#we unite to raise our flag

[unitedestatesllc]

#The UAE flag rises with pride #narrating the story of wise leadership and a nation that achieves the impossible. Today #and every day #we unite to raise our flag #our symbol of pride and determination. #Happy Flag Day UAE !! #UAEFlagDay #Reach Us !! #☎ [phone] #☎ [phone] #✉ [email protected] #🌐www.unitedestates.com #flagday #uaeflag #uaeflagday #november #nationalday #uaenationalday #unitedestates #unitedproperties #propertymanagement #rentals #sales #building #residential #commercial #property #investment #invest #investinrealestate

[sissa-arrows]

Spending time with my grandpa and having him telling me more stories about the Algerian war of liberation is very distressing because of how horrific it is and because it’s very similar to what Palestinians are going through so it feels like nothing changed our lives are still disposable and colonialism is still acceptable in the minds of too many people.

But it’s also very encouraging because it means that as long as the resistance exists as long as the people are united liberation will happen. France displaced us and put us in camps (over 1 millions of us), France starved us, France killed us (1.5 millions ONLY during the war of liberation you can triple the number if you count all the years of colonialism), France tortured us, France executed us, France traumatized our children our people, France divided us, France tried to steal everything from us including our indigeneity … at the end of the day we’re here. We’re here loud and proud despite their attempts to destroy us. We stand with dignity and only one flag is raised over our land. Our flag. The same flag that they made illegal. The same flag people were killed for waving is the only flag that stands proudly on every Algerian building.

And you know what? That’s what will happen for Palestine. It’s painful it’s horrific but I refuse to lose all hope because we have no right to.

Palestine will be free and only one flag will stand over all that land. The Palestinian flag.

#palestine #algeria #anti colonialism #liberation #this is all i can hope and will fight for #settler colonialism #Zionism will end

[tikkunolamresistance]

From “The Holocaust Industry” by Norman Finkelstein. A highly recommended read.

The AJC (American Jewish Committee) and ADL (Anti-Defamation League) would offer up files on alleged Jewish subversives— or, Jewish political opposition who aligned with Leftism— to US government agencies. In direct fashion with the United States’ McCarthy era of anti-Communist fear-mongering, Leftist Jews were uprooted and eliminated with support of Right-Wing Jewry. Due to the United States’ alignment with a barely de-Nazified Germany in opposition to the growing Soviet Union, Leftism and Communism on the home front had to be eliminated somehow… and that included within Jewish communities.

Finkelstein goes on to discuss how Jewish elites** needed to align themselves with US interests not only for survival, but for assimilation and safety from being once again deemed “untrustworthy aliens” that had led to the Nazi Holocaust. With the Communist the main enemy of the United States— the ideological juxtaposition— Jewish elites did not shy from selling out their own for favouring from the United States. Align with the Communists? That’s a one way ticket to another Shoah.

The Rosenbergs, were Jewish Communists spied for the Soviet Union. As Paul Von Blum wrote for truthdig: “Both were convincted of conspiracy to commit espionage— not espionage and certainly not treason, though these are the charges that stuck win the minds of millions of uninformed Americans. They were tried before Judge Irving Kaufman of the U.S. District Court. The prosecutorial team was headed by Irving Saypol and included the loathsome Roy Cohn (later chief counsel to Sen. Joseph McCarthy and attorney to Donald Trump). Conspicuously, all of the prosecution team and the judge were Jews, an attempt to avoid charges of state anti-Semitism. But it is difficult to avoid that allegation in light of the way of anti-Semitism and anti-communism were entwined in the early postwar decades.” I highly urge reading this article on McCarthyism and the Rosenberg’s, it’s wonderfully written piece. The United States was drenched in fear being face to face with an enemy that challenged their very existence; the weakness of Capitalism showing, the rising Red Scare and unity of the People vs the State. The Rosenbergs were put to death as an example, to show what is not Jewish— an ideological framework for what would soon be an eventual catalyst for Zionism, “the Right Jews”. The Jews that point their guns at the United States enemies, the Jews that wont wave a red flag and find liberation within the people. The United States only want Jews that conform.

The Rosenbergs were stripped of their Jewishness purely for being Leftists. And this removal of Jewish identity in association with Leftism stands today— Pro-Palestinian, anti-Zionist Jews are “not really Jewish”. Our existences erased and challenged, because we oppose Facism itself. History is a flat circle, with anti-Communism at it’s core, and Capitalism pulling the strings. Jewish-American State allyship is a one-sided relationship purely to preserve the Capitalist interests of the United States: destroying Jewish communities, religious and spiritual practices and our instinctive desire for a better world. Zionism and Right Wing ideologies have infected Judaism and Jewish peoplehood, and it is a truth that must be accepted, acknowledged, and then something must be done about it. Because we are raised to believe otherwise. And that is the problem.

Zionism is not Judaism, and antisemitism is interwoven with anti-Communism. It is the final wake up call that the West are trying to silence.

** For context, Finkelstein uses “American Jewish elites” to refer to ‘individuals prominent in the organizational and cultural life of the mainstream Jewish community.” This is not an antisemitic trope, elites is often coined to denote a figure in a position of power or influence. There are, will be and has been Jewish people in positions of power, exploitation and privilege.

#norman finkelstein #western imperialism #judaism #jumblr #jewblr #communism #antisemitism #right wing antisemitism #anti capitalism #anti imperialism #leftist jews #mccarthyism #red scare #communism scary word

[rayshippouuchiha]

I had a gremlin thought and had to throw it at you. So we all know that JC and WWX revolved around JYL (as they should) and would 100% do what she told them to. Why had no one taken this to its logical conclusion? Let’s say it’s after another failed meeting in between JYL and her horrible fiancé she is doing the depressingly normal routine of trying to not be hurt while YZY is being horrible to WWX and JC. And she just takes a moment to breathe and wonder why them. What has she and her siblings done to suffer like this? One of the disciples comes over and offers her any help they can. This causes JYL to just have a moment of realization where she stops and tries to remember the last time anyone except those outside the sect asked the Sect leaders for anything. Because the people know that JFM is just passive at best and YZY is plain aggressive. JYL was raised to be a sect wife and basically shadow run a sect right? And let’s say she’s been doing this for years at this point. WWX basically owns the disciples and every resident of Lotus Pier. JC is Sect Heir and has every ounce of loyalty his people and siblings can give him. JYL has this vision of a sect run by the three siblings and it’s just so much better. I imagine for all that they were their mother and father JFM and YZY were very estranged from their children. It’s also basically canon that WWX hid so much of his power and skill from everyone as to not rock the boat. JYL rolls into her brothers rooms, sees the hurt that has been allowed to fester for to long and just decides it’s her turn to go feral. So now I present the idea of a coup. JYL points at the Sect and says I want it and her brothers go whole or in pieces? Now I don’t think any of the siblings is cold enough to kill JFM or YZY so I’m more leaning more towards talisman master over there creating a Jiāng version of Lan forced seclusion. Think about this would put canon in a blender and just shred it. We have Sect leader JYL, her co leader/Heir JC and their brother/Head disciple WWX. Think about WWX allowed to make the Jiāng a talisman powerhouse. Think about how a strengthened, united three person leadership which is really just JYL telling her brothers what to do and them doing it cheerfully. Everyone is validated, there isn’t constant fighting and money is rolling in from the talisman sales. The Jiāng all of a sudden are rising like someone strapped a rocket onto their ass. Let’s be honest the Lan are traditionalists who will swiftly be left in the dust by galaxy-for-a-brainWWX! Who invents like some people breathe. The Jin hold power by riches and let’s point again at our resident genius talisman master who rolls out the flags and compass. The Jiāng are getting richer by the second. The Nie are powerhouses and we have JC and WWX who are ridiculous and almost evenly matched. Lotus disciples are melee masters and going against one now makes a lot of people want to cry because Head Disciple WWX is going to drag his shidis into excellence one way or the other. JC is laughing on the sidelines because how do you think he got so powerful huh and let’s be real our angry grape loves watching people suffer. All of a sudden the Wen conquest doesn’t look to realistic anymore. Then WWX meets WN and WQ and decides to impulse adopt them and their entire branch. Then the Jiāng are now also the medical center of the Sects? Watch out Wens you’ve just lost the top spot to three teenagers two of which are really just following their beloved sisters lead. All I’m saying is JYL ruling the Cultivation World with her brothers cheerfully giving her whatever she wants while she can finally pamper them as she pleases. You want the horrible peacock? Fine buts he’s marrying in. Hey little brother you’re drooling over WQ huh? There is much mocking from single WWX towards his siblings. For awhile WWX is the only unmarried Lotus Pier sibling and boy is he hunted. Everyone is tripping over themselves to lock down the most eligible bachelor who is handsome and rich. And then WWX meets his LZ and how the tables have turned brother dear? Let’s just say the Lans are going to lose that fight before it even begins. LWJ is going to perish at their first meeting. Somehow this ends up a trend where the Jiāng end up pretty much never marrying out. Wow this got away from me but I now offer you this vision!

