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Bastet

A Short Story: Michael Chu Illustrations: Arnold Tsang Additional Artwork: Bengal Design and Layout: Benjamin Scanlon

After days of lying in wait, Ana's target had appeared in one of Cairo's opulent, ancient palaces. Abdul Hakim was a king in his own right, one who was using his power and influence to squeeze the life from the city, making himself and his followers rich in the process. But before she had her chance to capture him, the first ghost appeared: Jack Morrison. Though he was masked and had assumed the identity of a vigilante—Soldier: 76—she recognized him immediately.

The world believed that Morrison was dead, killed in the destruction of the Overwatch base in Switzerland, but Ana had her doubts. Though Jack had escaped death, a specter followed behind him… the Reaper. A killer clad all in black, his face hidden behind a bone white mask.

Reaper had confronted Jack, and Ana had leapt to his aid. She had subdued Reaper, wrestling him to the ground. But when she had stripped off the ghoulish mask and seen the ruin of a face beneath, she recognized Gabriel Reyes, a friend and comrade she’d known just as long as Jack. Gabriel proved to be the real phantom as he’d faded into thin air, disappearing like a whisper.

She was left with the revelation that Gabriel and Jack, two men like brothers to her, were not dead.

In fairness, they thought I was, too.

She took a deep breath and surveyed the scene. Bullet marks patterned the walls, tiles on the floor were cracked, and the bodies of the manor’s security guards—muscle for Hakim’s illegal enterprise—were splayed about like children's toys. At the heart of the courtyard, Jack stood impassively.

"I got them all," Jack said as he rifled through one of the fallen mercenary's belongings.

A guard on the ground between them groaned, and in a flash, Ana drew her sidearm and fired a sleep dart into his neck.

"You missed one," Ana said.

Jack gave one of his good guy shrugs. "It’s nice to see you, too, Ana."

Ana engaged the targeting visor from underneath her cowl. The heads-up display failed to activate. She flipped it back up, annoyed. "Any idea where he went?"

Jack activated his visor and scanned the area. "Not a trace."

Something to worry about later.

"That doesn’t look good," Ana said. Jack had been shot right beneath the giant numerals "76" on his jacket. As she took a closer look, she could see that the jacket and his flesh had been ripped apart by a shotgun blast. From that range, it should have killed him, but Jack had certain advantages. His wounds could heal themselves—a legacy of his past as a test subject and an enhanced soldier in the American armed forces. She could already see the pink of new skin forming at the edges, but not completely. Where it looked the worst, his flesh had turned necrotic and black.

"I'll be fine," Jack grunted. "It just takes us some time."

Us, Ana thought. Jack was adapting quickly to the knowledge that his former best friend was still alive.

Or did he already know?

The faintest sound of approaching sirens interrupted her. "We should get going. Sounds like someone’s noticed."

Jack nodded. "Lead the way."

An hour later, Ana and Jack crouched in the shadows, watching as hover taxis zoomed by and a pair of civilians riding robotic camels made their way down the street. Overhead, skiffs and surveillance drones crisscrossed the sky, the former carrying the well-to-do of the city to their afternoon appointments, the latter mobilized by the shootout in Hakim's palace.

Ana navigated the narrow alleys, finding the routes through the labyrinthine tangle of streets and pathways, keeping an eye out for the patrols that circled like hawks. For once in her life, she was grateful for the city’s patchwork infrastructure, still recovering a decade after Overwatch's intervention. The state of Ana's home country was one of the reasons she had been drawn back to it. She felt responsible for Overwatch's legacy here, whether it had been her choice or not.

In the shade of one of the massive, derelict cooling towers, the heat from the oppressive afternoon sun was a little more tolerable. It didn't bother Ana, but Jack seemed to be laboring. His genetic enhancements should have helped him acclimatize to different conditions, the same way they should have stopped the blood that was seeping through the shirt he'd tied across his midsection as a bandage.

"You need to take better care of yourself," Ana chided him.

"You sound like Angela," Jack grunted.

Ana waited for a police car to speed by, lights flashing, and then she signaled him forward.

"Think they’re looking for us?" Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Most likely," Ana said, squinting at the car's retreating form. "But there's a lot of crime here. The police are busy."

Another part of our legacy.

Jack had fallen behind a few paces, leaning against one of the walls. "Reminds me of Prague."

"I’m not carrying you this time," Ana said. "Come on, Jack. Keep up." She dashed out of the shadows and across the street, feeling the full blast of sun above and the heat baked into the stones beneath her.

Back in the shadows, she continued. "Prague was your fault. Why you ever thought Reinhardt could be stealthy is beyond me."

Ana waited for Jack to defend himself. When he didn’t reply, she turned around. He had collapsed on the paving stones, out in the open.

Not now, Ana thought as she ran back to him. She tried to pull him up. "Wake up, Jack." But he gave no response. Ana slung Jack’s arm over her shoulder and lifted him, carrying him down the alley.

Jack drifted awake. That wasn't normal. Even before the army, he'd always been a light sleeper, starting awake at the slightest disturbance. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the dim light of the room as he sat up. He was on an old military surplus cot with a threadbare blanket. His side ached like hell.

"Finally," Ana walked over, silent as a stalking cat. "Tea?"

"I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Yes, Jack, I happen to keep a bottle around just in case you show up."

"Tea's fine," Jack said in a smaller voice.

Ana stretched her shoulders. "You know, I had to carry you all the way here."

"I've been shot plenty of times. It's never felt like this." Jack grimaced as he shifted, twisting around to get a better look at the wound. Three large gashes crisscrossed his back and sides, but they'd been stitched together with dark thread.

"There's something very wrong with that wound. We should probably take you to a doctor." Ana moved to a low table with an induction burner and placed an ornate gold kettle on one of its two heating pads.

"I don't think a doctor's going to know how to deal with this." Jack looked grim.

"Dr. Ziegler's not too far away," Ana suggested. "But I’m not carrying you."

"No doctors," Jack said. "And especially not Angela." How would we even begin to explain this to her? I doubt she'd want to see us now. Two lost ghosts.

"I tried stitching you up myself," Ana said apologetically. "I never was much good with field dressing. Didn't need it very often."

He ran his finger over the jagged stitches. “Looks like a butcher went at it.”

"Well, you can take care of yourself from now on, if you like."

"It's a little hard to reach," Jack said sheepishly.

"Then don't complain.” Ana paused. "And shouldn't that be healing itself?"

Jack nodded. "It should be. Maybe the shells were laced with a biological agent?"

"You're sure you don't want to see Dr. Ziegler?"

"We'd have to explain to her that we're not dead," Jack said.

"She's the miracle worker. She's probably used to it by now," Ana laughed.

"No Angela," Jack said, and that was that.

He looked around at Ana's home, as it were. It was a mix of tactical equipment, military surplus, surveillance devices, and some light touches of domesticity. The space was more archaeological site than apartment, ancient stone chambers with worn stone columns, and the walls had been carved with hieroglyphics, though some looked like the work of more modern vandals. On a low table, Ana had set up a little display of ancient objects that had been carefully preserved: a jar with a ram's head lid made of pale, milky stone, a black and gold mask bearing the visage of a fierce cat goddess, a chipped vase of brown-red clay, and a small, brilliant green figurine of a falcon.

