen. They helped pass more equitable tax legislation and laws that prohibited discrimination in public transportation, accommodation and housing. Perhaps their biggest achievement was the establishment of that most democratic of American institutions: the public school. Public education effectively did not exist in the South before Reconstruction. The white elite sent their children to private schools, while poor white children went without an education. But newly freed black people, who had been prohibited from learning to read and write during slavery, were desperate for an education. So black legislators successfully pushed for a universal, state-funded system of schools — not just for their own children but for white children, too. Black legislators also helped pass the first compulsory education laws in the region. Southern children, black and white, were now required to attend schools like their Northern counterparts. Just five years into Reconstruction, every Southern state had enshrined the right to a public education for all children into its constitution. In some states, like Louisiana and South Carolina, small numbers of black and white children, briefly, attended schools together.

Led by black activists and a Republican Party pushed left by the blatant recalcitrance of white Southerners, the years directly after slavery saw the greatest expansion of human and civil rights this nation would ever see. In 1865, Congress passed the 13th Amendment, making the United States one of the last nations in the Americas to outlaw slavery. The following year, black Americans, exerting their new political power, pushed white legislators to pass the Civil Rights Act, the nation’s first such law and one of the most expansive pieces of civil rights legislation Congress has ever passed. It codified black American citizenship for the first time, prohibited housing discrimination and gave all Americans the right to buy and inherit property, make and enforce contracts and seek redress from courts. In 1868, Congress ratified the 14th Amendment, ensuring citizenship to any person born in the United States. Today, thanks to this amendment, every child born here to a European, Asian, African, Latin American or Middle Eastern immigrant gains automatic citizenship. The 14th Amendment also, for the first time, constitutionally guaranteed equal protection under the law. Ever since, nearly all other marginalized groups have used the 14th Amendment in their fights for equality (including the recent successful arguments before the Supreme Court on behalf of same-sex marriage). Finally, in 1870, Congress passed the 15th Amendment, guaranteeing the most critical aspect of democracy and citizenship — the right to vote — to all men regardless of “race, color, or previous condition of servitude.”

For this fleeting moment known as Reconstruction, the majority in Congress seemed to embrace the idea that out of the ashes of the Civil War, we could create the multiracial democracy that black Americans envisioned even if our founding fathers did not.

But it would not last.

Anti-black racism runs in the very DNA of this country, as does the belief, so well articulated by Lincoln, that black people are the obstacle to national unity. The many gains of Reconstruction were met with fierce white resistance throughout the South, including unthinkable violence against the formerly enslaved, wide-scale voter suppression, electoral fraud and even, in some extreme cases, the overthrow of democratically elected biracial governments. Faced with this unrest, the federal government decided that black people were the cause of the problem and that for unity’s sake, it would leave the white South to its own devices. In 1877, President Rutherford B. Hayes, in order to secure a compromise with Southern Democrats that would grant him the presidency in a contested election, agreed to pull federal troops from the South. With the troops gone, white Southerners quickly went about eradicating the gains of Reconstruction. The systemic white suppression of black life was so severe that this period between the 1880s and the 1920 and ’30s became known as the Great Nadir, or the second slavery. Democracy would not return to the South for nearly a century.

White Southerners of all economic classes, on the other hand, thanks in significant part to the progressive policies and laws black people had championed, experienced substantial improvement in their lives even as they forced black people back into a quasi slavery. As Waters McIntosh, who had been enslaved in South Carolina, lamented, “It was the poor white man who was freed by the war, not the Negroes.”

Georgia pines flew past the windows of the Greyhound bus carrying Isaac Woodard home to Winnsboro, S.C. After serving four years in the Army in World War II, where Woodard had earned a battle star, he was given an honorable discharge earlier that day at Camp Gordon and was headed home to meet his wife. When the bus stopped at a small drugstore an hour outside Atlanta, Woodard got into a brief argument with the white driver after asking if he could use the restroom. About half an hour later, the driver stopped again and told Woodard to get off the bus. Crisp in his uniform, Woodard stepped from the stairs and saw the police waiting for him. Before he could speak, one of the officers struck him in his head with a billy club, beating him so badly that he fell unconscious. The blows to Woodard’s head were so severe that when he woke in a jail cell the next day, he could not see. The beating occurred just 4½ hours after his military discharge. At 26, Woodard would never see again.

There was nothing unusual about Woodard’s horrific maiming. It was part of a wave of systemic violence deployed against black Americans after Reconstruction, in both the North and the South. As the egalitarian spirit of post-Civil War America evaporated under the desire for national reunification, black Americans, simply by existing, served as a problematic reminder of this nation’s failings. White America dealt with this inconvenience by constructing a savagely enforced system of racial apartheid that excluded black people almost entirely from mainstream American life — a system so grotesque that Nazi Germany would later take inspiration from it for its own racist policies.

Despite the guarantees of equality in the 14th Amendment, the Supreme Court’s landmark Plessy v. Ferguson decision in 1896 declared that the racial segregation of black Americans was constitutional. With the blessing of the nation’s highest court and no federal will to vindicate black rights, starting in the late 1800s, Southern states passed a series of laws and codes meant to make slavery’s racial caste system permanent by denying black people political power, social equality and basic dignity. They passed literacy tests to keep black people from voting and created all-white primaries for elections. Black people were prohibited from serving on juries or testifying in court against a white person. South Carolina prohibited white and black textile workers from using the same doors. Oklahoma forced phone companies to segregate phone booths. Memphis had separate parking spaces for black and white drivers. Baltimore passed an ordinance outlawing black people from moving onto a block more than half white and white people from moving onto a block more than half black. Georgia made it illegal for black and white people to be buried next to one another in the same cemetery. Alabama barred black people from using public libraries that their own tax dollars were paying for. Black people were expected to jump off the sidewalk to let white people pass and call all white people by an honorific, though they received none no matter how old they were. In the North, white politicians implemented policies that segregated black people into slum neighborhoods and into inferior all-black schools, operated whites-only public pools and held white and “colored” days at the country fair, and white businesses regularly denied black people service, placing “Whites Only” signs in their windows. States like California joined Southern states in barring black people from marrying white people, while local school boards in Illinois and New Jersey mandated segregated schools for black and white children.

This caste system was maintained through wanton racial terrorism. And black veterans like Woodard, especially those with the audacity to wear their uniform, had since the Civil War been the target of a particular violence. This intensified during the two world wars because white people understood that once black men had gone abroad and experienced life outside the suffocating racial oppression of America, they were unlikely to quietly return to their subjugation at home. As Senator James K. Vardaman of Mississippi said on the Senate floor during World War I, black servicemen returning to the South would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Giving a black man “military airs” and sending him to defend the flag would bring him “to the conclusion that his political rights must be respected.”

Many white Americans saw black men in the uniforms of America’s armed services not as patriotic but as exhibiting a dangerous pride. Hundreds of black veterans were beaten, maimed, shot and lynched. We like to call those who lived during World War II the Greatest Generation, but that allows us to ignore the fact that many of this generation fought for democracy abroad while brutally suppressing democracy for millions of American citizens. During the height of racial terror in this country, black Americans were not merely killed but castrated, burned alive and dismembered with their body parts displayed in storefronts. This violence was meant to terrify and control black people, but perhaps just as important, it served as a psychological balm for white supremacy: You would not treat human beings this way. The extremity of the violence was a symptom of the psychological mechanism necessary to absolve white Americans of their country’s original sin. To answer the question of how they could prize liberty abroad while simultaneously denying liberty to an entire race back home, white Americans resorted to the same racist ideology that Jefferson and the framers had used at the nation’s founding.

This ideology — that black people belonged to an inferior, subhuman race — did not simply disappear once slavery ended. If the formerly enslaved and their descendants became educated, if we thrived in the jobs white people did, if we excelled in the sciences and arts, then the entire justification for how this nation allowed slavery would collapse. Free black people posed a danger to the country’s idea of itself as exceptional; we held up the mirror in which the nation preferred not to peer. And so the inhumanity visited on black people by every generation of white America justified the inhumanity of the past.