#Everything about this is perfect and I NEED IT #mdzs #prompt

[northern-passage]

Liberation is a Daily Practice also during Christmas

This year, the holiday season arrives with the hardships of displacement, homelessness, starvation, and lack of shelter from the cold. Churches across Palestine have cancelled their historic Christmas festivities in protest of Israel’s settler-colonial genocidal campaign against the people of Gaza to pave the way for grief and political action.

While succumbing to the sedative of consumerism is commonplace during the holiday season, this year, such distractions will not halt our commitment to our values of freedom and justice. We pledge to counter the colonizer’s Christmas capitalism with our mobilized solidarity with the Palestinian people.

The Israeli regime and its imperial abettor, the United States, rely on the general public to remain distracted by consumerism so that they can continue to profit off of the genocide of the people of Gaza.

We, Queers in Palestine are steadfast in our presence in the streets and on our land, strategic in how we consume, and focused on the road to liberation. We are calling on everyone to join us in action:

Keep Palestine central during the holiday.

Keep countering the hegemonic colonial narrative: talk about Palestine in the family, friends and community gatherings.

Resume the disruption of the flow of commerce: commit to a sustained boycott of Israeli products, institutions, and corporations complicit in genocide. Where we spend our money shapes our reality.

Attend actions, keep taking to the streets and bring your loved ones with you.

Raise the flag of Palestine wherever you are.

Remember all those whom we have lost, support and aid the injured survivors and the grieving, and stand behind the ones who are steadfast in their resistance by all means possible.

Empires and colonial entities spend billions in the hopes that we may reach a moment of frustration and to convince us that we have no agency over our fate and political future. Capitalism sells us instant gratification, and we reject that notion which aims to pacify and debilitate those who are committed to the struggle.

The Palestinian liberation struggle is cumulative of the past 75+ years, and this past month we have witnessed massive ideological shifts in the global narrative, as well as heightened political mobilization around the world, as a result of the dedication of those who have remained steadfast and committed to fighting for justice. 

Yet, it is imperative that we keep going, and to remember that no normal life and “business as usual” can go on while an entire population is being wiped out of the face of the earth. So we urge those standing in solidarity with us to commit to the daily practice of organizing which doesn’t take a break even during the holiday season.

-- Queers in Palestine

A Liberatory Demand from Queers in Palestine | No Pride with Genocide

#palestine

[criptochecca]

"[...]

The images of Palestinians that see we in our imperialist settings are usually pictures of depictions of devastation, bereavement and death. The humanity of the Palestinians is made conditional on their suffering, on what they’ve have lost, and what they endure. Palestinians get sympathy but not emancipation; emancipation would eat away at sympathy. This image of the victim produces the “good” Palestinian as a civilian, even better as a child, woman, or elder. Those who fight back, especially as part of organized groups are bad: the monstrous enemy that must be eliminated. But everyone’s a target. The fault for the targeting of the “good” Palestinians is thus placed on the “bad “ones, further justification for their eradication: every inch of Gaza provides a hiding place for terrorists. The policing of affect squeezes out the possibility of a free Palestinian.

[...]

The first intifada, in 1987, began with the “Night of the Gliders.” On November 25 and 26, two Palestinian guerrilla fighters from the PFLP – GC (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine – General Command) landed in Israeli occupied territory. Both were killed. One of them killed six Israeli soldiers and injured seven more before he died. Afterwards, the guerrilla became a national hero, and Gazans wrote “6:1” on their walls to taunt the IDF troops. Even PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat praised the fighters: “The attack demonstrated that there could be no barriers or obstacles to prevent a guerrilla who has decided to become a martyr” Nothing could hold them down or block them in if they had the will to fly.

[...]

In 2018, during the Great March of Return, Gazans used kites and balloons to evade Israeli air defenses and start fires in Israeli territory. It seems as if it was Palestinian youth that first started sending the fire kites. Later, Hamas got involved, creating the al-Zouari unit that specialized in making and launching incendiary kites and balloons. The kites and balloons boosted morale in Gaza, while damaging the Israeli economy and irritating Israelis living near the Gazan border. In response to an Italian journalist’s remarks about the “iconic new weapon” that was “driving Israel crazy,” Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar explained, “Kites are not a weapon. At most, they set on fire some stubble. An extinguisher, and it's over. They are not a weapon, they are a message. Because they are just twine and paper and an oil-soaked rag, while each battery of the Iron Dome costs $100 million. Those kites say: you are immensely more powerful. But you will never win. Really. Never."

There’s further context for reading kites in Gaza as messages from a people that refuses to submit. In 2011, 15 thousand Palestinian children on a Gazan beach broke the world record for the most kites flown at the same time. Many of the kites featured Palestinian flags and symbols, as well as wishes for peace and hope. An eleven-year-old, Rawia, who made her kite the colors of the Palestinian flag, said, “When I fly it, I feel like I’m raising my country and my flag up, up in the sky.” The 2013 documentary “Flying Paper,” directed by Nitin Sawhney and Roger Hill, tells the story of some of the young kite fliers. “When we fly kites, we feel like we are the ones flying in the sky. We feel that we have freedom. That there is no siege on Gaza. When we fly the kite, we know that freedom exists.” Earlier this year, kites were flown at solidarity demonstrations that took place around the world, expressing and amplifying a hope and a will for Palestinian freedom.

[...]

In 1998, Palestinians built Yasser Arafat International Airport. In 2001, during the second intifada, Israeli bulldozers demolished it. As Hind Khoudary explained, the airport was deeply interconnected with the dream of Palestinian statehood. She interviewed workers who built the runway that was reduced to rubble and sand. As Khoudary writes, “Gaza airport was more than a project. It was a symbol of freedom for Palestinians. Flying the Palestinian flag in the sky was the dream of every Palestinian.”

The paragliders who flew into Israel on October 7 continue the revolutionary association of liberation and flight. Although imperialist and Zionist forces try to condense the action into a singular figure of Hamas terrorism, insisting against all evidence that with the extermination of Hamas Palestinian resistance will disappear, the will to fight for Palestinian freedom precedes and exceeds it. Hamas wasn’t the subject of the October 7 action; it was an agent hoping that the subject would emerge as an effect of its action, the latest instantiation of the Palestinian revolution.

Words used by Leila Khaled to defend the justness of the PFLP’s hijacking tactic apply equally to October 7. Khaled writes: “As a comrade has said: We act heroically in a cowardly world to prove that the enemy is not invincible. We act "violently" in order to blow the wax out of the ears of the deaf Western liberals and to remove the straws that block their vision. We act as revolutionaries to inspire the masses and to trigger off the revolutionary upheaval in an era of counter-revolution.” 

[...]

In the six months since the beginning of Israel’s genocidal war on Palestine, there has been a surge in global solidarity with Palestine, one reminiscent of the previous wave of the 1970s and 1980s. As Edward Said told us, by the end of the seventies “there was not a progressive political cause that did not identify with the Palestinian movement.” Solidarity with Palestine united the left, knitting liberation struggles together in a global anti-imperialist front. As historian Robin D.G. Kelly says, “We radicals regarded the PLO as a vanguard in a global Third World struggle for self-determination traveling along a “non-capitalist road” to development.” The militancy and dedication of the Palestinian struggle made its revolutionary combatants models for the left.

The struggle for Palestinian liberation today is led by the Islamic Resistance Movement — Hamas. Hamas is supported by the entirety of the organized Palestinian left. One might have expected that the left in the imperial core would follow the leadership of the Palestinian left in supporting Hamas. More often than not, though, left intellectuals echo the condemnations that imperialist states make the condition for speaking about Palestine. In so doing, they take a side against the Palestinian revolution, giving a progressive face to the repression of the Palestinian political project, and betraying the anti-imperialist aspirations of a previous generation. "

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Olivia Reingold

Published: Apr 15, 2024

CHICAGO — About 300 anti-war activists crowded into the basement of the Teamsters Union’s headquarters on Saturday to hear organizers from all over the country describe their plans to disrupt the Democratic National Convention this August. Joe Biden’s backing of Israel since Hamas’s October 7 attack has turned these left-wing radicals against their own party.