Jack took a closer look at the antiquities. "This place reminds me of a museum my mother took me to in New York when I was a kid." It had been one of his favorite parts of the trip, running around the transplanted ruins of an ancient Egyptian temple. He smiled at the memory.

Ana offered him a blue mug with a red plaid pattern. "It's a necropolis—a city of the dead."

"Appropriate," Jack chuckled. He motioned towards the small display. "What are these?"

"I found them when I moved in. I couldn't very well throw them away. These relics have survived thousands of years. Empires rose and fell, and they're still here. I figured I should take care of them before I sent them to Dr. Faisal."

Jack blew gently on his tea to cool it. "You've been here the whole time?"

"Ever since I left the hospital in Poland." Ana watched as Jack sipped his tea.

He made a face at the bitterness. "Any sugar?"

Ana ignored him. "When I woke up, I didn't remember who I was. I had no name to give them, so they called me, 'Janina Kowalski,' your Jane Doe. For months, I sat in that hospital room in pain and confusion. Dr. Lee told me I was lucky. Well, as lucky as you can be after having glass and shrapnel embedded in your skull." Ana felt the phantom pain of her eye even as she recounted the experience.

"We tried to find you," Jack said somberly. "I used every resource at my disposal. Gabe even put McCree on it personally. Not a trace. Everyone else tried to convince me you were gone and that I was being irrational. But deep down I knew that you couldn't be dead."

And I was right, Jack thought.

"Dr. Lee kept me out of the system. I convinced her some dangerous people were after me."

"I'm dangerous?" he asked, playing innocent.

"You're a kitten, Jack," Ana laughed. "Eventually, I was able to piece together what happened, but I don't know how much of it is real and how much I've filled in the blanks myself. I remembered the mission. We were pinned down by the enemy sniper, and I was trying to flush them out. I remembered lining up the shot. But it was almost like there was a reason why I didn't want to remember what happened next."

Jack looked down into his teacup.

"It was because I recognized that sniper," Ana said, studying him carefully. "You already know this."

"Amélie?" Jack said. "Yes." He had learned that and more over the years, but he left it unspoken.

"Poor Gérard," Ana sighed.

The pair sat in silence for a while as the steam drifted lazily from their cups and dissipated into the dusty haze of the ancient room.

"Why are you here, Jack?" Ana asked at last.

"I never forgave myself for leaving you behind. I heard about a bounty hunter in Cairo, and I hoped…" Jack set the mug down.

"You never were good at letting go," Ana chided him. "Too stubborn for your own good."

"Gabriel is out there. Talon is getting more powerful. They need to be stopped, and everything that we've suffered—everything that you've suffered—needs to be made good on. I’m going to take them apart, piece by piece." Jack's impassioned words echoed off the stone walls, and he had clenched his fists. He slowly released them. "But I can't do it alone. I need your help."

Ana crossed her arms. "You can barely stand. You fainted in the street. The only thing you need to do is recover."

"Don't let this go. Don't be like the others. They dismantled everything we spent our lives building, and then they made us into villains."

"We're not all like you, Jack," Ana said. "Some of us can move forward."

"This is moving forward," Jack growled.

"You're excited," Ana said. "You're not thinking straight. Get some more rest. We can talk after."

"After?" Jack's eyes flashed to his mug and then looked back at Ana. "Did you—?"

He collapsed on the cot.

Ana waited until Jack was deeply asleep before she lifted his legs onto the bed, tucked a pillow beneath his head, and pulled the scratchy blanket over him. He had scars she didn't recognize, and his hair had thinned and faded to a silvery white. While he slept, Soldier: 76 slipped away, and she could feel the presence of the Jack she remembered.

She picked up the empty mug and left him to rest.

Later, Ana returned to the darkened complex, her supplies in a canvas sack she carried over her shoulder. With the lights off, the place felt more like a tomb than ever. She walked through the entry corridor and into the main chamber to find, of all things, Jack, shirtless, doing one-handed pushups through gritted teeth. He'd discarded his bandages in a small pile on his cot. Ana could see the angry red and black of the wounded flesh, bound together by her inexpert stitching.

"You're going to tear those stitches out," Ana remarked.

"I was feeling a little restless," Jack explained.

"You did sleep for two days," Ana said. Hungry?

"I'd kill for a burger."

Ana gave him a look of disbelief.

"But I'm not picky," Jack flashed her that smile he used to try to get himself out of trouble. He really was like a child sometimes.

Ana pulled paper containers of food out of her sack and placed them on the low table in front of him. The rich smells drifted through the air. There was falafel and beans, and pockets of freshly baked bread stuffed with steaming minced lamb meat and onions. "It's not my cooking, at least."

"Thank god for small miracles," Jack chuckled.

In spite of herself, Ana laughed as well.

Jack attacked the food like someone accustomed to having to wolf down meals quickly. Ana helped herself to a little, but mostly they ate in silence. When they'd finished, Jack leaned back on the crate he was sitting on and settled back into his questioning.

"Why didn't you tell me you were alive?" Jack asked.

"I don't know if you'll understand," Ana said. "Gabriel would, but you're different in some ways."

Jack's expression was unreadable. "And Fareeha? You let her think you were dead."

"That was the hardest part." Ana sighed. She stood up and walked over to her desk, where there was a small framed photo Ana with her young daughter on her back. Their arms were both spread wide as though they were flying. "Fareeha would have expected Captain Amari to return, but she was gone. The moment I hesitated, I changed."

"You can't blame yourself," Jack said softly. "How could you have known?"

"Don't patronize me, Jack," Ana snapped. "Of course, it was my fault. It doesn't have to haunt me for the rest of my life, but I can accept the blame."

"It wouldn't have made a difference to us. We would have wanted you back. It turns out we couldn't do it without you," Jack said, touching her shoulder gently. "Overwatch needed you. And now I need you."

Ana read the desperation on Jack's face. "Getting revenge for what happened won't accomplish anything other than getting you killed."

"Maybe, but I still have to fight. Everyone else gave up, but not me."

He blames me, too. Ana realized. "Stubborn."

"You couldn't give up the fight either," Jack said. "Why else were you at Hakim's palace?"

"I tried to live quietly, you know. I would be near my daughter and be at peace. But the longer I lived here, the harder it was for me to escape the fact that we are responsible for what happened to this city. We shut down the Anubis project, and Egypt has never recovered." Ana stood up, turning her back to Jack. "People's lives are hard. They're being taken advantage of by parasites like Hakim. How could I let it go on when I knew there was something I could do?"

"You're fighting for justice, just like me," Jack said.

Ana's eyes narrowed. "Revenge isn't justice."

Jack threw his hands up. "We're after the same thing. Why do you think Hakim was meeting with Gabriel? He's working for Talon. The rot on this city is going to spread, and it will ruin the world just like it always does."

"Hakim runs a criminal organization that has strangled Cairo. The police and the government either turned a blind eye or they're being paid off by him. Food supplies aren't being distributed to people who need them. Medical care is almost impossible to get," Ana said. "Look me in the eye and tell me you can leave without doing anything."

"Cairo and the world will suffer until we bring them all down! You have to see the bigger picture," Jack said heatedly.

"Are you even hearing yourself? You would never have made this argument before," Ana said disapprovingly. "The way we do things matters."

"Times change," Jack said with finality. "Either you're coming with me, or I'm leaving. I've already wasted too much time."

“I’m not going,” Ana said.