Just as white Americans feared, World War II ignited what became black Americans’ second sustained effort to make democracy real. As the editorial board of the black newspaper The Pittsburgh Courier wrote, “We wage a two-pronged attack against our enslavers at home and those abroad who will enslave us.” Woodard’s blinding is largely seen as one of the catalysts for the decades-long rebellion we have come to call the civil rights movement. But it is useful to pause and remember that this was the second mass movement for black civil rights, the first being Reconstruction. As the centennial of slavery’s end neared, black people were still seeking the rights they had fought for and won after the Civil War: the right to be treated equally by public institutions, which was guaranteed in 1866 with the Civil Rights Act; the right to be treated as full citizens before the law, which was guaranteed in 1868 by the 14th Amendment; and the right to vote, which was guaranteed in 1870 by the 15th Amendment. In response to black demands for these rights, white Americans strung them from trees, beat them and dumped their bodies in muddy rivers, assassinated them in their front yards, firebombed them on buses, mauled them with dogs, peeled back their skin with fire hoses and murdered their children with explosives set off inside a church.

For the most part, black Americans fought back alone. Yet we never fought only for ourselves. The bloody freedom struggles of the civil rights movement laid the foundation for every other modern rights struggle. This nation’s white founders set up a decidedly undemocratic Constitution that excluded women, Native Americans and black people, and did not provide the vote or equality for most Americans. But the laws born out of black resistance guarantee the franchise for all and ban discrimination based not just on race but on gender, nationality, religion and ability. It was the civil rights movement that led to the passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, which upended the racist immigration quota system intended to keep this country white. Because of black Americans, black and brown immigrants from across the globe are able to come to the United States and live in a country in which legal discrimination is no longer allowed. It is a truly American irony that some Asian-Americans, among the groups able to immigrate to the United States because of the black civil rights struggle, are now suing universities to end programs designed to help the descendants of the enslaved.

No one cherishes freedom more than those who have not had it. And to this day, black Americans, more than any other group, embrace the democratic ideals of a common good. We are the most likely to support programs like universal health care and a higher minimum wage, and to oppose programs that harm the most vulnerable. For instance, black Americans suffer the most from violent crime, yet we are the most opposed to capital punishment. Our unemployment rate is nearly twice that of white Americans, yet we are still the most likely of all groups to say this nation should take in refugees.

The truth is that as much democracy as this nation has today, it has been borne on the backs of black resistance. Our founding fathers may not have actually believed in the ideals they espoused, but black people did. As one scholar, Joe R. Feagin, put it, “Enslaved African-Americans have been among the foremost freedom-fighters this country has produced.” For generations, we have believed in this country with a faith it did not deserve. Black people have seen the worst of America, yet, somehow, we still believe in its best.

They say our people were born on the water.

When it occurred, no one can say for certain. Perhaps it was in the second week, or the third, but surely by the fourth, when they had not seen their land or any land for so many days that they lost count. It was after fear had turned to despair, and despair to resignation, and resignation to an abiding understanding. The teal eternity of the Atlantic Ocean had severed them so completely from what had once been their home that it was as if nothing had ever existed before, as if everything and everyone they cherished had simply vanished from the earth. They were no longer Mbundu or Akan or Fulani. These men and women from many different nations, all shackled together in the suffocating hull of the ship, they were one people now.

Just a few months earlier, they had families, and farms, and lives and dreams. They were free. They had names, of course, but their enslavers did not bother to record them. They had been made black by those people who believed that they were white, and where they were heading, black equaled “slave,” and slavery in America required turning human beings into property by stripping them of every element that made them individuals. This process was called seasoning, in which people stolen from western and central Africa were forced, often through torture, to stop speaking their native tongues and practicing their native religions.

But as the sociologist Glenn Bracey wrote, “Out of the ashes of white denigration, we gave birth to ourselves.” For as much as white people tried to pretend, black people were not chattel. And so the process of seasoning, instead of erasing identity, served an opposite purpose: In the void, we forged a new culture all our own.

Today, our very manner of speaking recalls the Creole languages that enslaved people innovated in order to communicate both with Africans speaking various dialects and the English-speaking people who enslaved them. Our style of dress, the extra flair, stems back to the desires of enslaved people — shorn of all individuality — to exert their own identity. Enslaved people would wear their hat in a jaunty manner or knot their head scarves intricately. Today’s avant-garde nature of black hairstyles and fashion displays a vibrant reflection of enslaved people’s determination to feel fully human through self-expression. The improvisational quality of black art and music comes from a culture that because of constant disruption could not cling to convention. Black naming practices, so often impugned by mainstream society, are themselves an act of resistance. Our last names belong to the white people who once owned us. That is why the insistence of many black Americans, particularly those most marginalized, to give our children names that we create, that are neither European nor from Africa, a place we have never been, is an act of self-determination. When the world listens to quintessential American music, it is our voice they hear. The sorrow songs we sang in the fields to soothe our physical pain and find hope in a freedom we did not expect to know until we died became American gospel. Amid the devastating violence and poverty of the Mississippi Delta, we birthed jazz and blues. And it was in the deeply impoverished and segregated neighborhoods where white Americans forced the descendants of the enslaved to live that teenagers too poor to buy instruments used old records to create a new music known as hip-hop.

Our speech and fashion and the drum of our music echoes Africa but is not African. Out of our unique isolation, both from our native cultures and from white America, we forged this nation’s most significant original culture. In turn, “mainstream” society has coveted our style, our slang and our song, seeking to appropriate the one truly American culture as its own. As Langston Hughes wrote in 1926, “They’ll see how beautiful I am/And be ashamed —/I, too, am America.”

For centuries, white Americans have been trying to solve the “Negro problem.” They have dedicated thousands of pages to this endeavor. It is common, still, to point to rates of black poverty, out-of-wedlock births, crime and college attendance, as if these conditions in a country built on a racial caste system are not utterly predictable. But crucially, you cannot view those statistics while ignoring another: that black people were enslaved here longer than we have been free.

At 43, I am part of the first generation of black Americans in the history of the United States to be born into a society in which black people had full rights of citizenship. Black people suffered under slavery for 250 years; we have been legally “free” for just 50. Yet in that briefest of spans, despite continuing to face rampant discrimination, and despite there never having been a genuine effort to redress the wrongs of slavery and the century of racial apartheid that followed, black Americans have made astounding progress, not only for ourselves but also for all Americans.

What if America understood, finally, in this 400th year, that we have never been the problem but the solution?

When I was a child — I must have been in fifth or sixth grade — a teacher gave our class an assignment intended to celebrate the diversity of the great American melting pot. She instructed each of us to write a short report on our ancestral land and then draw that nation’s flag. As she turned to write the assignment on the board, the other black girl in class locked eyes with me. Slavery had erased any connection we had to an African country, and even if we tried to claim the whole continent, there was no “African” flag. It was hard enough being one of two black kids in the class, and this assignment would just be another reminder of the distance between the white kids and us. In the end, I walked over to the globe near my teacher’s desk, picked a random African country and claimed it as my own.

I wish, now, that I could go back to the younger me and tell her that her people’s ancestry started here, on these lands, and to boldly, proudly, draw the stars and those stripes of the American flag.

We were told once, by virtue of our bondage, that we could never be American. But it was by virtue of our bondage that we became the most American of all.

#literature #culture #1619project #1619 #african american #history #american history #african american history #Essays #female authors #favorite authors

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pepperpatrol · 5 years

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So I’ve only been blogging jokes about the Tumblr guideline changes

I’m gonna take approximately five minutes of your time to be serious about it.

I do not post NSFW material (for the most part) nor do I log into tumblr with the intent on seeing it. In fact, I have used xkit to curate my experience as such that I almost never see it. Theoretically this ban doesn’t affect me. Except....It does.

For all that can be critiqued and complained about Tumblr, it is a unique place on the internet where I can be presented with ideas and concepts I literally had almost no access to whatsoever in any other facet of my life until I joined it.

Tumblr is the first, and actually only, LGBT heavy community I’ve ever joined.