“It’s really inspiring to see that people are just as enthusiastic, and maybe even more enthusiastic, to march on the DNC as they are to march on the RNC,” says Omar Florez, a Milwaukee-based activist. “We can thank Genocide Joe and our movement for that.”  

But then a man stumbles to the podium, wiping sweat from his forehead. He grabs the microphone to announce that the Islamic regime of Iran has launched missiles and drones heading straight toward Israel.

“They believe that they will be in Palestinian—I don’t call it Israeli—airspace between two and four a.m., which means about two to four hours from now,” he says. “In addition, there are reports of drones having been fired on Israel from Yemen and Iraq.”

The crowd, all wearing black N95s, erupts into applause. Someone in the back lowers their mask to send a celebratory whistle soaring throughout the room.  

The man at the podium, Hatem Abudayyeh, heads the U.S. Palestinian Community Network, “a purported community group which, on information and belief, is an affiliate of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, a designated terror organization based in Gaza,” according to a lawsuit over the alleged relations between U.S. advocacy groups and Hamas. 

“This is when this country and the world needs us because the United States is going to, quote unquote, defend the criminal Israeli state,” says Abudayyeh, whose home was raided by the FBI in 2010 as part of an investigation “concerning the material support of terrorism.” 

“We have to assume that the United States is going to try to retaliate against Iran.”

After the boos and calls of “shame” subside, Abudayyeh says it is “incumbent” upon Americans to “stop the United States from expanding this war and hitting Iran.”

“We’ve got to be the strong, powerful anti-war movement that we are,” he says, placing the microphone down and exiting the stage. 

The crowd immediately began chanting, “Hands off Iran.”

A woman in a hot pink gas mask, wielding a matching neon cane and dressed in a “Protect Trans Kids” t-shirt, throws her fist in the air. Nearby, a service poodle is taking a nap under the chair of his owner, who is wearing a leather harness over his t-shirt. Then the group that has joined here from cities across America—Seattle, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles—cheers and claps in celebration. 

Joe Iosbaker, an organizer with the Freedom Road Socialist Organization, which called October 7 a “good turn of events” in its press release about the terrorist attacks, tells me he supports Iran. His organization has since released a statement backing Iran, where citizens gathered to shout “Death to America” during their nation’s strike against Israel Saturday night.

“We demand hands off Iran,” the statement says. “The people have power, and we will exercise it in the streets.” 

Earlier that day, before news of the attack broke, at a “breakout session” on “the anti-war movement,” Shabbir Rizvi, an organizer with Anti-War Committee Chicago, taught participants how to chant “death to Israel” and “death to America” in Farsi. 

“Marg bar Israel,” he chanted, leading a group of about 80 attendees along with him. A man draped in a Soviet flag bearing a gold hammer and sickle clapped his hands. 

A man in a full black denim outfit shouted out behind his N95—“Can we get a ‘marg bar America’?”

“We can get a ‘marg bar America,’ ” Rizvi replied. 

Then Rizvi raised his hand in the air, leading the crowd like a conductor.

“Marg bar America,” they cheered. 

On my way out of the event, I ask a woman smoking a cigarette to fill me in on the latest news regarding Iran’s lobbing of missiles and drones, which were later intercepted with help from forces from France, the U.S., and the UK. Iran said its strike was retaliation for Israel’s hit on the Iranian embassy in Syria earlier this month, which destroyed the consulate building next to the embassy and killed two of Tehran’s top commanders, and that the matter is “concluded”—unless Israel hits back.

“Iran is part of the resistance,” said the woman, who flew in that morning from New Orleans, where she’s been part of an effort to disrupt Israel-bound shipments in her hometown. “Yemen and Iran and Hezbollah, who are also a militant group in Lebanon, and the Syrian government are all parts of the arc of resistance.” 

A smile creeps across her face as she tells me: “They’re part of the arc of resistance because the enemies are Israel and the USA.” 

==

Remember Mahsa Amini? These insane fuckers don't. They've sided with the brutal Islamic Republic of Iran.

They hate our liberal, secular countries and they want to destroy them. They keep telling us who they are. Do you believe them yet?

Revoke citizenship and deport. I wasn't kidding before and I'm still not kidding now.

#antisemitism #anti war #death to israel #death to america #hamas terrorism #Iran #pro hamas #islamic terrorism #islam #this is islam #pro palestine #sedition #palestine #israel #islamic terrorists #terrorist scarf #religion is a mental illness

[probablyasocialecologist]

In the context of what we’ve learned from our investigations into opt-in polls, we took particular notice of a recent online opt-in survey that had a startling finding about Holocaust denial among young Americans. The survey, fielded in December 2023, reported that 20% of U.S. adults under 30 agree with the statement, “The Holocaust is a myth.” This alarming finding received widespread attention from the news media and on social networks. From a survey science perspective, the finding deserved a closer look. It raised both of the red flags in the research literature about bogus respondents: It focused on a rare attitude (Holocaust denial), and it involved a subgroup frequently “infiltrated” by bogus respondents (young adults). Other questions asked in that December opt-in poll also pointed to a need for scrutiny. In the same poll, about half of adults under 30 (48%) expressed opposition to legal abortion. This result is dramatically at odds with rigorous polling from multiple survey organizations that consistently finds the rate of opposition among young adults to be much lower. In an April 2023 Pew Research Center survey, for instance, 26% of U.S. adults under 30 said abortion should be illegal in all or most cases. This was 13 points lower than the share among older Americans (39%). Our estimate for young adults was similar to ones from other, more recent probability-based surveys, such as an AP-NORC survey from June 2023 (27%) and a KFF survey from November 2023 (28%). We attempted to replicate the opt-in poll’s findings in our own survey, fielded in mid-January 2024 on Pew Research Center’s American Trends Panel. Unlike the December opt-in survey, our survey panel is recruited by mail – rather than online – using probability-based sampling. And in fact, our findings were quite different. Rather than 20%, we found that 3% of adults under 30 agree with the statement “The Holocaust is a myth.” (This percentage is the same for every other age group as well.) Had this been the original result, it is unlikely that it would have generated the same kind of media attention on one of the most sensitive possible topics. Likewise, our survey found substantial differences from the December poll on support for legal abortion. In the opt-in survey, roughly half of young adults (48%) said abortion should always be illegal or should only be legal in special circumstances, such as when the life of the mother is in danger. In our survey, 23% said so. These differences in estimates for young adults are what we would expect to see – based on past studies – if there were a large number of bogus respondents in the opt-in poll claiming to be under the age of 30. These respondents likely were not answering the questions based on their true opinions. The takeaway from our recent survey experiment is not that Holocaust denial in the United States is nonexistent or that younger and older Americans all have the same opinions when it comes to antisemitism or the Middle East. For example, our survey experiment found that young adults in the U.S. are less likely than older ones to say the state of Israel has the right to exist. This is broadly consistent with other rigorous polling showing that young people are somewhat less supportive of Israel – and more supportive of Palestinians – than older Americans. Rather, the takeaway is that reporting on complex and sensitive matters such as these requires the use of rigorous survey methods to avoid inadvertently misleading the public, particularly when studying the attitudes of young people.

#holocaust #online survey #polling #Psephology

[southernsolarpunk]

Hey check this out

I was making a zine (solarpunk ofc) and decided to use a bunch of old National Geographic magazines to cut up and use in a scrappy diy scrapbook fashion and of course I started reading them. This one in particular:

It caught my eye because it’s from September 1980 & talks about the Middle East. My brain wonders if they mention Palestine and they do! I copied the text for accessibility, but I put pictures at the end of the original pages.

“Jerusalem: reunited or occupied? The question has divided the city's 400,000 Jews and 100,000 Arabs since Israel annexed East Jerusalem in 1967.

BEIRUT, JANUARY 1975. Armed soldiers lead me through labyrinthine back streets, up a dark stairway to a midnight rendez-vous. Only a bare bulb lights the temporary command post; Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, seldom dares spend two days in the same place. “Our argument is not with the Jews” He tells me. "We are both Semites. They have lived with us for centuries. Our enemies are the Zionist colonizers and their backers who insist Palestine belongs to them exclusively.

We Arabs claim deep roots there too."