For a long moment, Jack stared at her in silence. "A sniper takes the most dangerous threat out first. That was your job." Jack picked up his ruined coat. "If you want to waste your time on petty criminals, so be it. I have a war to fight."

He stormed out.

After Jack left, Ana switched on her computer. Jack had been using it earlier, and the screen was cluttered with articles about Reaper’s movements and appearances. Ana wondered who had been supplying Jack with some of this information, but that was a puzzle for another time. She browsed through the reports and remembered the ruined face she had seen behind the mask.

Gabriel… what happened to you?

One of the articles indicated that casualties in one of Reaper's attacks had suffered the same sort of wounds as Jack.

That damned scientist, Ana thought with disgust.

The other information offered little new insight on the Reaper, providing only a view into Jack's mind. He was following a spiderweb of corporations, government officials, and financial institutions, all hopelessly tangled together through corrupt arteries and shady intermediaries. It was the sort of problem that was never Jack's strong suit. He preferred two sides, concrete facts, and one clear, unequivocal decision.

The messy stuff was always Gabriel's arena.

Not as much as it used to be.

Ana considered her options. In her heart, she knew she wanted to stay. Egypt was failing. In a few more years, it was likely that it would fall into chaos, torn apart by profiteers and criminals like Hakim. As the bounty hunter Shrike, she had slowly been making a difference, little by little. If she left, all her work would be undone.

But there are other people here, like Fareeha. They're not helpless. It doesn't have to be you.

That pride again.

She looked back at articles about the vigilante Soldier: 76. One caught her attention: a break-in at LumériCo's newest fusion plant. There’d been a gunfight in the middle of the market—a number of serious injuries and property damage—all of it attributed to him. But there was also eyewitness testimony from a local girl in Dorado. Even though everyone else thought he was someone to fear, she'd called him a hero.

It doesn't have to be you, but sometimes, people need something to believe in.

Ana knew what she needed to do. She walked over to the makeshift shelf that held the treasures she'd found in the necropolis when she'd first arrived. She looked at the feline face on the ancient mask. It was the goddess Bastet.

A guardian.

Jack walked through the sleeping city. The cool night air was a pleasant break from the heat of the day. Given the late hour, the streets were quiet, even though he had wandered into the city center. The stalls selling food, scavenged omnic parts, or fabrics and textiles had all long since shut down. Curfews weren't imposed, but the city's residents were advised to stay indoors after sundown for their own protection. After coming face to face with Reaper, the dark was a pool of shadows that hid the unknown.

Jack had been on the hunt for some time now, gathering information, and tracking what leads he had. He'd had the benefit of being unnoticed, but things had changed. There was no doubt that Talon and its allies knew he was coming for them. He had gotten one good night's sleep since he arrived in Cairo, and it was the first in as long as he could remember.

I can't believe she drugged me, Jack thought.

He was uneasy now. Staying in one place for too long was risky, especially now that Gabe would be looking for him. He had to move on.

Night had crept towards morning and a full moon was hanging lower in the sky when Jack finally returned. Ana was sitting at the computer as he entered.

"Come back for the rest of your things?" she asked without looking up.

He walked over to her, "I'll help you capture Hakim. Once that's done, we go after Reaper."

"We have to make sure the city is secure," Ana corrected him. "I'll only leave with you after things here are settled. That means not just Hakim, but his followers, too. I need to know that the people will be safe."

Jack's jaw clenched as he considered the offer. "Then let's go over to his manor and round him and his men up. One quick strike before they have time to prepare."

Ana shook her head. "No rushing in. Remember how it went last time?"

"It would have been fine if Gabe hadn't showed up," Jack said.

Ana arched an eyebrow.

Jack sighed. "What's the plan then?"

"We start at the bottom and work our way up. Close the net around Hakim, starve him of his resources, and force him out into the open. We have to expose him and the people that are protecting him. Understood?"

Jack sighed, relenting. "You know, I told Gabe they picked the wrong person for Strike-Commander."

"Yes, but you meant him, not me," Ana replied.

"It could have been Reinhardt," Jack smirked.

"Let's not be crazy now."

Ever since the fight at his palace, Hakim had been reticent to return, instead moving between his safehouses in the city. Jack had been able to track down a number of them and found the one that was most conducive to their plans. He rented an apartment that overlooked it. Ana and Jack hadn't bothered with niceties: the room was furnished only with a couple beaten-up wooden chairs and a wooden crate. They took turns with one sleeping bag. After the second day, Ana had insisted on bringing a hot plate so she could make tea.

Within a week, they'd rounded up a number of Hakim's associates, whittling away at his organization. Word spread about someone targeting Hakim's organization. Whoever it was, people agreed, they meant to bring Hakim to justice. But after the initial burst, things had slowed down. Hakim went further underground. He was being more careful. There was nothing to do but wait.

The boredom wasn't so bad for Ana. As a sniper, she had more than her share of patience, and having the freedom to move around, take naps, and even go outside, made it more than tolerable. Jack was restless, though. She saw the way he looked out the window, searching the horizon endlessly, and Ana knew his gaze was fixed on one thing.

Gabriel.

"Anything?" Jack asked, glancing up. He leaned back in his chair in a way that would make a school teacher worried. There was something in his hand.

"No sign of Hakim. What are you looking at?" Ana asked.

"Oh, just reminiscing about the old days." Jack passed over the small stack of photos. They were well-worn, creased in places, and had obviously been Jack's companions for a long time.

The top photo was a picture of them with Gabriel, all three looking young and optimistic, though Gabriel already showed signs of the stress of leadership weighing upon him. They'd just won a major battle in Rio de Janeiro. "I remember the beach," Ana smiled. "We look so serious in this picture—it's funny!"

"That's why it's a great photo!" laughed Jack.

It’s good to know he can still laugh.

She turned to the next one and almost dropped the photos in surprise. She'd never seen the photo, but she recognized it immediately. Jack looked so much younger. He had just stepped off a military transport for leave. It was the other person in the picture that surprised her—a dark-haired man, dressed in a casual, black button up shirt. Jack's arm was around his shoulder.

Vincent.

"Vincent… I haven't thought about him in years," Ana said. "Still keeping a candle lit for him?"

Jack shook his head. "Nothing like that."

"You've never looked in on him? You must have been curious. All the surveillance power in the world. I bet Gabe would have put a Blackwatch agent on him if you asked," Ana said.

Jack glared at her.

"Okay, touchy subject."

Jack laughed. "He got married. They're very happy. I'm happy for him."

Ana was unconvinced. In the early days, Jack talked about him often, floating a dream that the war would end quickly, and maybe he'd have a chance to return to a normal life.

But a normal life was never the reward for people like us.

"Vincent deserved a happier life than the one I could give him." Jack sighed. "We both knew that I could never put anything above my duty. Everything I fought for was to protect people like him… That's the sacrifice I made."

"Relationships don't work out so well for us, do they?" Ana said, unconsciously running her thumb over where her wedding ring used to be.

"At least you and Gabe managed to have families."

The pair lapsed back into silence.

Ana glanced out the window to see the familiar figure of Hakim entering the apartment block. "It's him." Ana passed the photos back to Jack, who carefully slid them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Ready?" Jack asked as he put his mask and targeting visor on, picking up the heavy pulse rifle where he had propped it against the wall.