Tumblr is the first time I’d ever seen anything even remotely resembling sex positivity.

Tumblr taught my white ass about racism and helped me understand how to be a truly compassionate person.

Tumblr shitposts taught me tips and tricks about cooking, home repair, calling officials and making appointments that my abusive family members never did.

Tumblr hasn’t quite gotten me to go back to therapy yet, but the tips and tricks shared by users in the recovery tag have helped me manage my mental illness and be a happier, kinder and more productive person.

Tumblr shitposts and the donations to my paypal that came therefrom helped me out of an abusive relationship and the resulting homelessness.

These things could not, or would not, have ever happened on another platform.

The thing is, is that many things I would not consider NSFW is considered so outside the context of this website. Protest pictures from feminist marches with topless women, two gay men sharing a chaste, loving kiss, informative sexual education diagrams even just talking candidly about kink and consent can be banned elsewhere depending on how stringent their rules are. Truth Coming out of Her Well to Shame Mankind is not anywhere near the realm of intentionally sexually explicit and yet it’s been flagged and the staff are not going to unflag it.

When you make an adult content ban you then need to define what is and is not actually prohibited content.

Many of the communities that exist on tumblr simply cannot exist on another platform. Even if they could, with the Apple Store Terms of Service being what they are, you can expect at least 90% of them to also ban explicit images and “female-presenting nipples” if not now, then eventually. As a casualty of this puritanism, lesbians holding hands and picking flowers will somehow be pigeonholed into the same group as hard core dom sub pain play.

This isn’t just a ban on horny ppl and the casualties of this ban aren’t just NSFW artists or sex workers. It is everyone. We curated a community and an atmosphere that was so much more open than other platforms and being able to openly talk about things that may be uncomfortable has made it easier to identify those things, to identify why they’re uncomfortable and whether or not they’re really harmful.

They’ve already demonstrated they aren’t going to follow their own rules by banning classical art. LGBT has been an unsearchable word for close to a year now. Their bot is a fucking joke and there’s no way they could hire enough people to actually, personally monitor the site. And honestly, saying non-sexual nudity can stay is ambitious of them, bc a bot can’t determine what nudity is and is not sexual.

I’m not leaving Tumblr or anything. But it’s not going to be the same. I have a twitter account and I’ve made a donation to Pillowfort just bc I’m curious about it. But yeah Tumblr is probably gonna be Twitter 2.0 with more nazis and pedophiles on it soon and i’m not sure I’ll stay very long after that.

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oneshul · 5 years

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This Thanksgiving, Thank God You’re American: The Tale of Asser Levy, New Amsterdam Jew, 1654

Sholom Aleichem, Stranger! My name is Asser, Asser Levy, of—so many places! First Spain, then Holland; Brazil after, and now, America. And you know, something about you made me take you for a Jew. Keep your voice down; Governor Pieter Stuyvesant’s spies are everywhere—not unlike the Inquisition, which I, and belike yourself, escaped. Never mind: come inside—the winds blow coldly across Mannahatta Bay at this time of year, and my missus will prepare a cup of hot tea to warm your bones—(shouts) Gertruida, my dear! Tea, for our guest!

How did I know that you are Jewish? I will tell you this: my old father, God rest his soul, would tell me from an early age that we Jews appear—different from other folk. Not that I wish any harm to the gentiles, regardless of what they may think of me. And, to speak truth, my gentile neighbors and I have worked together to build this little piece of Holland, here in the New World. I consider most of them to be friends. Ha! (laughs bitterly) Even those who denigrate our kind for being usurers and blasphemers of their Saviour’s Name, are first at my door when I butcher a cow or goat, and my dear wife, Gertruida, cooks her famous stew. The delicious smell permeates the neighborhood!

There are, indeed, dangers: plague, Indians, and even nature, which plots against us, especially in the winter. I cannot remember such a cold, or so much snow, in Old Holland, let alone in Spain. We huddle together beneath bearskin blankets and wait for spring to arrive.

How is life here? The Dutch people are fair enough: some better, some worse than others. I have found that most Jew-hatred stems from ignorance, and fight it by being, simply, the best human being I can be. It seems to work—that, as well as there simply not being very many of us here. That fool (whispering), Governor Stuyvesant, only grudgingly accepted our twenty-four Jews to enter his colony. It’s not his—it’s the property of the Dutch West Indian Company! After the French captain tossed us off the ship like trash, after the riskiest voyage of our lives, we huddled on the dock like water rats. Imagine: first, escaping Brazil when the Portuguese Navy—with those devil-priests of the Inquisition undoubtedly on board—suddenly appeared in Pernambuco Bay.

We narrowly escaped, on a French ship, the Sint Catrina, whose thieving captain, one Jaques de la Mothe, thought we were rich—are not all Jews rich? He was disappointed in our poverty, and we were disappointed in his seamanship—my little boy Solomon could have escaped the pirates that attacked us, but de la Mothe panicked and ran up a white flag. We losteverything! Still, I thank God that we are all alive and well, except Isaac Carmiel, who was so fearful of the pirates, that he leapt overboard and was eaten by sharks. No great loss: he was a drunkard and cheated at dice;he defamed the Name of God.

As for Stuyvesant—pah! (spits on the ground) I have met Jew-haters before, but he is paramount. He first refused to let us Jews into the colony—does he think that Europeans are flocking to this icy, godforsaken place? He wrote to the Board of Directors of the West Indian Company—and so did we. Luckily, the Company ordered him to allow us entrance—there are a number of Jews on the Board, and still more own shares in the Company. Ha! Still, Stuyvesant has spurned our every petition for equality—he refuses to let us build our own houses, construct a synagogue, open various shops—I am a skilled butcher; my friend Jacob Barsimson is a baker—or even join the town guard, despite the ongoing danger of Indian attack.

The first time that Jacob and I presented his Governorship with a petition, Peg-leg Peter presented his most frightening mien—he is a tall man, of muscular build—well, he has been a soldier for most of his life. He roared at us, shook his fists, and whacked his silver-headed walking-stick on his desk—so hard, we were surprised it did not break. Of course, he knew nothing about what he was speaking—stuff and nonsense about how we were all on welfare. We waited for him to take a breath, and then explained, politely, that, as former Spanish subjects and current Dutch burgher-citizens, we are entitled to the same civil rights as any other Dutchman. Never mind: another letter to the Board, another petition to the Court—it all builds our position here in New Amsterdam, little by little. Not to be disloyal, but (whispering) my friend Chaim Henriques saw a small sloop with the British Union Jack scouting our coast, just t’other day—we suspect that the English may be planning to take over our little colony, and soon.

Must you leave so soon, Stranger? Ah, you are headed north, to Massachusetts? Is that a good idea? After all, neither Puritans nor Pilgrims are, despite their love of Scripture, particularly fond of us folks who wrote it. Sit, stay a while! I have a little jug of rum in the cupboard for emergencies, and, with the snow falling outside, this seems as good an emergency as any—Sit! Gertruida—fetch those wooden cups, and join us for a nip of toddy!

Nothing like rum for thickening the blood. A question? About me? Ah, but Friend, I am but a simple butcher, an American—dare I say it?—who happens to be Jewish. Why do I fight so hard against that petty tyrant, that old Peg-Leg (He teases up his hair to cover his Royal Baldness, too, he does; my Gertruida does laundry for his missus, and they talk), that rotten excuse for a Governor? Because I want—I want—(drinks) to see our people free. Yes: free, in this New World. There is room here enow for Jews, Christians, agnostic, atheists—yes, and Blacks and Indians, too! All free. You ask, and I answer: that is all I want, and I will spend my life fighting for it. Drink, Stranger—l’chaim!