Two decades ago Palestinians were to be found in United Nations Relief Agency camps at places like Gaza and Jericho, in a forlorn and pitiable state. While Palestinian spokesmen pressed their case in world cap-itals, the loudest voice the world heard was that of terrorists, with whom the word Palestinian came to be associated. Jordan fought a war to curb them. The disintegration of Lebanon was due in part to the thousands of refugees within its borders.

Prospects for peace brightened, however, when President Anwar Sadat of Egypt, most powerful of the Arab countries, made his historic trip to Israel in November 1977. A year later Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed the Camp David accords, a framework for the return of the occupied Sinai Peninsula to Egypt.

The former enemies established diplomatic relations and opened mail, telephone, and airline communications.

The Camp David accords also addressed the all-important Palestinian question but left it vague. Sadat insists that any lasting peace depends on an eventual Palestinian homeland in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and Gaza. Israel agrees to limited autonomy for those regions, but, fearful of a new and hostile Palestinian state suddenly planted on its borders, insists that Israeli troops must maintain security there.

Crowded Rashidiyah refugee camp, set among orange groves south of the ancient Phoenician port of Tyre in Lebanon, lies on the front lines. Frequent pounding by Israeli military jets and warships seeking PLO targets has war-hardened its population, some 13,700 Palestinians.

At the schoolyard I watched a solemn flag raising. Uniformed ashbal, or lion cubs, stood rigid as color guards briskly ran up the green-white-and-black Palestinian flag.

Ranging in age from 8 to 12, they might have been Cub Scouts— except for the loaded rifles they held at present arms. Behind them stood two rows of girls, zaharat, or little flowers. Same age, same weapons.

Over lunch of flat bread, hummus, yo-gurt, and chicken I commented to my hosts, a group of combat-ready fedayeen, that 30 years of bitter war had settled nothing nor gained the Palestinians one inch of their homeland. Was there no peaceful way to press their cause?

"Yes, and we are doing it. Finally, after 30 years, most countries in the United Nations recognize that we too have rights in Palestine. But we feel that until your country stops its unconditional aid to Israel, we have two choices: to fight, or to face an unmarked grave in exile."

AFTER CROSSING the Allenby Bridge from Amman, I drove across the fertile Jordan Valley through Arab Jericho and past some of the controversial new Jewish settlements: Mitzpe Jericho, Tomer, Maale Adumim, Shilat. Then as I climbed through the steep stony hills to Jerusalem, I saw that it too had changed. A ring of high-rise apartments and offices was growing inexorably around the occupied Arab side of the walled town. Within the wall, too, scores of Arab houses had been leveled during extensive reconstruction.

"Already 64 settlements have been built on the West Bank," said a Christian Palestinian agriculturist working for an American church group in Jerusalem. "And another 10 are planned," he said. Unfolding a copy of the master plan prepared in 1978 by the World Zionist Organization, he read: "Real-izing our right to Eretz-Israel... with or without peace, we will have to learn to live with the minorities...

The Israeli Government has reaffirmed the policy. In Prime Minister Menachem Begin's words: "Settlement is an inherent and inalienable right. It is an integral part of our national security."

"Security" is a word deeply etched into the Israeli psyche. The country has lived for 30 years as an armed camp, always on guard against PLO raids and terrorist bombings.

Whenever such incidents occur, the response is quick: even greater retaliation.

In Jerusalem I met with David Eppel, an English-language broadcaster for the Voice of Israel. "We must continue to build this country. Israel is our lawful home, our des-tiny. We have the determination, and an immense pool of talent, to see it through." His cosmopolitan friends a city plan-ner, a psychology professor, an author gathered for coffee and conversation at David's modern apartment on Jerusalem's Leib Yaffe Road.

Amia Lieblich's book, Tin Soldiers on Jerusalem Beach, studies the debilitating effects almost constant war has had on life in the Jewish state, a nation still surrounded by enemies. As she and her husband kindly drove me to my hotel in Arab Jerusalem afterward, some of that national apprehension surfaced in the writer herself.

"We don't often come over to this part of town," she said. "Especially at night."

I DROVE OUT of the Old City in the dark of morning and arrived a few hours later at the nearly finished Israeli frontier post, whence a shuttle bus bounced me through no-man's-land to the Egyptian ter-minal. As a result of the Egyptian-Israeli treaty, it was possible for the first time since 1948 to travel overland from Jerusalem to Cairo. An Egyptian customs man opened my bags on a card table set up in the sand. I took a battered taxi into nearby El Arish, to a sleepy bank that took 45 minutes to convert dollars into Egyptian pounds, Then 1 hired a Mercedes for the

200-mile run across the northern Sinai des-ert, the Suez Canal, and the Nile Delta. By sundown Cairo was mine.

Despite official government optimism, I found many in Cairo worried that President Sadat's bold diplomatic gestures might fail.

The city was noticeably tense as Israel officially opened its new embassy on Mohi el-Din Abu el-Ez Street in Cairo's Dukki quarter. Black-uniformed Egyptian troops guarded the chancery and nearby intersections as the Star of David flew for the first time in an Arab capital. Across town, police with fixed bayonets were posted every ten feet around the American Embassy. Others were posted at the TV station and the larger hotels. Protests were scattered, mostly peaceful. None disturbed the cadence of the city.

Welcoming ever larger delegations of tourists and businessmen from Europe and the U.S., Cairo was busier than ever-and more crowded. Despite a building boom, many Egyptians migrating from the countryside, perhaps 10,000 a month, still find housing only by squatting among tombs at the City of the Dead, the huge old cemetery on the southeast side of the capital.

Even with the new elevated highway and wider bridge across the Nile, half-hour traffic standstills are common. Commuters arrive at Ramses Station riding even the roofs of trains, then cram buses until axles break.

Cairo smog, a corrosive blend of diesel fumes and hot dust from surrounding des-erts, rivals tear gas.

Despite the rampant blessings of prog-ress, Cairo can still charm. In the medieval Khan el-Khalili bazaar near Cairo's thousand-year-old Al-Azhar University, I sought out Ahmad Saadullah's sidewalk café. I found that 30 piasters (45 cents) still brings hot tea, a tall water pipe primed with tobacco and glowing charcoal, and the latest gossip. The turbaned gentleman on the carpeted bench opposite was unusually talk-ative; we dispensed with weather and the high cost of living and got right to politics:

"Of course I am behind President Sadat, but he is taking a great risk. The Israelis have not fully responded. If Sadat fails, no other Arab leader will dare try for peace again for a generation."

Across town at the weekly Akhbar El-Yom newspaper, one of the largest and most widely read in the Middle East, chief editor Abdel-Hamid Abdel-Ghani drove home that same point.

"What worries me most is that President Sadat's agreement with Israel has isolated Egypt from our brother nations," he told me. "When Saudi Arabia broke with us, it was a heavy loss. The Saudis are our close neighbors. Now they have canceled pledges for hundreds of millions in development aid to Egypt. Some 200,000 Egyptians-teach-ers, doctors, engineers live and work in the kingdom.

"And Saudi Arabia, guardian of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, remains for Muslim Egypt a spiritual homeland."

This magazine was published before my mom was born, and yet the sentiments have basically unchanged. An interesting look at the past, and more proof this didn’t start October 7th. (But imagine my followers already knew that)

#Palestine #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #national geographic #September 1980

[bboes]

so i got a notification today about an article where the nhl is commited to diversity and holding itself accountable.

that's bullshit. but most people know that. and at the end of the article, it says "We as a league are hyper-focused on what the future and growth of our game looks like while also sustaining and maintaining our current fan base."

and that, to me, is so absurdly funny. because hockey isn't growing. it's losing. it's losing to soccer. it's losing to football. it's losing to baseball. it's losing to basketball. i grew up in the united states. i couldn't name you one hockey player. i could name you serena williams, lebron james, kobe bryant, barry bonds, lionel messi, Aaron judge, etc etc. but not one hockey player. and my team has won the cup twice in my lifetime, less than 30 miles away from me.

hockey is losing. it's a niche sport, especially where I'm from. and this line, it encapsulates why it's losing. "while sustaining and maintaining our current fanbase." this operates off an assumption that growth and diversity act in odds with the current hockey fanbase. i have a bonsai. it's a ginseng ficus. in order for it to grow properly, you have to cut parts of it off. this is exactly what the NHL refuses to do.

i am a new hockey fan. i am several of the "diversity" targets the NHL loves to proclaim it supports, im queer and im a poc. I'm also from a "non-traditional hockey market." and i can tell you, this sport actively makes me feel unwelcome. the attitudes of the players often actively makes me feel unwelcome. the commentary from reporters, from fans, from announcers, makes me feel unwelcome sometimes. and no pride night is gonna change that. it's nice, yes, but it doesn't change it.