Ana took her own rifle, quite a bit more manageable than Jack's, and slung it over her shoulder. She clipped a few flashbangs to her belt and then retrieved the last item from her pack: the black and gold mask.

"You're bringing that?" Jack asked.

"You inspired me, Jack. Soldier: 76 is more than a vigilante. The world knows that name. Your enemies are afraid you'll find them. I don't want Hakim, Talon, or anyone else to plunge Cairo back into chaos the second I'm gone. I'm putting on a new mask. Not a hunter this time, a protector. The kind of persona that I could leave behind to keep the people safe… Bastet."

"I just thought my mask was scary." Jack smiled.

"Bastet is scarier than an old lady."

"Ana, there's nothing scarier than an old lady," Jack said.

"You would know."

One week later, Ana and Jack were packing up the necropolis base. They'd leave much of Ana's belongings behind, taking only what they needed for the journey ahead. Hakim and his network of criminals had been dismantled. The news had started to report about the movements of a guardian named Bastet who had captured Hakim and exposed the extent of his crimes. Even the government was forced to act.

"What about these?" Jack pointed at the shelf that had the Egyptian artifacts on it.

"I could barely manage carrying you, and you want me to bring all this?" Ana said. "It's well-hidden. It will just wait here until I can find a proper caretaker."

"Fareeha?" Jack guessed. "You talked to her?"

"I… left her a message," Ana said.

"You're sure you can leave things like this? It could be a long time before you see her again."

If ever.

Ana sighed. "She never responded to my first letter."

Jack winced. "She'll come around in time. She loves you. Did you tell Sam anything?"

"I will, eventually. Maybe," Ana said. "I made a big enough mess of his life without having to give him the news. None of us are very good at saying goodbye, are we?"

"We're better than Reinhardt, anyway. I'm pretty sure his life is just one long attempt to avoid saying a goodbye."

"How is he?" Ana asked.

"That's a long story," Jack said. "But I suppose we'll have time."

Ana nodded. "There's something I want to be clear about before we leave, Jack," Ana said. "I'm going with you, but I'm not convinced that this is a good idea at all. Talon, Overwatch, Gabriel… I already let go of them. It hurt." She paused. "When I first came to the necropolis, most of the artifacts I found were ruined. I saved what I could, but I had to leave the rest. That's what's most important, Commander."

"Don't call me, that," Jack groused. "And come on. We need to pay a visit to some old friends."

They left the necropolis, sealing the entrance behind them. Long after they'd left, the relics of ancient civilizations laid in wait in the darkness of that dusty room. At the center of them all was a golden mask bearing the face of a goddess. Just as it remained in the hearts of the people of Cairo, and the fears of those who would harm them: a mask and a name.

#source: overwatch media #short story #ana amari #jack morrison #gabriel reyes #overwatch #abdul hakim #angela ziegler #cole cassidy #amélie lacroix #gérard lacroix #reinhardt wilhelm #anubis #vincent #fareeha amari #alejandra #sam amari #dr. lee #moira o'deorain

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valentinebullock72 · 2 months

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viking369 · 7 months

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TERF Alert

The American Anthropological Association and Canadian Anthropology Society recently canceled a session from their joint annual meeting. The title of the session was “Let’s Talk about Sex Baby: Why biological sex remains a necessary analytic category in anthropology”. It was canceled as being anti-trans and contrary to current research without being supported by countervailing research. Of course the panel members immediately started screaming, "Help, help, we're being oppressed," and Reich Wing media jumped all over it.

Let's take a look at the panel and their topics. Silvia Carrasco was going to talk about how violence against women can't be properly addressed without focusing on biological sex. Kathleen Richardson was going to talk about how including trans women is erasing gender disparity in IT (Apparently arguing the number of trans women in IT is statistically significant. Right.). Michèle Sirois was going to talk about how the Canadian surrogacy industry exploits poor women (OK, trans women can't be included in this group, but a large number of cis women can't be included as well, whether biologically because they are not reproductive, or economically because they are not poor. Frankly, the problem she is studying is far less biologically based than economically based. Surrogacy is another of a broad range of mechanisms for exploiting disadvantaged groups.). Also on the panel was Elizabeth Weiss of the Heterodox Academy, an "advocacy" group founded to combat the sham issue of conservatives being excluded from academe (It was cofounded by Jonathan Haidt and Nicholas Quinn Rosenkranz. Haidt co-authored The Coddling of the American Mind, a by-the-numbers rant decrying the "suppression" of free speech on college campuses and trotting out the usual Reich Wing straw men of "trigger words" and "safe spaces" while conveniently ignoring the real message of "You no longer get to shovel hate just because you're a cishet, white, Christian male, and if you try, you're going to get blowback." Rosenkranz testified to Congress against the nominations of Loretta Lynch as AG and Sonia Sotomayor to SCOTUS and is regularly cited by Alito and Thomas.). Carole Hooven of the American Enterprise Institute was supposed to speak but withdrew prior to the cancelation.

Organizing this panel was Kathleen Lowrey, whose recent publications include "Trans Ideology and the New Ptolemaism in the Academy", an extended whinge about her sacking as undergraduate programs chair in the Department of Anthropology at the University of Alberta for her anti-trans views (or as she puts it, her "gender critical feminist views") masquerading as intellectual commentary, and "Gender Identity Ideology Conquers the World: Why Are Anthropologists Cheering?", an extended whinge about cancel culture. She is routinely platformed on the anti-trans Canadian site Gender Dissent, and she was principal organizer of the anti-trans hate group Women's Declaration International (fka Women's Human Rights Campaign).

It is quite apparent, then, the panel was canceled because it was platforming political rants and not scholarly research. This is a problem in the social "sciences" that is only getting worse (For nearly a half-century I've been of the firm opinion that "social science" is an oxymoron. There is no meaningful way to apply the crux of the scientific method, control and variable experimentation, to any significant issue in any of the social studies. Being degreed in two such fields [history and political science] and regularly called on to work in another [economics/finance], I have some idea. One of the purposes of scientific research is to predict how things will behave. Put X load on this material, it will break. Combine these chemicals, and you will get a reaction producing Y. While data in the social studies can be used successfully to create occurrence models ["This is what happened."], they are far less successful at creating causation models ["This is why this happened."] and abysmal at creating predictive models ["This is what is going to happen."]. For example an economist will say, "If price goes up, demand will go down. Unless there are other, not terribly measurable factors at work such as elasticity, utility, oligopoly and collusion, logistic disruption, etc., etc., etc."). "Scientists" in the social studies sound increasingly like "creation scientists" (speaking of oxymorons), decrying their research being "canceled" while conveniently omitting mention of their research ignoring or misrepresenting all current work while clinging to anachronistic theories, methods, and data (and nondata). People like those on this panel push their political agendas while ignoring actual research by actual scientists.

Meanwhile, if you want a thorough takedown of Women's Declaration International, I suggest you check Susan Duffy's blog:

And if you want to see what real scientists are discovering in gender research, you might want to start here:

youtube

#TERF #Kathleen Lowrey #Women's Declaration International #Youtube

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kgeluap · 4 months

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What an episode within an episode.