Asser Levy, among the first twenty-four Jews to enter the New World, never hesitated to fight for his rights as an immigrant to New Amsterdam. An Ashkenazi, rather than a Sephardic Jew, he tirelessly petitioned the governor to allow the Jews to participate in the Town Guard, rather than pay the “Jew Tax” customary in Europe. This succeeded, but Jews were not allowed to run for public office until Francis Salvador of SC in 1775, who later died in the Revolution. The Jews never did get their synagogue during Levy’s lifetime; Cong. Shearith Israel (The Remnant of Israel) was not built until 1730, long after Levy’s passing. (A Jewish Cemetery was founded in 1756, however; death was a near and frequent visitor, regardless of religion.) Levy did, eventually, get his butcher shop, on the understanding that he was not allowed to dispatch pigs. He is buried in an unknown grave, but both a public school and a public park in NYC bear his name.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

#progressive judaism #judaism #jewish #torah study #drash #parsha #weekly parsha #rabbi david hartley mark #shabbat #shabbos #sabbath #thanksgiving #oneshul

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tripstations · 5 years

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Hotel History: Asian American Hotel Owners Association

The Asian American Hotel Owners Association (AAHOA) is a trade association that represents hotel owners. As of 2018, AAHOA has approximately 18,000 members who incredibly own about half the 50,000 hotels in the United States. If you bear in mind that Indian Americans constitute less than one percent of Americas population, the conquest of this business niche is extraordinary. Furthermore, about 70% of all Indian hotel owners are named Patel, a surname that shows that they are members of a Gujarati Hindu subcaste.

How did this economic miracle come to pass? The first Indian motel owner in the United States is said to have been an illegal immigrant named Kanjibhai Desai who managed to buy the Goldfield Hotel in downtown San Francisco in the early 1940s.

Some twenty-six years later in 1949, another Asian American of Indian descent came to the United States from his home near the city of Surat during the first wave of legal immigration from India. Bhulabhai V. Patel picked apricots and grapes in Northern California and worked at various jobs until he saved enough to purchase the 108- room William Penn Hotel in San Francisco in 1960. By 1996, Bhulabhai owned nine properties in Northern California with his son, Raman and grandson Pramod. At the time, he was amazed by the rapid growth of the Indian American lodging community. “It started with one hotel”, he said, “Now we’ve got thousands.”

“Patel” means farmer or landowner in Gujarat where the Patels are the original and largest clan. In order to facilitate tax collections, the British delineated, reassigned and renamed some of them “Amin” (the farm managers) and others “Desai” (those who kept the books). It is said that the Patels have a commerce gene in their blood and the anecdotal evidence seems to bear this out.

In the mid-1970s, Patels from India, Africa and Asia began to emigrate to the United States where any immigrant willing to invest $40,000 in a business could apply for permanent residence, the first step to citizenship. There were limited opportunities for such an investment. Restaurants required the Hindu Gujaratis to handle meat, an uncomfortable activity. Furthermore, a restaurant required one-on-one interaction with guests, confusing for newly-arrived immigrants. But distressed roadside motels could be acquired outright for $40,000. In addition, the motel industry was slumping badly because of the oil embargo and the resultant nationwide shortage of gasoline.

One Patel pioneer reported that a motel “… is easy to run. You don’t need fluent English, just the will to work long hours. And, it’s a business that comes with a house- you don’t have to buy a separate house….”

The new owners brought their business expertise and their families to operate these motels. They instituted modern accounting techniques to monitor the all-important cash flow. Four times cash flow became the mantra of the Patels. If the distressed motel produced $10,000 per year in revenues and could be acquired for $40,000, it was profitable for a hard-working family.

They renovated and upgraded the rundown motels to improve cash flow, sold the properties and traded up to better motels. This was not without difficulties. Conventional insurance companies wouldn’t provide coverage because they believed these immigrant owners would burn down their motels. In those days, banks were unlikely to provide mortgages either. The Patels had to finance each other and self-insure their properties.

In a July 4, 1999 New York Times article, reporter Tunku Varadarajan wrote, “The first owners, in a manner consistent with many an emergent immigrant group, scrimped, went without, darned old socks and never took a holiday. They did this not merely to save money but also because thrift is part of a larger moral framework, one that regards all nonessential expenditure as wasteful and unattractive. It’s an attitude buttressed by a puritanical aversion to frills and frivolities, one that has its roots as much in the kind of Hinduism that the Patels practice as in their historical tradition as commercial perfectionists.”

They bought, renovated, operated and resold motels mostly along the interstate highways. Soon, the name “Patel” became synonymous with the hotel business. Patels own motels in cities all over the U.S., including Canton (Texas, Mississippi, Michigan and Ohio), Burlington (Vermont, Iowa and North Carolina), Athens (Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama), Plainview (New York and Ohio) and Longview (Texas and Washington).

Author Joel Millman writes in The Other Americans (Viking Books):

“Patels took a sleepy, mature industry and turned it upside down- offering consumers more choices while making the properties themselves more profitable. Motels that attracted billions in immigrant savings turned into real estate equity worth many billions more. That equity, managed by a new generation, is being leveraged into new businesses. Some are related to lodging (manufacturing motel supplies); some related to real estate (reclaiming derelict housing); some simply cash seeking an opportunity. The Patel-motel model is an example, like New York’s West Indian jitneys, of the way immigrant initiative expands the pie. And there is another lesson: as the economy shifts from manufacturing to services, the Patel-motel phenomenon demonstrates how franchising can turn an outsider into a mainstream player. The Gujarati model for motels might be copied by Latinos in landscaping, West Indians in homecare or Asians in clerical services. By operating a turnkey franchise as a family business, immigrants will help an endless stream of service providers grow.”

As investment and ownership expanded, the Patels were accused of a wide variety of crimes: arson, laundering stolen travel checks, circumventing immigration laws. In an unpleasant burst of xenophobia,Frequent Flyer magazine (Summer 1981) declared, “Foreign investment has come to the motel industry…..causing grave problems for American buyers and brokers. Those Americans in turn are grumbling about unfair, perhaps illegal business practices: there is even talk of conspiracy.” The magazine complained that the Patels had artificially boosted motel prices to induce a buying frenzy. The article concluded with an unmistakable racist remark, “Comments are passed about motels smelling like curry and dark hints about immigrants who hire Caucasians to work the front desk.” The article concluded, “The facts are that immigrants are playing hardball in the motel industry and maybe not strictly by the rule book.” The worst visible manifestation of such racism was a rash of “American Owned” banners displayed in certain hotels across the country. This hateful display was repeated in post- Sept 11 America.

In my article, “How American-Owned Can You Get,” (Lodging Hospitality, August 2002), I wrote,

“In post-Sept. 11 America, signs of patriotism are everywhere: flags, slogans, God Bless America and United We Stand posters. Unfortunately, this outpouring sometimes oversteps the boundaries of democracy and decent behavior. After all, true patriotism encompasses the best features of our founding documents, and the very best of America is reflected in its diversity. Conversely, the worst if reflected when any one group attempts to define “American” in their own image. Unfortunately, a few hotel owners have attempted to describe their own peculiar version of “American.” When at the end of 2002 the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York City installed an entrance banner saying “an American-owned hotel,” the owners attempted to deflect criticism by explaining, “The issue of American-owned is basically not disparaging toward other hotels. We want to provide our guests with an American experience. We want people to know they are going to get an American experience. We are not really interested in what the other hotels are or what they are not.”

This explanation is as wrongheaded as it gets. What is an “American experience” in a country that prides itself on its cultural diversity? Is it only white bread, hot dogs and cola? Or does it encompass all the arts, music, dance, food, culture and activities that various nationalities and citizens bring to the American experience? How much more American can you get?”

Today AAHOA is the largest hotel owners association in the world. Its U.S. citizen members own one of every two hotels in the U.S. With billions of dollars in property assets and hundreds of thousands of employees, AAHOA-owned hotels are core contributors in virtually every community in the United States.

Excerpted from my book “Great American Hoteliers: Pioneers of the Hotel Industry” AuthorHouse 2009

The Roosevelt New Orleans Hotel (1893) is Encouraging Return of Stolen Items

Participants who return such items will be eligible to win a seven-night stay in one of the hotel’s lavish presidential suites, worth over $15,000. The Roosevelt plans to display the items in its lobby, as a record of the hotel’s history. The campaign called the “Historic Giveback Contest” has been launched to celebrate the hotel’s 125th birthday. Former guests have until July 1, 2019 to return items by dropping them off at the concierge desk or sending them in the mail, said General Manager Tod Chambers.