and what I'm saying is: you cannot grow when parts of you are rotting. if someone can't handle seeing ethan bear play fucking hockey, then they don't have to watch. if someone can't handle the possibility of luke prokop playing a game, then they don't have to watch. if someone can't handle the thought of a female GM, then they don't have to watch. hockey doesn't want to grow, because that means being better.

you cannot simultaneously promise to grow while trying desperately to hold onto racist, sexist and homophobic fans. and the thing the NHL has either failed to realize, or is scared to realize, is that the future has come and gone. they're getting passed, lapped, even, by leagues that have done more. by sports that are capable of change. change means that some people, yes, will stop watching. but the world isn't just made up of sexist, racist homophobic people.

i go to quite a few AHL games. once, i was seated in front of an African American couple. they had season tickets. one of them, is the first in his family to enjoy hockey. and his wife was wearing so much merch her earrings and hairtie were matching. they are fans. they're fans that deserve more than one night and a special jersey. I've been to a pride night. i got a hat. it was a fun game. and alongside me, there were pride flags and hats and jerseys. there were kids from high schools who were openly queer. there were older queer couples. that's your broader audience. and if you make them feel welcome for more than one fucking night a season, they might come to more games. they might bring their friends, like i have. they might raise kids that watch hockey.

it's funny, that the NHL is so scared of losing shitty fans that they're willing to be the biggest losers of the four major sports.

#js #im mad #nhl #hockey #comm

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

Evermore: In An Ocean All Alone: A Ari Levinson One Shot

So this was an idea, that came up with a friend of mine! You know who you are! And I thank you for this! Love you! We both collaborated and bounced ideas.

Evermore Masterlist

Darkness. Ari’s eyes fluttered open but all he saw was darkness. He called out, “Hello?”

Silence. 

Looking down, he looked at his hands and something was off. 

“Hello, Ari Levinson.”  He heard an unfamiliar voice, and Ari whirled around to find a hooded specter, “Where am I?”

The Specter responded, “The great between.” 

“I died.”

The vision in front of him affirmed, “You did.”

Tears began to gather, “My wife. My daughter.”

“They are alive and well.”

Ari stared down at his hands. They were a shimmering blue. Looking up at the figure before him, Ari gulped as much as a dead man could, “What happened?”

The figure waved its hands to reveal a scene of war. His body lay amidst the rubble of a building. Around him were the members of his unit. All dead.

“Except one,” came the distorted voice, “who was badly injured.”

Horror filled Ari at the sight of the retreating figure. He knew instantly who it was, “No! Jake! Jake! JENSEN! Don’t leave me there!”

But Jake was already gone. He turned to the figure, his voice trembling, “How did my wife take it?”

A wave of a spectral hand and the war was replaced by two figures on a couch. They were embracing. Ari couldn’t hear what was being said but he knew the woman was heartbroken.

“No…” Ari let loose a sad sigh, “Please, I need to let her know I’m okay.”

Beside him the figure shook its head, “I can’t let you do that. You can send her a sign but you can’t go there.”

He stuttered, “B-but she’s hurting! I can’t… I can’t let her hurt because of me.”

The figure raised a finger, “1 sign but no more.”

“What happens,” Ari paused, “after I send that sign? Am I stuck here?”

“The choice is yours. You may remain here and wait for her here but you risk losing yourself if the people you left behind forget you. Or you can continue to the other side.”

A sniff and then, “How long do I have to decide?”

Beside him, the figure replied, “That’s up to you.”

Ari looked at the figure, “Who are you?”

“I am Death, the herald of what comes after.”

The recently deceased man let a tear slip down his cheek and his voice wavered, “Death? Will they be okay without me?”

Death put its hand on Ari’s shoulder, “In time.”

“Chloe won’t remember me.”

“Babes never remember the parent they lose.”

Ari whimpered, “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“It rarely is if the child has two loving parents.”

He sighed, “My poor wife. I hate that I left her like this. I want to hold her.”

“Another man is doing that for you.”

Ari nodded, “That’s our best friend, Andy Barber. He’s a good man. He’ll take care of her.”

Death agreed, “I think he will. Have you thought about what sign you want to send her?”

Beside Death, the soldier exhaled, “I’m not sure. I need time.”

“And time you will have.”

~~

Ari sat watching his funeral from afar. His beautiful wife stood there in a black dress. Andy stood beside her with his arm around her. He wanted to send her a sign that he was there. Then he saw it. A Husky mix was running in and out of the gravestones.

The man spoke, “Death?”

Death appeared beside him, “Yes?”

“I know what I want my sign to be. Can you send the dog to my wife?”

“Consider it done.”

His wife held their precious daughter close to her and then gave her to her mother. Tears tracks were drying on her cheeks but her eyes were still filled with tears. The soldiers there folded a flag and handed it to his wife. She clasped his flag to her chest.

Ari glanced over at Death, “I think I’m ready. I will move on and wait for her on the other side.”

He watched as the dog ran over to his wife after the last bang of the twenty-first shot. As she leaned down and buried her face into the dog’s fur, Ari whispered, “I’ll always be there, my love.”

Then he faded away.

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson angst #ari levinson x female reader

[trashboatprince]

Hey, remember a while back when I was making art and stuff of Ten in a skirt because fashion has no gender and the Doctor would look cute in one? And I wrote a whole one-shot about Ten buying one with Donna being there as support? This one?

I decided to do a part-two with Fourteen and Rose Noble.

As always for me, I write Fourteen as enby going by they/them, but doesn't care what pronouns people use for them. However, Rose is not aware of this at first, so she uses he/him before she learns.

On with the fic!

--

"Do you ever sit still?" Rose snickered, watching as the Doctor shifted in his seat on the bus, looking at whatever was going on through the windows on either side of the vehicle.

"Impossible for me, clearly." The Doctor said. "Your mum and grandmother won't stop complaining about me fidgeting at the table. Just yesterday, Sylvia told me not to sit cross-legged at the table! Much more comfortable, if you ask me."

"Yeah, and when you put your feet on the floor, she told you to stop tapping your feet on it." Rose grinned and the Doctor grinned back.

The Doctor had been living with the Noble-Temple family in their temporary home provided by UNIT for two weeks now, and Rose was getting used to the alien being around. He was actually really cool, once you got past his odd quirks. But she had developed some of his quirks from previous incarnations throughout her life, so she couldn't say anything.

Today was Saturday, and Rose was looking forward to a shopping trip in town. She had gotten paid well from a few sales and wanted to celebrate with getting some supplies. And a few new items of clothing, her closet could do with it. The Doctor had tagged along because he wanted out of the house, and Mum had the key to the TARDIS so he couldn't go in there to do whatever it was he did in there.

Also, hence why they were on the bus.

But it wasn't like the Doctor couldn't just get into the TARDIS without the key. He had the sonic, and he said she'd open for him easily, but Mum was strict about the retirement thing. No running off for adventures or whatnot!

Still, the Doctor happily had agreed to come along with Rose into town, saying it wouldn't hurt to do a bit of shopping for himself. Yeah, he said he had a lot of clothing in the TARDIS, but Mum and Gran were getting on him about dressing like a human, not as... well... Mum said he looked like someone who 'worked in men's wear'. And this made the Doctor bristle, saying something about how she's never gonna let that one go.

Whatever that meant.

"Ooh, this is our stop." The Doctor said as the bus came to a slow stop and the two of them got off when the doors opened.

He was grinning, bouncing on his feet as he glanced about. "Ah! I know where we are!"

"You do?" Rose asked as she adjusted her backpack purse.

"Yeah! I came here years ago with Donna! This is where I bought-" He stopped and looked a bit flushed.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Uhh... I know, I know, dumb to get embarrassed about, considering I was a Time Lady before this face, and you're under a similar flag..."

She blinked and gasped. "Oh! Did you get some feminine clothing from a shop here?"

"Yep." He said, popping the P. "Bought my first skirt here, was nervous as hell about it, didn't know what your mum would say about it. But she encouraged it, said that it was my choice to dress how I wanted and all that. Especially cause I basically came out as, well, genderfluid? Non-binary? One of those to her."

"Oh shi- wait, you're non-binary? Crap, have I been getting your pronouns wrong?"

"What do you use?"

"He/him."