I saw the different shades of his, even creating a split of an identity named Joey, who was heartless, self inflicting, damaging, where it seems like people were out to have him sexually as a sex exchange of some sort where even the Feds were involved, suicidal, reckless, where my mind went for real, a long long episode of this. He would go to a post every weekend, one was a house, where cocaine would be, and somehow he was the “anchor”, never heard this word in my life. Maybe someone who keeps the drug dealers protected? He has no ties to the drugs but keeping it safe to sell in my opinion. Each week Joey would heard a group of people who were selling to sell, in this episode. Like it was crazy to believe that men and women made it a living, selling drugs and living a lavish life style. This was a constant episode I would experiences every end of the week and I still have no clue why someone like Joey was involved in it. Get this, I’m living this separate life here in the Philippines doing my own thing and at the same time I’m sucked into this drama in the background. Joey was a cheater, a swinger, hurting everyone it loved, disappointing his father, creating a world of chaos for his mother, his younger brother would call him a loser and hated his sister. Joey hated his life and seemed like he was living his life with an audience watching him and I would be this person Joey would hurt the most, and nothing I could do would change how hurt he was as he ruin his life. For months, I was entangled in this with some shine light of stillness where I was married and I was involved in his investments and he was involved in my business, in writing, in posting on social media, my WordPress was being read by a secret society it was intense, I was one of the first rfid humans, and I was working a long side Paris for the Paris Accord to keep peace and harmony and diversity in the for front, fighting evil human satanists who would put a spell on those who loved people of color in power to hurt people of color in power, all while letting a small group in on what was happening, like I was someone who was famous and none of it would be real unless I was married to Jesse. What a trip, reflecting on this. These was a whole team, cheering me on, working like I was a leader and a beckon for an enterprises in global communication of health and safety, some black mirror shit. There is a whole team out there who have analyze me from head to toe, socially, politically and scientists in medicine calculating each bit I took, medication I comsumed, who would remotely test my body fit and constantly trying to train me like an astronaut. Don’t get me started, astonauts were involved in my rfid human “trial” I guess and the CIA, would know my every move since they have been watching me and made perdictions of my whole life. I mean, this is why I thought I was highly profiled because someone like Jesse, would do something like this and be my paired human partner in rfid who was “meta man” in Hollywood.

It didn’t stop there, the KKK, was also involved, and the white Supremist in power wanted to be involved and even envied me with the amount of power I had, seeing people work for this. I felt officially official underground because nothing caught up to me in the end, not even my paired partner, which was the height of the chaos causing all of this to be sadistic when he started reporting all my emails and texted for a restraining order against me which got into the hand of sorcerers who hated me, because Jesse, hated me after all of this and they took matters into their own racists hands and annialated me. It felt like my string of light was in the hands of Sarah, and she was pulling it out of my body, causing me to think ways to commit suicide. Like jumping from the Ledge of a 14 foot building, opening the door of a running car and jumping out, doing something for me to instantly die without having a trace that she was the one causing it. I am so glad I overcome her evil sorcerery. And I am afraid that those moments like that would not be the only moments and I for see myself feeling that again in the upcoming future. This was already my fourth time experiencing this. All because Jesse wanted time with me and I have yet to see him in person and she is jealous that I am a threat to her love story with Jesse, who excliames to me “I hate my life”.

I’m here reflecting because I was so out of body for months until now. And I’m like, ummmmmmmmm, wow, glad I’m okay. And woah, what is my life. And ok, that was satanic and sadistic, Jesse is cursed to be in a marriage with Sarah, and Sarah is out there cursing me after Jesse found refuge in being with me.

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yanjxngin · 8 months

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𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙹𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗

This character follows the yandere trope. If you are not comfortable with this: do not interact.

❝ You belong to me. Can't you see that? ❞

❝ The King ❞

[1994.01.14] Suncheon-si, South Korea

Personality: Charismatic, jealous, adoring. Jongin is everything a girl wants in a man mixed with the ultimate red flags. He is very secretive about himself and tends to never tell the truth until the object of his desire is his. He's feared and has a bad temper but he would never hurt the one he loves. Everything he does is for her, only her. He is extremely obsessive and possessive.

Background: Jongin comes from a place that is hidden from the world around it. A land full of mythical creatures and ancient magic which makes it home to some of the most dangerous beings not fully known to man. Raised to be King, Jongin started his ascension to the throne when he turned 21 but when the former King died, Jongin was still unmarried and so it was declared that he would not be granted full control until his wedding day. Not wanting to marry for anything other than love, Jongin set out on a quest to find someone who matched everything he wanted but on his journey, he became more and more obsessed with his perfect woman who did not exist in his land - so he crossed the boundary to find her. He is rich and lives under the guise of a playboy billionaire, heir to a large global enterprise - this was set up by his royal advisors. Any attempt to find out any truth about Jongin has been greatly distorted, making him one of the hardest men to keep track of because his name, face and identity is constantly being changed due to the magic that courses through his veins. Magic that protects his land and his people.

Physical: Jongin has chocolate brown hair that he tends to colour often, ranging from black to blonde and nearly every colour in between. His appearance is constantly changing due to the magic he possesses. His eyes are chestnut brown but he may be seen with blue contacts in. Height is 6 ft, Jongin has a lean, muscular body that many would class as a dancer's body. He has a slightly toned set of abs, broad shoulders and strong arms. He has no scars on his body. Due to his changing appearance, he may be seen with tattoos and piercings, all different and none permanent.

Yandere: Jongin is considered an obsessive love yandere. He likes to appear normal to those around him and is very sweet, charming and gentle to all those around him but when he takes an interest - he is obsessed. Head over heels. Nobody exists to him anymore but the one he loves. He will not hurt the object of his desire but will hurt or kill anyone who tries to take her away from him. Jongin will do every and anything for his love interest, they can do no wrong but he is extremely volatile and any instance where his love isn't reciprocated can cause him to lash out.

Info: Jongin is not a magic wielder, he cannot perform spells nor can he summon anything. Magic runs through his veins but its more focused on his body and maintaining his youth, physical strength and appearance. He drives a white BMW X6 that he has affectionately named 'Daisy' after his pet horse back home. He loves dancing and often takes classes. Jongin has recently become addicted to caffeine and his favourite colour is deep red. Jongin's very smart, he doesn't show it, opting to seem goofy and funny but he is very knowledgeable. He isn't a fan of dead silence and will often play music to fill the void. This will be updated as more is discovered about him.

Straight. Dominant, hard.

Kinks: praise/worship, bondage, knife play, primal/fear play, edging and voyuerism. Jongin will not be sexual around other people when he's in love, he prefers private. More will be added as it is discovered about him.

The pet names that he tends to use is: Goddess, my (insert here), petal.

Secret Identity

Jongin is not quick to jump into a relationship but is quick to develop interest. He wants to make sure the woman he chooses fits everything he wants or can be everything he wants. He's had previous ex-girlfriends before but all of them have since gone missing. Relationships take a long time to develop. Once Jongin has made it clear that he is interested, he will not show intimate attention to others. He will only take one partner.

Y/N + RP: Jongin will take one person in this slot that follows the plot the admin has pre-made. This plot starter is based around the story that Jongin is based off and will follow his trope.

❝ It's hard to see the way you smile at them, the way you laugh with people that aren't me. They don't deserve you, nobody does. Only I do. Stay with me. ❞

#✧.* [ jongin ]#✧.* [ muse info ]

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lex1nat0r · 24 days

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Blood Meridian

I was going to do this in the 'Things I Learned From Reading' format but the only thing I would have to say that works there would be that Cormac McCarthy is very good at the English language. I do have more thoughts though, below the thing. There's spoilers there, I guess?