The author, Stanley Turkel, is a recognized authority and consultant in the hotel industry. He operates his hotel, hospitality and consulting practice specializing in asset management, operational audits and the effectiveness of hotel franchising agreements and litigation support assignments. Clients are hotel owners, investors, and lending institutions.

New Hotel Book Nearing Completion

It is entitled “Great American Hotel Architects” and tells the fascinating stories of Warren & Wetmore, Henry J. Hardenbergh, Schutze & Weaver, Mary Colter, Bruce Price, Mulliken & Moeller, McKim, Mead & White, Carrere & Hastings, Julia Morgan, Emery Roth and Trowbridge & Livingston.

Other Published Books:

Great American Hoteliers: Pioneers of the Hotel Industry (2009) • Built To Last: 100+ Year-Old Hotels in New York (2011) • Built To Last: 100+ Year-Old Hotels East of the Mississippi (2013) • Hotel Mavens: Lucius M. Boomer, George C. Boldt and Oscar of the Waldorf (2014) • Great American Hoteliers Volume 2: Pioneers of the Hotel Industry (2016) • Built To Last: 100+ Year-Old Hotels West of the Mississippi (2017)

Hotel Mavens Volume 2: Henry Morrison Flagler, Henry Bradley Plant, Carl Graham Fisher (2018)

All of these books can also be ordered from AuthorHouse, by visiting stanleyturkel.com and by clicking on the book’s title.

Travel News | eTurboNews

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countrymadefoods · 5 years

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“Dried kesar or saffron has high carbohydrate content and is rich in vitamins and minerals. Owing to its high nutritional content and medicinal properties, the spice is used in food as seasoning or flavouring and to treat several ailments and health problems.”

Five Health Benefits of Kesar

Kesar is used to treat common ailments

Kesar helps to treat asthma

Kesar treats stress and insomnia

Kesar treats flatulence

Kesar treats Alzheimer’s

Five Beauty Benefits of Kesar

Kesar boosts ageless beauty

Kesar for glowing skin

Kesar treats acne

Kesar rids scars and wounds

Kesar treats dry skin

(via Kesar: Taste the incredible benefits of wonder spice saffron for great health and beauty | News Nation)

Saffron (color)

“Saffron is an orange color, resembling the color of the tip of the saffron crocus thread, from which the spice saffron is derived.

The color has some significance in Buddhism; it is worn by the monks of the Theravada tradition. It is also an important symbolic color in India, where it was chosen in 1947 as one of the three colors of the Indian flag after the nation gained its independence.

The color saffron is associated with the goddess of dawn (Eos in Greek mythology and Aurora in Roman mythology) in classical literature.

In the Pokémon games, there is a city named Saffron City.”

History of Saffron

“[T]he ancient Greeks knew it as "Thera". These frescoes likely date from the 16th or 17th century BC but may have been produced anywhere between 3000 and 1100 BC. They portray a Minoan goddess supervising the plucking of flowers and the gleaning of stigmas for use in the manufacture of what is possibly a therapeutic drug. A fresco from the same site also depicts a woman using saffron to treat her bleeding foot.”

“Ancient Greek legends tell of brazen sailors embarking on long and perilous voyages to the remote land of Cilicia, where they traveled to procure what they believed was the world's most valuable saffron. The best-known Hellenic saffron legend is that of Crocus and Smilax: The handsome youth Crocus sets out in pursuit of the nymph Smilax in the woods near Athens; in a brief dallying interlude of idyllic love, Smilax is flattered by his amorous advances, but all too soon tires of his attentions. He continues his pursuit; she resists. She bewitches Crocus: he is transformed—into a saffron crocus. Its radiant orange stigmas were held as a relict glow of an undying and unrequited passion.”

Cleopatra of late Ptolemaic Egypt used a quarter-cup of saffron in her warm baths, as she prized its colouring and cosmetic properties. She used it before encounters with men, trusting that saffron would render lovemaking yet more pleasurable...In Greco-Roman times saffron was widely traded across the Mediterranean by the Phoenicians. Their customers ranged from the perfumers of Rosetta, in Egypt, to physicians in Gaza to townsfolk in Rhodes, who wore pouches of saffron in order to mask the presence of malodorous fellow citizens during outings to the theatre.”

“The ancient Greeks and Romans prized saffron as a perfume or deodoriser and scattered it about their public spaces: royal halls, courts, and amphitheatres alike. When Nero entered Rome they spread saffron along the streets; wealthy Romans partook of daily saffron baths. They used it as mascara, stirred saffron threads into their wines, cast it aloft in their halls and streets as a potpourri, and offered it to their deities. Roman colonists took saffron with them when they settled in southern Roman Gaul, where it was extensively cultivated until the AD 271 barbarian invasion of Italy.”

The History of Saffron

“Persian saffron was heavily used by Alexander and his forces during their Asian campaigns. They mixed saffron into teas and dined on saffron rice. Alexander personally used saffron sprinkled in warm bath water, taking after Cyrus the Great...he believed it would heal his many wounds, and his faith in saffron grew with each treatment. He even recommended saffron baths for the ordinary men under him. The Greek soldiers, taken with saffron’s perceived curative properties, continued the practice after they returned to Macedonia.

Saffron cultivation in Europe declined steeply following the fall of the Roman Empire. For several centuries thereafter, saffron cultivation was rare or non-existent throughout Europe. This was reversed when Moorish civilization spread from North Africa to settle the Iberian Peninsula as well as parts of France and southern Italy. One theory states that Moors reintroduced saffron corms to the region around Poitiers after they lost the Battle of Tours to Charles Martel in AD 732.”

“The merchants of Venice continued their rule of the Mediterranean sea trade, trafficking varieties from Sicily, France and Spain, Austria, Crete and Greece, and the Ottoman Empire. Adulterated goods also made the rounds: those soaked in honey, mixed with marigold petals, or kept in damp cellars—all to add quick and cheap bulk. Irritated Nuremberg authorities passed the Safranschou code to de-louse the saffron trade. Adulterators were thus fined, imprisoned, and executed—by immolation.”

“Puritanical partisans favoured increasingly austere, unadorned, and unspiced foods. Saffron was also a labor-intensive crop, which became an increasing disadvantage as wages and time opportunity costs rose. And finally, an influx of more exotic spices from the far East due to the resurgent spice trade meant that the English, as well as other Europeans, had many more—and cheaper—seasonings to dally over...In addition, the elite who traditionally comprised the bulk of the saffron market were now growing increasingly interested in such intriguing new arrivals as chocolate, coffee, tea, and vanilla. Only in the south of France or in Italy and Spain, where the saffron harvest was culturally primal, did significant cultivation prevail.”

(via The History of Saffron | Cyrus Saffron blog)

Santucci’s legacy: the saffron plains of Abruzzo

“Just eight hectares of land are dedicated to saffron production in Abruzzo, but the harvested stems are widely regarded as the best in the world. And it’s all thanks to...

[T]he spice is made from the stems of the Crocus Sativus flower, which have to be gently picked by hand, and it takes roughly 500 hours to harvest a kilogram of saffron from 100,000 flowers. It’s this labour-intensive process that makes the spice more expensive than gold, gram for gram – and chefs can’t get enough of it. But how did this luxurious spice, originally from the Middle East, find its way to the central Italian region of Abruzzo?”

”The answer, of course, is steeped in myth and legend – as any Italian food worth its salt should be. The story goes that a Dominican monk belonging to the Santucci family...brought the spice back to Abruzzo after spending time in Iberia. During this time Iberia was under the rule of the Moors, and so the priest had experienced first-hand the heady, fragrant flavours associated with Middle Eastern cooking. Saffron was one of them.

The monk fled Iberia during the Inquisition, returning home to Abruzzo with the seeds of the Crocus Sativus flower. He...believed he could grow the spice back home due to the similar climate. The monk was correct – the flowers started growing, and saffron production in Italy was born.”