The Doctor shrugged. "I can understand why. I've never corrected any of you guys on it, everyone uses those for me, considering the face and all. Look rather boyish, honestly, even at my old age." There was a bright grin at this.

"Ah, but I personally don't actually see my gender as really a big deal nowadays. I honestly just use they/them when I think about myself now, but I'm not offended or opposed to the use of male or even female pronouns. Though being called 'miss' again with this face would be fun."

Rose nodded, listening. "So... you're fine with me using whatever? Do you have a preference? I remember you telling the Meep you used the definite article."

"That I do! I mean, the Doctor, that's as good of a gender as any! But you can use whatever, I don't care." The Doctor said, shoving hi- their hands into their pockets. Might be better to go with the ones they used for themself.

"Right, got it." She nodded and started to walk with them to the thrift shop down the street. "What are you looking to buy anyway?"

"I dunno, I'll see whatever catches my fancy. Might get some new shoes, I love these ones, but my future self ran off with the ones I got when I regenerated and these ones," The Doctor gestured to the very worn and slightly burnt converses they wore, "were damaged when I went from this face to Chinny. At least he was nice enough to bring them back to the TARDIS."

She laughed a bit at their grumbling as the two entered into the shop. "Thinkin' about maybe getting another skirt or two from here? Since this is where you found your first one, as you said?"

The Doctor paused and looked back at her. "Should I? Think I can still pull it off?"

"Oh yeah! I think you can! If you want, I can help you pick out things."

The Doctor smiled at her, in that soft way she sees them do when they're relaxing, loosening up and not having their hackles up. She grinned. "Come on, let's doll you up!"

--

They were in there for over an hour, and so far Rose had found more clothing for herself than the Doctor. It wasn't their fault that a lot of things in thrift stores weren't always to their tastes. And this one seemed a bit picky.

Pinstripes weren't for them this time around, they rather liked tartan better, but it wasn't easy to find anything that fit them right. Sizes were also a problem. They were a skinny thing, as Donna put it, so things often were a bit big, and the Doctor liked tighter clothing, there was a sensory comfort there.

But, they had found some silly shirts with ridiculous sayings on them, including one that had Rose and them laughing. It said 'I'm no rocket surgeon', and it went right into their little cart.

They had even found a new pair of converse to wear, not white this time, but they were a really nice dark blue. They even found a pair in hot pink, which reminded them of the two Rose's in their life. Ah, but those ones were too small, oh well.

A few comfy looking sweaters and some buttons up went into the cart as the Doctor browsed, and as they examined a really fuzzy ones in pink and green stripes, they heard Rose call out to them, waving her hand.

"Find something good?" They smiled as she came over and they stared at the item in her hands.

It was a surprise to find a skirt that match their old pinstripe suit perfectly all those years ago, but to find a second perfect skirt, in their tartan? Well... that was...

Probably best not to question the universe, honestly. Not when it came to being around the Nobles.

"It's perfect! It might even be your size!" Rose said, holding it out to them.

The Doctor took it, looking it over. "You think so?"

"Oh yeah, and I think I found a few more in other styles and colors you might like that could work with some of those tops you've picked out. But that one? That's perfect for you!"

They looked at the skirt, checked the size, and put it into the cart. "Thank you." They said, and she looked delighted. "Now, show me these other ones you found!"

--

"-gonna keep sticking the googly eyes to yourself, I'm removing you from eye duty."

"You sound like your mother."

"Okay, just for that, give me the jar of eyes."

"Nope!"

Donna paused in removing her shoes at the door, hearing her daughter and her adopted alien sibling from the living room. There was some noises followed by laughter and a comment of 'oh dang, we made a mess'.

She sighed and set her jacket on the hook, along with her purse. She walked into the living room a moment later, finding Rose with some of her sewing material on the coffee table and on the floor, where she sat with a half-made plush toy in her lap. The Doctor was seated next to her, trying to scoop up a mess of googly eyes that had fallen out of their designated jar.

Donna noticed that the Doctor did in fact have some googly eyes glued to their arms, clearly meant to mess with Rose or to be part of a telling of a fantastical story of some alien or whatnot. But she also noticed what their were wearing.

"You're in a skirt again." Donna said instead of a greeting.

The Doctor looked up at her, blinking behind their glasses. "Oh! Yes, I am! Rose and I went shopping today for craft stuff and clothing. She found it in a shop, it's that little shop you and I visited. Remember that? Where I got my first skirt?"

"I remember it, you had been so nervous, and once you tried it on, you didn't want to take it off. You even considered finding those ugly galaxy-printed leggings to go with it. Glad to see you didn't give into that desire again." She replied as she sat down on the couch.

The Doctor laughed. "I did get those eventually, remember? Ooh, I think Bill stole 'em from me though, sneaky granddaughter. Anyway," They stood up, knocking some eyes to the floor that had been in their lap, "whatcha think?"

They did a little spin, and Rose laughed at this as more eyes fell to the floor. Donna sniffed. "It's cute, very fitting of you. However, are you ever, EVER going to wear socks that actually match the pattern of your clothes!? Or even just match in general?"

The Doctor looked at their feet, as if for the first time noticing that they were wearing one blue, white and pink sock that was stripped and a red and green sock that was decorated it what looked like hot sauce bottles and chili peppers.

"Nah." The Doctor shrugged and sat back down, knowing that Donna would never win that battle. Still, at least the Doctor could coordinate the other parts of their clothes at least. And besides, the skirt was what mattered, Donna thought as she watched two of the most important people in their life try to pick up their little mess.

Two people sitting happily and comfortably in clothing that made them feel good about themselves.

She could forgive the horrendous sock combo for that.

--

I love the idea of Rose and Fourteen picking out outfits for each other after this trip.

#doctor who #fourteenth doctor #rose noble #donna noble #john's drabbles

[sixty-silver-wishes]

sometimes I think about the house my grandma raised my mother and uncle in, that my grandfather lived in before he died, that my sister and my parents and I would all come over to for holidays. when my sister and I were little, we loved watching Disney and Nickelodeon on my grandma’s TV because all we could get at home was PBS for the longest time. she had an old antique piano that was out of tune, and when I started learning to play the piano in middle school, I would go plink out “Legend of Zelda” songs on it and think about how I was playing songs much, much younger than that 100-year-old piano. and we tried to plant a garden in her backyard, but it got overgrown with weeds. and one day we found tadpoles in the birdbath, and she let us take some home so we could watch them grow into frogs. my grandfather had an old green easy chair he was always sitting in, and two toes that crossed over each other and wouldn’t sit normally. I liked to watch nature documentaries with him. right before he died, we would talk about world history because he was very interested in it, and I was just beginning to be. there was a painting of my mother when she was a child on the wall of one of the bedrooms, and I would always stare at it because it looked exactly like my older sister. my grandmother had an outdoor swimming pool where we would sit by as we watched my uncle launch Fourth of July fireworks, but when I got older and wasn’t interested in fireworks anymore, or the United States had made me too disillusioned with the Fourth of July for me to watch fireworks, I sat inside with my aunt and the dogs to keep them company. there was a big tree in the yard I loved to climb, and when I was in middle or high school, I would take my instruments up there to play them while sitting in a tree, just because playing instruments in a tree sounded like a magical thing to do. my grandmother had a pantry full of snacks just for my sister and I- Scooby Doo fruit snacks with the light blue one still in there and Saltine crackers, and a fridge full of sodas and sparkling water in the garage. she had a sewing room where she would teach us to make blankets and pillowcases with the fabric we picked out, and when my sister got older, she taught her to make vintage style dresses. she had a bedroom full of antiques belonging to our great-grandmother whom I had never met, and it somehow felt like the most familiar and most distant place in the world to me.

but then her dog died, and her old cockatiel died too, and one of our cats died. and over time we buried all the animals under one of the trees in her backyard- one I used to climb, but not as much as the other tree because it was so skinny. when my grandfather died when I was in high school, he was buried in a military cemetery where all you can leave are cut flowers and US flags, and my grandma got a certificate from the government after he died with Donald Trump’s signature printed on it because he was president then, and she always says it’s the ugliest signature she’s ever seen. his funeral was the very first time I saw a coffin. the old piano was beyond repair, so they took out all the musical bits and turned it into a desk that sits in our living room. the white paint covering the wood, its musical guts removed, the silence of the out-of-tune ancient keys that are no longer there makes it sound more like taxidermy than a piano. it plays john cage’s 4’33 in fortissimo whenever I pass it.

when my grandmother went to live in an assisted living community, she sold the house. she’s doing well now. she likes the place she lives in, she invites us over for holidays, she keeps active. but the house was completely remodeled and painted over. she said the tree I loved to climb in, the one my uncle climbed in when he was a kid, was chopped down. she says the house doesn’t look like it used to anymore. it’s unrecognizable. I could drive past it and never know. I probably have.