My overriding impression of the book is that it's a joke played on the western genre. In contrast to the way mainstream portrayals of the US's westward expansion attempt to make it bloodless and justified, Blood Meridian exaggerates* the violence of the people who pushed the US west to a degree that would be comical if it wasn't written in a bone-dry tone of voice. Blood Meridian is presenting a vision of manifest destiny that is distorted like it is in the mainstream, but in the opposite direction.**

*I cannot say for sure how much is actually exaggerated versus historical events. I suspect there's at least some embellishment in specific descriptions.

**again: can't say for sure if it displays the same magnitude of exaggeration as traditional westerns

It's about violence, yes, but specifically the violence caused by white settlers in the American west.

It is interesting, I think, that the kid pretty much stops being specifically mentioned whenever he's doing things (murders) with Glanton's group, as if he is attempting to subsume his identity into this bloodstained force of violence. But it's that very thing that the judge accuses him of not fully doing ("You sat in judgement on your own deeds. You put your own allowances before the judgement of history and you broke with the body of which you were pledged a part and poisoned it in all its enterprises." p. 319 in my copy).

The judge sees only two kinds of men: those that accept they are violent creatures destined to make war, and those that try to deny it ("If war is not holy man is nothing but antic clay." p. 319, "Bears that dance, bears that don't." p. 345). It's easy to say that the judge represents war or violence in general, but given the way the book feels it's in conversation with how westerns are depicted in mainstream US culture I think an argument can be made that the judge represents that culture. He thinks that those who committed violence on the native Americans in the west should be celebrated as fulfilling the masculine ideal. He even claims to know the "judgement of history" - and he's right. As the western genre shows (to the extent I am familiar with it), history-as-written-by-the-US does try to celebrate the settlers who moved west. That, I think, is what Blood Meridian is taking aim at.

One more quote that stuck with me: "he saw vultures at their soaring whose wingspan so dwarfed all lesser birds that the eagles shrieking underneath were more like terns or plovers." (p. 325)

#consumed media #book #blood meridian

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realhankmccoy · 29 days

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What would have saved the Trump 5 from lifelong stupidity on social relations, identity politics and therefore regular politics, social justice, race relations would have been if (and this would have been almost impossible because of systemic oppression and is still almost impossible for the same reason)

would have been if James Baldwin had been made Captain of the Starship Enterprise.

instead the factory that made their minds made their minds align with this (and about as stupid and egocentric):

now -- granted -- James Baldwin in that position probably wouldn't have stopped them from a past, present and future of making total fools out of themselves when discussing the world of men or the world of women, being that they totally lack the empathy and understanding to understand even the basics about what it is to be a man or a woman

yes it wouldn't help them understand gender which they'll forever be total idiots and laughingstocks on, so many laughs a minute i usually don't even engage, like if you find Peeps funny and see an entire palate of them in the back of a grocery store you might actually just get annoyed -- laughingstocks on a mind-bending level of accidental unwitting humour, all in their own ways -- literally everything they ever say on race or gender or homosexuality being wrong and very deeply addled and confused -- from Babybro saying women talk too much and then trying to force himself to talk for 10 min straight without comnig up for air, to Babybruce worshipping women (because you worship them when you don't like them, listen to them or respect them), to Babydad, to Babydad saying women should be own polygamously in harems (not realising his desire for women to be livestock means he cannot even separate the human world from the animal world, and that he has never escaped his livestock-handling childhood or the fact that his mother let him sleep in so he rarely actually had to milk a cow if ever, so it's all ownership no work just as goes the white entitlement patter -- all brought to him by the Charmin Mother) -- to Babycuck farting out bureaucratic dictates on how women better not act manly while demanding all men act like his grandma and then seriously thinking he's an androphile .... lol 180 degrees upside down in both instances since he's reducing manly energy in the world -- he's a 'treat me like a fragile pussy' type in that he wants everybody to pussify to match what a baby needing kid gloves to be handled that he is, he's always been a baby and wanting everyone to be babyfied but he can't sort it out in his mind so it's as senseless as the Springer show, it's no different than trump bitching and shitting that all these women better stop having a manly edge because WAAHHH I HATE A MANLY EDGE TO A WOMAN ITS SO HARD TO TAKE ITS SO EVIL AND WRONG and Trump insisting we all get back to basics

oh yes, it's just exponential levels of stupidity

and all because this happened (and also happened 45 times at the Presidential level in these United States of A-holes)

#babycuck #babydad #babybruce #babybro #star trek #william shatner

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windlynggaard96 · 5 months

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theetruthbunny · 7 months

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No Value System

they use family courts to extort us girls. subject us to residing with strangers who are criminals. organized crime. "white men" who are actually NOT racist, his daughters, granddaughter's, and now great granddaughter's are losing their identity, losing their rights to consent, being raped, are enslaved, and are abused by EVERYBODY. NOBODY is telling the truth

first of all the best man does not require permission from sad excuses of "men" who have daughters that CONSENSUALLY want to be with the BEST MEN.

These MEN have proven themselves as the BEST with ACTIONS. They RAISE all their children, their children are NOT being abused or SOLD into slavery. HIS CHILDREN are being RAPED or DECEIVED by IMPOSTERS who Fraud their way into MARRIAGE, you can tell who the frauds are, and you need to investigate where the children created from rape or deception END UP.

this cover up is confusing but I WILL HELP YOU BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND IT.

the children who were deceived were raped, mainly women.

the male children versus the female children.

the males are deceived by women who partner with the GOVERNMENT to then EXTORT THE MEN FOR RESOURCES they are extorted through marriage and/or children born from the fraudulent marriage and/or fraudulent child making----those children are then used as pawns to extort child support. if and when the children are stolen they are then forced into slavery through the misuse of non-profit agencies, foster care, and "false arrests" where the children become cash pigs for the STATE & GOVERNMENT a revolving door for "institutions & agencies" the main goal is for the sons and daughters to either never marry out of bondage or never marry in general in order to keep them bonded to "programs" from the programs the children are starved, stalked, and robbed of resources, time, and energy...most are then channelled into the criminal Enterprise that keeps us subjected to the culture of "racketeering" from there the children commence with degrading innocent people by use of misogyny, sexism, and prostitution.

the females are deceived by the men who partner with the GOVERNMENT to EXTORT & RAPE the women & girls (boys are also targeted)..Some of the women got "tricked" into a marriage but they were not given into marriage "legitimately" this means the FATHER and/or MOTHER did not approve of the MARRIAGE or RELATIONSHIPS--- when the PARENTS do not approve of the RELATIONSHIP/ MARRIAGE and their BLESSINGS were not GIVEN this is called TREASON and the GOVERNMENT is UNDER JUDGEMENT for giving their BLESSING where it was UNDER QUALIFIED. The GOVERNMENT does not have a RIGHT to MAKE DECISIONS FOR THE BLOODLINE the outcomes of these MARRIAGES/PREGNANCIES prove TREASON, FRAUD, RACKETEERING, and ORGANIZED CRIME. This organized crime is an IRREFUTABLE proof as it is EVIDENCE of TREASON, SLAVERY, AIDING AND ABETTING, COLLUSION, CORRUPTION the GOVERNMENT is GUILTY of CORRUPTION.

the evidence of neglect, endangering citizens, endangering children, racketeering, sexual assault, murder, torture, and all sorts of organized crime.

the other children of these LEGITIMATE MEN were RAPED and gave birth against their will and/or through deception. religion is used to achieve the birth of said children. ALL children born this way have been abused or became complicit by integration and cooperation with the ILLEGITIMATELY comprised "family". these "families" have been CORRUPTED by EVIL & INFERIOR "spouses" or "illegitimates" both SPOUSE & ILLEGITIMATE are CRIMINALS. BOTH SPOUSE & ILLEGITIMATE are HIDDEN based on their FRAUDULENT USE of GOVERNMENTAL POWERS, INSTITUTIONS, AGENCIES, and LEGAL PROCESSING.

these CRIMINALS are being MISIDENTIFIED and GRANTED RIGHTS which they are NOT entitled to. ON BEHALF OF THE FIRST VIOLATION.