“Wealthy Italian families supposedly loved how it gave food a rich golden hue, and it became an essential ingredient in dishes such as risotto alla Milanese. Cakes and liqueurs relied on it for flavour and colour, as did painters who used it to create dyes. Soon enough demand saw the delicate little stems exported all over Italy, and the little town of Navelli – where the Santucci monk first planted his seeds – became famous across the country. The large nearby city of L’Aquila (now the region’s capital) also grew rapidly, funded by saffron money.”

“Today, saffron production in Abruzzo is certainly a specialist area of farming. While there were over 400 hectares of saffron fields in the region around 1900, that has shrunk to just eight. That’s because saffron grown in the Middle East – particularly Iran – is much cheaper to produce...Another aspect of Abruzzese saffron that sets it apart is how the stems are roasted once harvested. This is done over smouldering logs, which intensifies the flavour and colour of the spice and gives it a longer shelf life.

Saffron...from Italy...is a beautiful ingredient...the spice grown and painstakingly harvested...is something else entirely. It’s a product that sheds light on Italy’s history, helped shape a region and continues to attract worldwide attention...might be expensive, but it’s certainly worth it.”

(via Santucci’s legacy: the saffron plains of Abruzzo | Great Italian Chefs)

Finding Cathay

“Around the year 1300, a book took Europe by storm. It was Marco Polo's account of his travels to a fabulous country called Cathay, and all of the wonders he had seen there. He described black stones that burned like wood (coal), saffron-robed Buddhist monks, and money made out of paper.Of course, Cathay was actually China, which at that time was under Mongol rule. Marco Polo served in the court of Kublai Khan, founder of the Yuan Dynasty, and grandson of Genghis Khan.”

“The name "Cathay" is a European variation of "Khitai," which Central Asian tribes used to describe parts of northern China once dominated by the Khitan people. The Mongols had since crushed the Khitan clans and absorbed their people, erasing them as a separate ethnic identity, but their name lived on as a geographical designation. Since Marco Polo and his party approached China via Central Asia, along the Silk Road, they naturally heard the name Khitai used for the empire they sought.”

”Between about 1583 and 1598, the Jesuit missionary to China, Matteo Ricci, developed the theory that China was actually Cathay. He was well acquainted with Marco Polo's account and noticed striking similarities between Polo's observations of Cathay and his own of China. For one thing, Marco Polo had noted that Cathay was directly south of "Tartary," or Mongolia, and Ricci knew that Mongolia lay on the northern border of China...Ricci observed many of the same phenomena that Polo had noted, as well, such as people burning coal for fuel and using paper as money. The final straw, for Ricci, was when he met Muslim traders from the west in Beijing in 1598. They assured him that he was indeed living in the fabled country of Cathay.”

(via Finding Cathay | ThoughtCo.)

American-Grown Saffron Could Change the Spice Trade

“The goal is to discover the best cultivation method that results in a good crop of high-quality saffron.The results from this year’s experimental crop hints at the potential for domestically grown U.S. saffron. As a niche, “shoulder-season” crop that can be grown after the fall harvest, and with a high resale value—saffron fetches as much as $29,000 per kilogram (roughly $13,000 per pound)—it could be a boon for small farmers looking for another source of revenue. But all that would require the establishment of a market for premium, locally grown saffron.

Some research predicts the global saffron industry will be worth $2 billion by 2025. About 90 percent of the world’s saffron—including most of the 20 tons imported to the U.S. each year—comes from Iran; Spain and Italy are other significant producers.”

“Its most familiar usage is as a culinary spice; its distinctive aroma, flavor, and bright yellow color are often used in recipes for Spanish paella and Italian risotto and it’s also a classic ingredient in the French fish soup, Bouillabaisse. And saffron is also used as a fabric dye and is reputed to have nutritional and medicinal benefits for ailments including heart disease and depression. But it’s probably best known for its prices: as much as $29,000 per kilogram. Hence its nickname, “red gold.”

It’s the classic catch-22 of marketing: There has to be enough product for a market, and enough of a market to justify growing the product and supporting local production. Saffron’s reputation as exotic and expensive is something of a barrier for consumers, though there is small but steady demand for it.”

(via American-Grown Saffron Could Change the Spice Trade | Civil Eats)

Saffron

“Almost all saffron grows in a belt from Spain in the west to Kashmir in the east...Microscale production of saffron can be found in Australia (mainly the state of Tasmania), Canada, Central Africa, China, Egypt, parts of England, France, Israel, Italy (Basilicata), Mexico, New Zealand, Sweden (Gotland), Turkey (mainly around the town of Safranbolu), the United States (California and Pennsylvania).”

#kesar #italiansaffron #abruzzesesaffron #marcopolo #khitan #cathay #saffron #redgold #worthmorethangold #prettyexpensive #todyeforcolors #spicyshortflower #pokemonsaffroncity #californiasaffron