I wonder if the people who live there now know that in the big backyard that generations of people loved, no matter how much they’ve altered the house, there are the bones of two dogs and a cat and a cockatiel deep under the ground.

I wonder if they haunt it.

#rambles #this got long #death cw

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {25}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fluff - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

I was going crazy. I had to be.

Pierre had disappeared first, then Granny had excused herself with Matthew before Grandad skipped along after with a feeble excuse of wanting to get to know her new husband and make sure he was treating her well. Then Otmar said he needed to find Esteban but he had walked off in the opposite direction to where you could see his dark head of hair two tables over.

As I sat alone at the table, wondering what had happened to everyone, I looked around for a familiar face but instead I heard a giggle that I knew well. I spun around at the sound and froze as I found everyone that had gone missing and then some.

Pierre stood in front of all of our family that had flown in for the final race, Addie grinning from his arms.

Everyone was dressed in to the nines and they looked like they belonged on the red carpet they would have walked to enter the event. I had never seen my mum in a ball gown but she looked absolutely gorgeous, just like Pierre’s mother, the two women linking their arms together as they smiled at me.

My eyes were drawn back to Pierre as he stepped forward and carried Addie with him, her excitement making her clap her hands. My heart started beating erratically with each step and I rose to my feet to meet him face to face.

“Pierre…” I whispered as he kissed Addie’s temple and placed her feet on the ground.

“I have spent hours planning what to say, but when I look at you, I can barely remember how to breathe. I thought my life had purpose until the day you and Addie walked into my garage. You turned my world upside down and I will forever be grateful for finding the parts of me that were missing.” Pierre gracefully dropped to one knee and took Addie’s hand. “You make me want to be the best version of myself, to be a father that makes his little girl proud…and a husband that spends every day showing his wife she is loved. I can’t do that without you, Bri. Will you marry me?”

I knew then why Granny had insisted on waterproof makeup as I tried to blink away the tears so nothing would blur the image of Addie handing Pierre a small white box. Pierre thanked her sweetly before peering up at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears while his fingers trembled as they opened the box.

I wasn’t the only one that gasped as the three gemstones caught the lights. It was a beautiful ring; a large sapphire set between two diamonds that sparkled like the many shorelines we had walked hand in hand.

I had no words but I didn’t need them. He knew me better than I knew myself and his smile widened as my bottom lip trembled and I nodded as more tears fell. My hand shook more than his as he slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed it before standing up, scooping Addie up with him. His arm curled around my waist and my feet were swept off the floor as he spun around to the cheers of our families and friends.

Our kiss held the hint of salt from our tears that united on our cheeks until Addie pushed her hand between us and we pulled away with a laugh.

“I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

Pierre rested his forehead against mine and sighed. “I never want to do anything like this again, I felt ill trying to keep this a surprise.”

“Well, that’s a good start,” I teased, “it would raise a red flag if you wanted to propose again.”

He chuckled and dipped his lips to my ears. “That’s not what I meant.”

I pulled away with a smile and waved my mum over. “I’ve actually got my own surprise. I was going to wait until tomorrow but since everyone is here…Mum?”

“Right here, honey,” she said as she pulled the folded papers out of her clutch. “Been carrying these around all day just in case.”

Pierre wet his dry lips with his tongue as he wondered what she was handing me. I let him take Addie’s weight as I used both hands to unfold the documents that had been six months in the making.

The crowd around us had grown substantially and most of the drivers were amongst our families with their principals as well. Everyone here knew my story, they knew my history, and they had been there to support Pierre and I with the aftermath of it becoming public news.

“To everyone here you are already Addie’s dad,” I said as I straightened out the kinks in the pages, “and there is no one I know that is a more patient, caring man deserving of the title than you.”

Addie smooshed Pierre’s cheeks together and grinned at him, his own smile widening in response as she cooed, “My daddy.”

“That’s right, ma fille.”

I handed him the papers and he took them with one hand.

“You’ve already promised her that she can take the Gasly name when she turns eighteen but what if I said she didn’t have to wait?”

“How?” he asked with astonishment as he shifted Addie to his hip so he could flip through the papers, pausing at the page where four signatures were already inked, penned beside yesterday's date.

“I know a good lawyer,” I said with a grateful smile to my mum.

I had feared the day Erik was released from prison and tried to get back into my life through Addie. After quite a bit of digging, mum had found out Erik and Trent were only working together for the money they knew would come by blackmailing my family. Erik never wanted a relationship with Addie, and I had never been more relieved. He had happily signed away his parental rights with his lawyer and a witness and I had accepted it with mine.

“What is that?” Jean-Jacques asked when a tear slipped over Pierre’s lashes.

Pierre smiled at his dad. “The best gift ever. Does anyone have a pen?”

Lewis was ready with one that he carried around to sign autographs with and he grinned as he saw the letterhead of the document when he handed it over. “Congratulations, man.”

Without Erik being able to interfere it was going to be a relatively simple process for Pierre to adopt Addie like he had once wished when we were out one night and saw a shooting star. It had seemed like a far-fetched idea at the time but I couldn’t shake the image of hope on his face as he talked about being a family in every sense of the word, a family that would one day grow.

Charles pushed forward and peeked over Pierre’s shoulder as he signed the forms that would begin the process and he gasped. “Adoption Order? No way! That’s like the best news of the night, ah, well, equally best news, of course, since I’m going to finally be your best man. So when is the wedding?”

“Bro, we just got engaged,” Pierre laughed as he handed the signed papers over to my mum to take care of and pulled me back into his arms.

“Yeah, but you made a ten year plan the second you met her.” Charles looked around the drivers and pointed to Daniel. “We even held a little funeral for you at the Monaco afterparty, didn’t we?”

Daniel tipped his head back with a roaring laugh that was contagious. “Another bachelor gone but not forgotten.”

“Haha, really funny,” Pierre said with a roll of his eyes but he couldn’t contain his own laughter. “I’ll remember this when you assholes finally settle down.”

“Daddy, that’s a naughty word,” Addie tutted, encouraging another round of laughs from his colleagues.

“I’m sorry, but they deserve it.” Pierre looked around the gathering and saw even the investors had joined the crowd. “Now, I think I have rubbed enough elbows for the evening that no one will protest if I go and celebrate with my family.”

Pierre laced his fingers with mine, lifting my hand to admire the ring that fit perfectly upon it with a beaming smile. His nose grazed along my jawline, his lips softly trailing until he reached my ear and whispered, “You have made me the happiest man, my beautiful fiancée.”

“I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to keep you that way.” I tugged on the bowtie he hated to wear and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt so he could relax a little bit in the formal attire. “It’s a shame we aren’t in Vegas anymore.”

“My mum would probably kill me if we eloped.”

I giggled and nodded, knowing my own wouldn’t be happy with the idea either. “And my mum would probably get her off the charges. So a big wedding?”

“Go big or go home.”

“Alright, alright, enough whispering sweet nothings among lovers,” Charles teased as he approached. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Oh, sorry, Leclerc, Alpine family only,” Otmar chimed in as he swiped his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Unless you’re looking for a new team next season?”

I rolled my eyes and nudged the crestfallen Ferrari driver. “Tonight’s an exception, right Uncle?”

Otmar narrowed his eyes at the term I hardly used once I grew older. “She’s playing dirty. Fine, you can come but I know it’s only because you hate these events as much as Pierre.”

“I’m not going to deny that,” Charles said with a grin to his friend.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Frederic reminded his driver before making his way back to Ferrari’s table, a final piece of advice cast over his shoulder with a wave. “You can drink as much as you want tomorrow night.”

I turned to Pierre. “Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to hold onto it another day?” he asked with a cheeky grin as he reached for my ring and I pulled it back.

“No, I was just curious.”

His smile faded as he turned thoughtful. “Because we never know what will happen out there and I knew I would regret missing this moment if I didn’t.”

He saw how his words affected me and passed Addie over to Charles so he could pull me fully into his arms. “I wish I could promise you everything will be okay.”

“I prefer your honesty,” I replied softly as my lips hovered over his. “No regrets.”