HONOR THY FATHER & MOTHER WAS VIOLATED BY:

THE STATE: FAILING TO PROTECT THEIR CITIZENS, INDOCTRINATING CITIZENS, ADOPTING MISOGYNY, ADOPTING SEXISM, ADOPTING MISOGYNOIR, FUNDING RAPISTS, FUNDING PEDOPHILES, FUNDING FALSE PROPHETS, ARRESTING VICTIMS, PERPETUATE HATE CRIMES AGAINST VULNERABLE CITIZENS

THE GOVERNMENT: FAILING TO EXERCISE OVERSIGHT OVER THE STATES PERPETUATING HATE CRIMES, SLAVERY, AND TREASON. ACTIVELY ASSIST STATES & AGENTS WHO PERPETUATE HATE CRIMES AGAINST VULNERABLE CITIZENS

THE CHILDREN OF THE LEGITIMATE PARENTS: ENABLING CRIMINALS & NOT RENOUNCING THE OFFENSE. CONSORTING TO BECOMING CRIMINALS

THE CORRUPTED MALE OR FEMALE WHO RAPED OR DECEIVED THEIR WAY INTO THE BLOODLINE: DISOBEYING THE DENOUNCING OF THE MARRIAGE/RELATIONSHIP, USING CONFINES OF STATE AND/OR GOVERNMENTAL POWERS TO ABUSE THE OFFSPRING CREATED FROM THE OFFENSE OF RAPE/DECEPTION.

FROM THEIR WE AND OUR CHILDREN ARE BEING RAPED & ENSLAVED BY MINORITY MALES & FEMALES IN POSITIONS OF POWER & PRIVILEGED FEMALES OF ANY RACIAL BACKGROUND WHO GATEKEEP "RACIAL DIVIDES"

------------ THE VICTIMS: WHITE MEN HIS CHILDREN HIS CHILDRENS CHILDREN HIS CHILDRENS CHILDRENS CHILDREN DO YOU GET IT?

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chillaxconsciousness · 1 year

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THE DIGITAL DIVIDE !

how can we decolonize technology, but make it cute ?

by naomi ✿✿✿

Colonized individuals of the new age are detaching from the post-colonial expectations and plans placed by systems of power that once dominated their peoples. All differential modes of thinking, being and existing that shy away from dominant, white-favoured Western theories have been neglected, ignored and resented. The new digital age has introduced new ways of connecting with technology and challenging what author Beatrice Martini calls the borderless colonial phenomenon. This is the infringement of rights over geographical borders that empresses the complete control over a community’s digital technology and aids in its erasure of identity (Martini).

Beatrice Martini in “Decolonizing Technology; A Reading List'' speaks about decolonizing technology and utilizing it as an avid tool of resistance against the systems of oppression and injustice that have held centuries of dominion over minority groups. It’s all about overthrowing gilded narratives of biased power to envision a world where technology doesn’t evoke colonial ideas. It is a way to de-systemize the functionality of oppressive systems with the aim to inspire and aspire the new generation to decolonize the colonial dimensions of technology.

However, Beatrice doesn’t go into deep detail about what it means to decolonize technology, but thanks to her reading list, readers are prompted to discover different perspectives that delve deeper into this enriching topic. One article that she links is written by Jessica Ogden in This is For Everyone?Steps Towards Decolonizing the Web. Jessica mentions the resolution to the digital divide not simply being about international and global inclusion in tech, that we know is already built upon predetermined and biased retrospectives, but requires a critical reconstruction of how we comprehend and understand data, the web and technology. Allowing the new digital era to challenge open-ended conceptualizations of tech that have a distinct beginning, but an unfinished ending.

ARE WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WRITING THIS ENDING DIFFERENTLY?

"After all, the ‘decolonization of technology’ seems to be a conflicting term, not least because decolonization describes the retrieval of stolen land, whereas in the case of technology our concern is with the understanding of our own cultural practices" Clemens Apprich

Practical barriers of accessibility and restrictions have created the global digital divide that excludes a particular demographic from the usage and consumption of technology and digital infrastructure. Once again, excessive power and control is to blame here (boo, I don't like her). Good thing Martini doesn't like her either as she shares that this exertion of power...

“strikingly channels a colonialist exercise of control, establishing who gets to use a tool or service, and to which extent”.

The culture that surrounds technology is one of elitist standards with a need to perpetuate global dominance, led by white men who build enterprises and business models at the demise of marginalized people. Digital technology plays a vital role in the economy and social life everywhere. With transnational corporations of power continuing their adamant reinvent of colonialism in the Global South, the control of intellectual property, digital intelligence, and the means of computation are all at risk here. This is all part of the digital architecture that Michael Kwet raves about in his piece. Understanding The Architecture of Digital Colonialism allows us to really delve into the conceptual construction of colonial thought in digital advocacy, to assess what it means to decolonize it and investigate this domination that results in subordinate dependency.

Richer countries could be sharing transferable knowledge and tech and attempt to achieve global prosperity on equal and fair terms. Yet they decide to financially and institutionally support ideas that clearly lack the ability to think critically about digital culture. Technology generates a colonizing practice in the first place, proving that standard tech is driven by hegemonic structures and capitalistic politics, as a source of homophilic ideas.

So can we fix this or what? Is there a response to this messy affair? We must realize that the only way to fix these digital discrepancies is to find new ways to engage with it. The answer is always found from within. We cannot technologically advance by submitting to technophobia (that would mean you think tech is totally gross and you completely and utterly do all things to avoid it. Think of like Cher from Clueless “AS IF” gross…)🤮

DON'T BE LIKE CHER

Digital colonialism is now engulfing the world and the resolutions for the digital economy has to involve the broader struggles for equality. As technology evolves into digital infrastructures of artificial intelligence that unfairly target people of colour, now more than ever we need to work towards scrutinizing what our society deems as normal culture. We must introduce new modes of knowledge into machine research that disassembles the racial ordering that colonialism has introduced to the world.

lol... toodles for now! ✿✿✿

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 1 year

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Resolve to Read this Blog!

So, it’s New Year. 2022 has done it’s song-and-dance routine and fucked off to the backstage area for a fag and a crafty wank, leaving us in the as-yet-untested hands of 2023. And you know what that means, don’t you, children? That’s right! It’s time for my annual New Year’s Resolutions Blog, in which I suggest resolutions that might get you killed, arrested or covered in gunge for my own sick amusement, and you lap it up like the culture-deprived fucking content junkies that you are. So, without further (or indeed any) ado, here’s this year’s crop. ‘Enjoy’- a word that is here used incorrectly.