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nebris · 7 years

Text

Fascism vs Gynofascism

~The enemies of Feminism have used a pair of epithets fairly consistently. The most common – FemiNazi – is quite obviously absurd for anyone who knows anything about actual National Socialism. But most humans are idiots and it's 'catchy', so it caught on. The other is not used much, probably because one has to have some education to understand its meaning; Gynofascism. However, in formulating the construct for a Female Supremacist social order, it is perfect, so we have stolen it from our enemies and now turn it upon them. Gynofascism, n: a social and political movement that seeks to establish a Female Supremacist society based upon a BDSM FemDom paradigm. See also, Mistress, Matriarchy, Pegging, Financial Domination, Boot Licking, Cock & Ball Torture, Male Chastity Slavery. An honest appraisal of contemporary global civilization will show that Britt's "Fourteen Defining Characteristics Of Fascism" listed below are increasingly present, especially in the American Republic, where they have blossomed greatly since 9/11. While those who impose them claim they are meant to stabilize, they are all really symptoms of Collapse, as Fascism is a static system and therefore stagnant in nature. And that which does not grow, dies. Because The Sisterhood is required to put down roots and grow such an extreme and hostile environment, it will need to employ harsh measures, at the very least until the New Matriarchy has established a firm foothold politically and territorially. As such, Gynofascism is meant to be a transitional phase whose methods are designed to be used almost exclusively upon Baseline Males. This also means that it is a dynamic rather than static system. 1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism - Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottoes, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays. A. Certainly The Sisterhood will make use of mottoes, slogans, symbols, songs, flags, etc, though obviously they will be Female based in their nature. These things are key elements in how one starts and maintains a revolutionary movement. But our entire ideological foundation is driven toward establishing Matriarchal Supremacy, not mere nationalism or patriotism. Those are constructs Patriarchy uses to keep Sisters separated from one another. 2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights - Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc. B. Within the bounds of The Sisterhood, the Rights of Women shall be absolutely paramount. During the transitional phase of Gynofascism, the 'rights' of Baseline Males will be considered only in regard to practicality, as excessive oppression breeds rebellion. But once Baseline Males have been outbred to extinction, such methods will no longer be required. The genetically engineered Y Chromosome based Servitors that replace them will be humanely treated in the manner of beloved pets and valued service animals. 3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause - The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc. C. The Sisterhood has no need for 'scapegoats'. Patriarchy's long history of oppressing and brutalizing women is painfully apparent. Our Enemy has identified itself quite clearly. 4. Supremacy of the Military - Even when there are widespread domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized. D. The Sisterhood is at its core an Amazon Warrior Society that emphasizes Discipline and Martial Virtues. We know that Violent Force is a Universal Language that all Baseline Males understand and respect. In the long term Military Discipline will also be essential for the conquest of space. 5. Rampant Sexism - The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Divorce, abortion and homosexuality are suppressed and the state is represented as the ultimate guardian of the family institution. E. As Gynofascism is a social and political movement that seeks to establish a Female Supremacist society, this paradigm will be completely inverted and 'traditional gender roles' turned upon their head. The Sisterhood is Polyamorous, women have Absolute Sovereignty over their bodies and all Sisters are bisexual or lesbian. Our Daughters will be raised by all Sisters together. 6. Controlled Mass Media - Sometimes the media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common. F. At the present moment, Mass Media in every nation on Earth is at best dominated by Patriarchal thinking even if it is ostensibly 'free'. Of course, Mass Media these days is hardly ever free at all. The Sisterhood will always tell the truth about who and what it is, not out some position of 'moral superiority', but because that truth serves us. Even when we are firmly established in our own political entity, that shall be the rule, rather than the exception, and for the very same reasons. 7. Obsession with National Security - Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses. G. The Sisterhood has no need to 'use fear as a motivational tool'. Any woman who pays attention knows that women live in fear nearly all the time. Patriarchy is always Enemy Territory and to varying degrees it transcends all national, religious and ethnic boundaries. The Sisterhood will create a space where The Female Dominates and The Male is subjugated. That is our 'national security'. 8. Religion and Government are Intertwined - Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions. H. The Sisterhood is in fact both a Spiritual and Political movement, so “Religion and Government are Intertwined” from the very beginning. Religious rhetoric and terminology will be common from government leaders, but because of the nature of our goals – the establishment of a New Matriarchy – they will always be supportive of the government's policies and actions and vice versa. To be otherwise would be self defeating. 9. Corporate Power is Protected - The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite. I. Capitalism is the bastard child of Patriarchy. It is that most ancient and honorable of masculine pursuits - The Hunt - distorted and perverted into a massive, omnivorous beast that is devouring its host. The Sisterhood shall Collar and Dominate the men in that industrial and business aristocracy, bring them to heel, Sororitize* their all of their assets and then bring this monstrousness to an end. *Sororitize; verb. When The Sisterhood takes control or possession of a place or thing. "The Sisterhood sororitized that company." also Sororitization 10. Labor Power is Suppressed - Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed. J. In the current socioeconomic paradigm, the power of organized labor has already been largely broken. The end goal of The Sisterhood is to create the aforementioned Servitor class to totally supplant all Baseline Male labor. Automation will also be used where appropriate. All labor power will be harnessed to Serve The Sisterhood and its goals. 11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts - Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts and letters is openly attacked. K. The Sisterhood is not so blindly fanatical as to think Patriarchal Civilization to be uniformly evil. While its Science is obviously to be exploited and expanded upon, there is also much of its Art and Culture that is worth retaining, though the misogynistic elements therein will be clearly pointed out, a useful exercise in and of itself. The most creatively fertile periods in human history tend to be decadent and chaotic. Wiemar Berlin is a perfect example. The Fascist regimes that tend to follow – Nazi Germany for example – reject that chaos and the artistic expression it generates. This is both a Political Control Issue and a Puritanical Reaction that stems from Fascism's own suppressed homoerotic impulses. The Sisterhood, while being an Amazon Warrior Culture, is also highly sexual and hedonistic, which honors those Aspects of The Goddess as Mother and Lover. It must ever be remembered that Puritanism is always a Tool of Patriarchy. Sisters must always use their Sexual Power to smash Puritanical paradigms wherever they find them. 12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment - Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations. L. During the transitional phase of Gynofascism, the proximity of unmodified and un-Collared Baseline Males will be a clear security issue. Faced with their inevitable extinction, they will naturally be restive and dangerous. This a critical window. The Sisterhood's Internal Security apparatus must balance the Iron Fist and the Velvet Glove, as too much or too little of either could provoke open rebellion. Minor criminals will be offered the choice to emigrate from territories under Sisterhood control or submit to a Hard Collar and possibly castration. Major criminals however shall be terminated and their DNA harvested. In time The Sisterhood will develop effective Brain Wipe and Memory Implant [W/I] technologies that will be used upon difficult Baseline Males. Minor criminals will be offered the choice to emigrate or undergo W/I, but Major Criminals will be automatically be W/I'd and turned out to Service. 13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption - Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders. M. Patriarchy sets Women against each other by controlling the Standards of Beauty and constantly sending the scarcity message that 'a women is nothing without a man'. But it is the true nature of Women, when not constrained and distorted by Patriarchy, to be Cooperative. With the Greater Goal of creating and building a New Matriarchy, that cooperativeness is focused and enhanced. Therefore 'Cronyism and Corruption' becomes antithetical to that natural order of things. With the deconstruction of Corporatist Patriarchy and the Sororitization of the entirety its assets and operations, all of those resources are then fully dedicated to the Greater Goal of creating and building a New Matriarchy. 14. Fraudulent Elections - Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections. N. Masculine Egotism has degraded Patriarchy to the point where it no longer has any goal beyond maintaining its own power. All its Greater Goals have been forgotten. Therefore the Electorate has become disillusioned and decadent and must be bribed and lied to. The Sisterhood is entirely about The Great Goal of a New Matriarchy and therefore always tells the truth about what needs to be done to achieve such. Sometimes that truth is harsh, but Sisters are prepared for that. And only Sisters will get to vote, as they will be all trained and educated to the highest standards and because The Sisterhood belongs to them.

#The Sisterhood

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datingadviceonreddit · 4 years

Link

Let me start this off by saying I am in the United States. I just got out of a long term relationship last fall. I have been on 9 dates since with 9 different girls and I have found a very similar pattern. I am 23 by the way. I do a social media check after the first date if things go well to follow them and such.I am not meeting these girls in the same place, they have all been in different places and not necessarily bars or clubs. Long story short, 8 of these girls were American. After my first date out of the LTR, I thought things went well and was telling my friend about it. He happens to be about 10 years older and fairly wealthy. He enjoys being a sugar daddy on a popular site. I don’t like that stuff but he lives his life and is an all around great guy so whatever. Anyway, I was telling him about her and he whipped out his phone and showed me that she had a profile on this sugar daddy site. He recognized her and she literally was selling herself for paying her college tuition. I never spoke to her again and moved on.Long story short, 3 of the 8 girls I’ve been on dates with had profiles on this site, 1 of them had over 27k followers on Instagram and a link to her OnlyFans private porn page (she showed up to the date as a 21yr old student driving a Corvette which made me skeptical), 1 of them had facebook posts for the past month of her arguing with her ex and threatening to slash his tires and his throat, 1 of them (a very sweet and innocent looking college girl) openly said she had to go after the date to do a private cam show for one of her fans... so she was a cam girl, 1 date was a complete bummer and we had no chemistry, and last but surely not least one date bragged about how she slept with 273 guys. She literally told me on the first date that she has slept with 273 guys... she was 21... how do you sleep with that many guys at 21???At this point, I decided I was not going to go on another date with an American woman. Then I was at a local restaurant with friends and our gorgeous waitress started giving me the eyes. We flirted all night at dinner as she had mentioned she was Venezuelan. We went on a date and she is 23. She came to the US when she was 18. She was the best date I had had since my LTR and one of the qualities I liked was her honesty. I got her social media before the date so I checked it and no bad signs. However, she tells me on the date that she had to be a prostitute back in Venezuela when she was 16-18. It was not a trafficking thing, it was her choice as many there are forced to go into it to put food on the table for their families. This is my dilemma.I don’t know whether I just naturally attract sex workers or what but I feel like I would be wrong to judge her in this case for her past. We have been on a couple more dates since and she is the only one I have gone on more dates with. She is by all accounts so far, a very sane, fun, and loving girl. No red flags and by far a better date than any girl I’ve been with including my LTR. I don’t know what to do here... In this case I don’t so much judge her for her past but I feel like her past may have impacted her with some emotional problems or the like that may not come out until later in the relationship. I get the feeing that her troubled past has caused more repressed trauma than she lets on. She is very open about it and talks all about how she hated it so much but she had to feed her nephews and mother. I feel for her but I don’t know whether I should move forward here...Do you think I’m overthinking this?I have never saw myself this way, but I have been told on many occasions in the past that I am attractive and the girls I tend to go on dates with are very attractive so I don’t know whether that is causing me to run into more girls that work in the sex industry or what but it is really getting old. I’m not a religious man or a conservative by any means but I just get really turned off by the idea of dating a girl that has done that, especially the sugar daddy situation where they convince themselves its not prostitution. I have no puritanical hangups but just get very turned off by the thought. I’m a romantic and prefer to be with someone who is the same way.Any advice here would be helpful. Should I continue my relationship and would it be ethical to move forward if I can’t guarantee I would be 100% in it if we get serious eventually? I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure but she is an incredible girl and I would like to be able to get past it. To add, as I’ve been out of the dating scene since I was 18 in my LTR, is this the norm for girls these days to be on sugar daddy sites and such? Or is it just bad luck? via /r/dating_advice

#dating #dating advice #reddit

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theinvinciblenoob · 5 years

Link

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

TechCrunch is experimenting with new content forms. This is a rough draft of something new – provide your feedback directly to the author (Danny at [email protected]) if you like or hate something here.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

It goes without saying that this piece about my employer is my work alone, doesn’t reflect management’s views, and is done under the auspices of TechCrunch’s independent editorial voice. No usage of internal information is assumed or implied.