Click here for chapter twenty six.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 fic

[thewittyphantom]

In Duel Links, Ghost Gal has left for now...but the VRAINS characters are seeing how Duel Links connects to other dimensions and trying to figure out Kaiba's plan! That includes the SEVENS world, but the DSOD world was not featured. Guess Kaiba encrypted that one too well. XD

Playmaker: That's... [he sees Yami Yugi and Jaden] Soulburner: They're Duelists we've never met... [he sees Yusei and Yuma] Blue Angel: From worlds we've never known... [she sees Yuya and Yuga] Playmaker: Dueling in ways we've never Dueled... Varis: ..........A network we can't decode...Read our memories...Recreate them...Take humanity's subconscious...Link their minds together...It's a Neuron Network! Ghost Gal: Link minds together? Neuron Network? You're saying that this huge network connects everyone's thoughts and emotions? Varis: LINK VRAINS converts our five senses into electric impulses to access the digital world. We can talk and communicate within the digital world of LINK VRAINS. But this is different. Playmaker: Our neurons themselves are connecting and interacting... Varis: Duel Links reads our memories and recreates them, but that's only a side effect. The network is actually sharing and linking us together. What will happen when every mind is united? If we find out, we'll know why Duel Links was created. Ghost Gal: After all consciousness is united as one...what happens next... Soulburner: Does it have something to do with what we just saw? Blue Angel: Unknown worlds...linked together... Ai: ...... Playmaker: Let's go home. There's nothing more we can do here. Ghost Gal: ...And that's what happened. There's nothing more to tell. This is so big that even I can't see the whole picture. I give up. Akira: Instead of finding answers, we only found more questions. Ghost Gal: Since I didn't technically fulfill my side of the deal, I'll settle for half pay. Akira: No, I'll pay you in full. But in exchange, I want you to keep gathering information for me. Ghost Gal: Are you serious? Don't you know when to raise the white flag? Akira: ....... Ghost Gal: ...Why are you staring at me like that? I know I'm gorgeous, but you're weirding me out. Akira: It's just that for someone who said they were giving up, you seem happy not to. Ghost Gal: ...Heh! Well, you are giving me a chance to find another treasure or two. And that's one bounty I love to hunt!

#yu gi oh #duel links #yu gi oh vrains #yu gi oh gx #yu gi oh 5ds #yu gi oh zexal #yu gi oh arc v #yu gi oh sevens #yusaku fujiki #ai #theodore hamilton #emma bessho #skye zaizen #roken kogami #akira zaizen #yami yugi #jaden yuki #yusei fudo #yuma tsukumo #yuya sakaki #yuga ohdo #seto kaiba

[pansyboybloom]

Real Queer America: LGBT Stories from Red States, by Samantha Allen - A Review (8 out of 10)

"That's precisely the question we asked ourselves on November 9th. To stay, or not to stay? I found my answer at the top of the pride flag: there's no way of course that the color of its first stripe was a commentary on our geographically divided political climate. Red didn't mean Republican and blue didn't mean Democrat until the year 2000 anyway. Red is simply the first color in the rainbow, not a sign from the cosmos for me personally. But back when Gilbert Baker first designed that now ubiquitous emblem of LGBT rights in 1978 he did want that red stripe to signify life."

Samantha Allen, a reporter, wife, and transgender woman who was raised in Utah amidst the heart of the Mormon Church and left the South and its redness behind after beginning her transition, asked herself the questions that many Americans, especially queer ones, asked themselves after Donald Trump's win in the United States Presidential race in 2016. But, instead of moving out to Canada, Samantha decided to move down. Down to Utah, Texas, Indiana, and other red states that had seemingly made it clear that she and people like her weren't wanted, to answer a question that she couldn't shake:

Why weren't the Southern queers leaving?

"What makes an oasis, an oasis?"

In Real Queer America, Allen snakes through the south to pockets of queer safe havens ranging from queer bars in small rural towns, to LGBT shelters across from Mormon temples, to protests in Austin, TX, and places of safety throughout all of red America, no matter how small

As a Southerner, this book called to me. It was written with love, with the respect that only a Southern queer can give to other Southern queers. Allen examines the parts of the queer South that those outside its borders might struggle to understand, like LGBT youth political groups that work with the Mormon church to secure transgender rights in Utah. The chapter on Utah struck me in particular. I won't pretend to have any good opinions of the Mormon establishment, but the fondness Allen has for the community who raised her, even after it hurt her, is mind-blowing. Hearing from people like an ex-Mormon radical who works hand in hand with the church to secure LGBT safety, a mother who is deeply supportive of her transgender son because of her Mormoness, not despite it, a gay youth rights advocate who stated in the heart of Mormonism out of an unshakable faith in the goodness in the people of Utah, and, most remarkable, a trans man who has been told by the church that, should he continue his medical transition, he would be excommunicated, but chooses to love God anyways.

Of course, another favorite chapter was that on Texas. As a Texan, I am all too familiar with names like Paxton and Abbott, but also Wendy Davis and the Briggle family. Allen shows the Briggle family as human, and continues that humanity into her trek into the Rio Grande Valley, an often forgotten part of the state, demonized by both the North for its poverty and the South for its tie to immigration from Mexico. Allen approaches the complexities of race interacting with queerness with attempted grace, but her analysis seems to fall flat-- something she acknowledges later on, in Indiana, in which she has in-depth conversations with a black trans woman on how while Allen may feel safe holding hands with her wife here, her blackness will forever keep the 'queer eutopia' she lives in from truly being safe.

She tells Allen: "There is a difference, it seems, between an oasis and a eutopia. When you're in a desert, an oasis can be a single well of water in the sand, or in this case, one college town with an incredible queer bar. A watering hole doesn't make the desert safe, it just makes it habitable. Even then, when you arrive at the refuge that is Bloomington, so much of your experience here depends on the identities you bring with you. And eutopias? Well, eutopias don't exist. If they did, every LGBT person in the country would move there, and queer making would end."

Allen also carries some of the uncomfortable, if not plain disheartening, pro-veteran beliefs quintessential to the South, spending a long time speaking in depth with veterans surrounding Trump's trans military ban. She repeatedly references a shirt she saw while at an Austin rally: I fought for your right to hate me. The reverence she holds and the anger she feels for veterans was upsetting at times and showed further Allen's privilege.

Still, Allen's beliefs need not be perfect in a book about how the Northern need for perfection leads to the Southern LGBT community being abandoned. This abandonment is mentioned in the Indiana chapter when discussing Mike Pence and his 'return to religious freedom' act, which lead to North wide economic protests and boycotts-- that affected the queers of Indiana far more economically than it did Pence. It was grassroots organizations and local state fighters that pushed back the collection of bills, and many, like the ones Allen interviewed, felt abandoned by blue states that seemed to care more about protesting through inaction than action.

Grassroots education, safety, activism, and community are a recurring theme in Real Queer America, unsurprising to any rural or Southern queer. One such example is the Back Door, a queer bar-- not gay, but specifically queer, an active choice maybe by the "dyke daddy" of the club-- that serves as a bastion of fun and sex in a rural town, but also as a place to come together and practice activism.

"The 'Back Door' is a perfect example of the red state queer ethos-- that being politically active is a responsibility, not a choice."

Allen stresses one thing above all: community. The queer chosen family, and the queering of friendships, she argues, are just as threatening to the average bigot as her sex life or her gender identity, if not more. Together, Southern queers thrive-- something many Northerns don't see. Allen critiques Northern journalism from her own writing background, citing that Northerners only care about Southern queer lives when a politician is passing a bathroom bill, a gunman is shooting up a night club, or a high school has their first trans homecoming king, not out of a desire to share his joy, but to further stress how backward the South is. Amidst the shared meals with bisexuals in Tennessee, watching the dancing queers of the Back Door, the support groups across from Mormon temples, the protests in Austin, and more, Allen asks the reader, is the most radical thing to do as a queer person to simply live and love? Is living, thriving, fighting together, arm in arm-- is all of this what being queer in the South means? She finds answers in each place she goes, and while I will leave her answer up to the reader, I find her comment when meeting with the trans cafe owner of Allen's college youth to shine clear:

"Watching Rachel run her own small business in south central Indiana was my first vision of a future where I turn out okay."

Please, check to see if your local library or bookstores have Real Queer America before buying on Amazon! Let's support local reading!

#real queer america #real queer america: lgbt stories from red states #real queer america lgbt stories from red states #samantha allen #queer book recs #queer books #queer nonfiction #queer media #queer book #trans books #trans book #trans media #trans author #queer author #book review #queer book review #long post #ant reads