Dare to be Square You know what I’m fucking sick of? ‘Geek chic’, or whatever the fuck we’re calling it nowadays. You know the look I mean- the sexed-up nerd look with the big glasses and not-really-a-suit that people are still, inexplicably, wearing to cash in on the still-quite-recent credibility of geek cultural IP. And do you know why I’m sick of it? Because it’s missing the fucking point. Being a massive pulsating nerd isn’t about looking ‘chic’. Proper geeks don’t choose clothes with the intention of announcing to the world that they’re geeks- they choose clothes for the number of gadgets and gewgaws they can fit in the pockets. So here’s my New Year’s challenge to you- if you want to dress like a geek, dress like a real fucking geek: a buttoned-up white shirt, abysmal plaid trousers, a pocket-protector with three different coloured biros and a pocket calculator on a chain. Oh, and a haircut that you can do yourself with a washing up bowl and safety scissors. Feel chic? No? Fucking good! That means you’re doing it properly! And yes, before any of you say anything, I’m aware that I’m the most overdressed man on the planet. It’s not hypocrisy because, while I am a geek, I’m not just a geek and my clothes are chosen to reflect completely unrelated aspects of my identity. My waistcoat and tie I chose to reflect my dandy-ish sense of British self-assuredness, and my Geoffrey Dahmer-patterned underpants I chose to reflect my love of cannibalism.

Admit that Fanfic Isn’t ‘Cultural Mythmaking’ Look, I love a good bit of fan fiction as much as the next man- especially when the show, book or property on which it’s based is being run into the ground by the last company to buy its rights (usually either Jeff Bezos or Mickey Mouse- he’s not just their mascot, he’s secretly the evil mastermind behind the whole horrific enterprise). By all means, keep writing fanfic. I encourage it! But a lot of you are in your forties now and your pretence that you’re doing something noble and important (as opposed to daft and fun) is getting creepy. It’s like if a man brought his anime body pillow on a double-date and introduced it as his girlfriend. Wait, wasn’t that the plot of an episode of Crackanory? The point is, it’s time to let it go. Admit that what you have is a hobby and that that’s fine. Cut the pseudo-intellectual bullshit about cultural artefacts being shaped as much by the fanbase as by the creators. As an actual now-published writer, I can assure you that I don’t even think about you randos when dredging a new story or setting from the filth at the bottom of my flinty little heart: I’m too busy channelling my mental illness and snorting powdered Mars Bars like fucking cocaine.

Contact a More Diverse Range of Great Old Ones We all love summoning Cthulhu to issue in the end of the world, but has it ever occurred to you that he’s not the only Elder Being who waits dreaming beneath the minds and lives of men? Well, it should have! How do you think poor old Nyarlathotep feels, getting snubbed at every fucking cataclysm? Or Hastur, the King in Yellow- that guy practically invented the concept of spreading suffering through the slow, infectious patterns of cackling madness. Then there’s the Goat of a Thousand Young (whose true name I can’t actually post online because it contains an incidental racial slur). You all bang on about female representation but where’s she when you’re etching your sigils and runes of unspeakable power? Yeah. I bet a lot of you are hanging your heads in shame right now. Don’t be so fucking thoughtless next time.

Set Fire to Fancier Places Every time there’s a riot, people set fire to the local MacDonald’s or KFC or whatever. And I sympathise- I really do. I’ve only ever been into a MacDonald’s twice in my adult life, but both of those times did leave me with a powerful desire to commit arson. The thing is, setting fire to a Macky Dee’s is just white noise at this point. It doesn’t make much of an impression. I think it’s time to aim higher: ignite Claridges or set a Fortnum and Mason ablaze. Maybe a burn down a John Lewis. Because if the goal is to make the rich and powerful sit up and take notice, you’re not going to do it by gutting a burger joint they don’t go to. You have to deprive them of the ability to buy fragranced tea-bags and fiddly little kitchen implements that only come in handy when you’re cooking a really specific brand of artisanal Burmese peach cobbler. You know- shit richos actually care about.

Make Friends with a Crow I feel like this one’s pretty self-explanatory, but in case you need me to list the incentives, they are 1) You’ll have a bro who can peck your enemies’ eyes out for you, 2) You’ll never be short of a nest and 3) Whenever your crow friend is around you’ll automatically look like 20% more of a badarse just by proximity. So yeah: befriend a crow. It’s not just a New Year’s Resolution, it’s the best decision you’ll ever make.

Find that One French Pharmacy With the Time Travel Drugs So, the last time I was in France on a family holiday, many years ago, my mother got a cold and went to the first chemists’ we could find. What she thought she was buying was a painkiller and flu-suppressant. As it turned out, it was an immensely powerful hallucinogen that made her see giant insects and fucked with her perception of time so thoroughly that to her it seemed like it was running backwards. Isn’t that a drug you want to try? I know I do, so let’s resolve here and now, you and I, to go on a magical odyssey to find the amazing French Abstract Time Dilation Drug and use it to bring the plot of the film Tenet kicking and screaming into reality!

Go on an Epic Quest for the Shimmering Sword of Cothroptar Okay, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but the dimensions are aligning and soon the realms of Checkor and Tarton will spill over from their respective realities and into our world. Earth shall become the battle-field of two mighty armies, equipped with hyperreal battle-scarves and heat-seeking throwing-sporrans. The only hope to win the war and bring peace and justice to the weft and weave of tactile other-space is to journey to the land of Cothroptar, which lies across the Sea of Singing Absinthe. There, you shall meet a triclops in a three-piece suit, who sees things all to clearly, and will have to best him in a contest to see who can write the dirtiest limerick. If you succeed, he will give you the Sword of Cothroptar, which can unite the Berbury Tribes and force a peace between Checkor and Tarton, thereby sparing Earth the ravages of another Great Fabric War. So, you should probably resolve to do that.

Re-Read that Last One Because it might take a couple of goes to sink in.

Make Love to Patrick Stewart Beneath a Starry Sky Look, I know it’s a daunting challenge, but it’s probably your last chance. He’s an old man, folks. He’s not going to stay compos mentis or continent for much longer, is he? I’d get in there while you still can.

Reinvent a Dive Bar I love the concept of a dive bar; absolute shit-holes where the strange, unsettling and menacingly surreal is allowed to happen simply because everyone inside is either weird themselves or too burnt-out to stop the weirdness. But I’ve always been slightly disappointed that you can’t actually dive in them. Thus, I give you perhaps the finest resolution on this list: I ask you to go forth and reinvent a dive bar… by flooding it. I don’t care if you do it one cup at a time or just connect a pump to the nearest swimming pool and a run a hose to the place- by the time you’re done, I want that shit-hole to be a swimming pool. A swimming pool where I can buy beer and where cocktail olives float past on their way to a better life.

Stop Reading this Before Your Fucking Brain Melts You know, I could probably keep adding more and more and more of these, but I’m going to stop now because if I don’t, I might actually kill one of you through sheer force of strangeness. Plus, I kind of need to go get a cuppa.

I don’t have a witty round-up paragraph, so instead allow me to leave you on the following soul-destroying, robotic note: END OF BLOG.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #new year #happy new year #new years resolutions

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