This is a piece about TechCrunch’s parent company, formerly known as “Oath:” (okay just Oath, but who am I to flout a mandatory colon?) and now ReBranded as Verizon Media Group / Oath (See what they did there? They literally slashed Oath. Poetic).

Oath is essentially the creature of Frankenstein, a middle-school corporate alchemy experiment to fuse the properties of the companies formerly known as AOL and Yahoo into the larger behemoth known as Verizon. You can feel the terrible synergy emanating from the multiple firewalls it takes to get to our corporate resources.

Oath has a problem:* it needs to grow for Wall Street to be happy and for Verizon not to neuter it, but it has an incredible penchant for making product decisions that basically tell users to fuck off. Oath’s year over year revenues last quarter were down 6.9%, driven by extreme competition from digital ad leaders Google and Facebook.

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

The kerfuffle is over Tumblr, which is among Oath’s most important brands, in that people actually know what it is and kind of still like it. Tumblr, which Yahoo notably acquired under Marissa Mayer back in 2013, has been something of a product orphan — one of the few true software platforms left in a world filled with editorial content like TechCrunch and HuffPost (Oath sold off Flickr earlier this year to SmugMug — which also seems to be going through its own boneheaded product decision phase).

All was well and good — well, at least quiet — in the Tumblr world until Apple pulled the plug on Tumblr’s app in the App Store a few weeks ago over claims of child porn. Now let’s be absolutely clear: child porn is abhorrent, and filtering it out of online photo sharing sites is a prime directive (and legally mandated).

But Oath has decided to do something equally obnoxious: it intends to ban anything that might be considered “adult content” starting December 17th, just in time for the holidays when purity around family gatherings is key.

In Tumblr’s policy, “Adult content primarily includes photos, videos, or GIFs that show real-life human genitals or female-presenting nipples, and any content—including photos, videos, GIFs and illustrations—that depicts sex acts.” You’ll notice the written legerdemain — “primarily” doesn’t exclude the wider world of adult-oriented content that almost invariably is going to be subsumed under this policy.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

Oath is attempting to compress the content moderation engineering and testing of Facebook down to a span of a few weeks. And Facebook hasn’t even figured this one out yet, which is why people are still being murdered across the world from viral messages and memes it hosts that incite ethnic hatred and genocide.

I get the pressure from Apple. I get the safety of saying “just ban all the images” à la Renaissance pope. I get the business decision of trying to maintain Tumblr’s clean image. These points are all reasonable, but they all are just useless without Tumblr’s core and long-time users.

What flummoxes me from a product perspective is that it’s not as if banning all adult content is the singular solution to the problem. There is an entire spectrum of product, policy, legal, and product cultural ingredients that could be drawn upon. There could be more age verification, better separation of “safe for children” and “meant for adults content,” and more focus on messaging to users that moderation was meant to help the product and focus audiences rather than to puritanically filter.

Or you can just kill the photos, the somehow still loyal core user base, a safe space for expression via nudity and sexuality and, well, traffic along with it. And then you look at -6.9% growth and think: huh, I wonder if there is a connection.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

Tencent Music Entertainment’s initial public offering is back in motion, two months after the company reportedly postponed it amid a global selloff. In a regulatory filing today, the company, China’s largest streaming music service, said it plans to offer 82 million American depositary shares (ADS), representing 164 million Class A ordinary shares, for between $13 to $15 each. That means the IPO will potentially raise up to $1.23 billion.

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

At its heart, Tencent Music is an interactive media company. Its business isn’t merely providing music, it’s getting people to engage around music. Given its parent company Tencent has become the leading force in global gaming—with control of League of Legends maker Riot Games and Clash of Clans maker Supercell, plus a 40 percent stake in Fortnite creator Epic Games, and role as the top mobile games publisher in China—its team is well-versed in the dynamics of in-game purchasing.

Tencent Music has staked out a very differentiated business model from Spotify, Pandora, Apple Music, etc. It has used an engagement-based product model to make live-streaming and virtual gifts huge business lines, without dealing with the product marketing logistics of subscription. Where the West always asks you to pay for access, Tencent is asking you essentially to pay to have fun and be part of an experience.

Eric asks I think a deep question: why hasn’t this model (which seems particularly obvious in music given the overall events component of that business) been back-ported from China to the Western world? He sees a world where Facebook buys Spotify (I don’t) but I think there is absolutely a gap in the market for a music platform to really own this model.

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

Wes McKinney is a major open-source star and the engineer behind pandas, which is one of the fundamental Python data libraries, as well as a founding engineer of Apache Arrow, which is an in-memory data structure specification.

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

I’ve increasingly felt that open source development is at odds with the values that are driving a large portion of the corporate world, particularly in the United States. Many companies won’t fund open source work because there is no “return on investment”. This is deeply frustrating, and being surrounded by people whose actions align with profit-motive can be pretty discouraging. It’s not necessarily that people who work in NYC or SF are greedy or amorally concerned with making money. In many cases they are just responding to incentives coming from pretty low on the hierarchy of needs.

And

Full-time open source developers in many cases will make less money than their peers who work at Google, Facebook, Microsoft, Apple, or another major tech company. If we are to enable more people to do open source development as a full-time vocation, we need to grow supportive tech communities in places that are more affordable. (emphasis his).

I think this is a very interesting trend to watch in the coming years. It’s not just the small business and art types who want to move to lower cost locales to match their lifestyle spending to the (economic) value of their work. Software developers who want to work on more meaningful projects outside of advertising and finance will also increasingly need to consider these sorts of geographical adjustments.

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

From cryptocurrency millionaires in Puerto Rico to digital nomads in hotspots like Thailand, Indonesia, and Colombia, there is increasingly a view that there is a marketplace for governance, and we hold the power as consumers. Much like choosing a cereal from the breakfast department of a supermarket, highly-skilled professionals are now comparing governments online — and making clear-headed choices based on which ones are most convenient and have the greatest amenities available.

Economic migration — whether from cost-of-living, ecosystem or governance culture, or just for new horizons — is the watchword of this century. It’s a huge loss for NYC that people like McKinney can no longer find their work compatible with the city.

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Imagined Communities – a major classic book of social science thought, it’s amazing how well it has held up, and the lessons it holds for us in the cyber age. Intending to write a review of it for this weekend, so expect more notes later.

Quietly, Japan has established itself as a power in the aerospace industry – I love industrial policy and national economic development, and Eric Berger has done a great job on both fronts with his dispatch in Ars Technica. Japan is roaring back into space, increasing its launch capabilities and also preparing to deploy its own GPS infrastructure. An important contextual read for those who follow SpaceX.

Why we stopped trusting elites — a compelling deep dive by William Davies in The Guardian into how populism is animated by the failures of elites. Couldn’t agree more that elites have lost significant trust over the last few decades, mostly from hubris, corruption, and outright fraud (the financial crisis being just the largest). Elites need to hold themselves to much higher standards if we want to ask our fellow citizens for their support.

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

via TechCrunch

#IFTTT #TechCrunch

0 notes

fmservers · 5 years

Text

Why Oath keeps Tumblring

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

And

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

Via Danny Crichton https://techcrunch.com

#TechCrunch

0 notes