#my love for jacksonville is ENDLESS

[elialys]

“What we did to you…you found a way to protect yourself. You channeled your fear into anger, which is why you’re so good at your job. But if you want to save those people, you have to find your way back to that scared little girl.” Even as she stands there, heart thumping beneath her ribs, fingertips tingling with the adrenaline that flooded her blood at her rush of outrage, Olivia knows this is a lost cause. Because he’s right. For as long as she can remember, she’s always channeled her fears into anger—even as a nine-year-old, shooting a gun at another grown man who’d abused her instead of protecting her.

living my best life i tell you

#still writing this for me and my 3 readers #my love for jacksonville is ENDLESS #not to say favorite fringe episode but favorite fringe episode #trying to do it justice in this chapter is almost blasphemous but ah well #i get to write lots of olivia angsty introspection im having a great time #am i planning on olivia being a lot harsher on walter about this in the following chapter? yes i am #like sorry but fuck anyone who thinks they can abuse children in any way #i love walter to death but he did get off easy #excerpt #writing

[wolfnanaki]

Nanaki's Late Night Thoughts (2/11/2023)

Ramblings of a trans wolf girl late at night.

When it’s coming to an end, Then why hold back? Why save it for yourself When you have so much to tell?

What is it going to take for me to do the things I actually want to do in my life? I have this weird habit of trying to make everything “just right” before I do anything, and yet it never happens. I have so many story ideas floating around in my head, playing out in my thoughts like an endless movie, and yet I can’t bring these stories to the one format I’m good at producing. I’ll have all these ideas, go home, sit in front of my computer with Word open, and then do nothing. More cycling through YouTube, talking to friends on Discord, browsing Twitter, burning through my finite time in this world instead of following my dreams.

Mom keeps pushing me into getting a Human Resources position because she believes my experience and skills are perfect for the job. She even went as far as to enroll me in a HR certification course, which I succeeded at and got my certificate. But still, I don’t feel like it’s the right job for me, I can’t see myself doing it as a career in five, ten years. I promised myself as a kid I wouldn’t allow myself to waste away at a dull office desk job, that my life would have some fucking MEANING, that I’d reach for the stars and follow my dreams.

I’m enslaved by impulses. Even now as I type this, I had to stop myself from reaching for my phone to play a mobile game. I have to look away from Twitter and other social media platforms that hit my brain in just the right ways that ensure I’m always on them. Looking at and sharing other people’s thoughts is a hell of a lot easier than sharing your own. And there’s always a hot new topic for you to dabble in, just peeking out from the “Trending” tab on the side. Want to see how many people you thought you could trust and respect still follow J.K. Rowling? Want to watch another manmade horror happen live? Want to get swallowed up in stupid debates with loser bitches whose primary goal is to make you upset and haven’t evolved their worldview since they hit puberty? Welcome to Twitter, stay a while and suffer. I’m almost glad Elon Musk is burning it to the ground, though I wonder where all the worst people in the world will go once their stomping grounds are gone.

It’s too late now anyway, So when you feel you have something to say, Why save it for yourself? Don't let those you love get away.

A few minutes before I started writing this, when I went downstairs to make myself a sandwich, I felt my foot bump into something on the floor in the darkness. It was my dog’s chew toy. It’s always in our walking path at night for some reason, and I always move it out of the way because I worry that one day, mom isn’t going to see it and will trip over it. When I started toasting my bread, the toaster started smoking, and I turned it off to look inside. My older brother has a habit of toasting a sandwich for himself every night, and he uses the toaster to reheat leftover pizza too. Whichever the case may be, there’s now a hardened black blob of cheese at the bottom part of the toaster that’s supposed to cook the food. I hope he recognizes his mistake and fixes it, otherwise I’ll have to do it for him.

Ever since I lost my job, I’ve noticed little things like that around the house, but especially in the kitchen. No matter how much you sweep, no matter how many hours you devote to cleaning the place, there’s always something dirty to it. You always feel crumbs under your toes. It makes the whole process feel pointless. I don’t get why mom puts so much effort into cleaning it when it’s always dirty anyway. Maybe one day it can be clean for real, probably the day we move out and spruce this place up.

Mom wants to move up to Jacksonville – or at least near it – since my youngest brother and his girlfriend just moved there. I’m surprised at the trajectory of my brother’s life. He traveled the world, taught English in China, started online businesses for selling tat and books, started dating a girl, and now they’ve moved in together. His girlfriend has a daughter who happily calls my brother her dad. He's 28. I’m 32 and I haven’t even been on a date. But it’s hard to compare myself with him in that way; he’s always been comfortable with who he is and how he presents himself, whereas I’m a trans woman trying to find her body, her comfort and her happiness. I don’t think I can truly open up with a romantic partner if I don’t know for sure how they’ll take me being trans, especially considering the way I look right now. I can’t “pass” the way I am, I haven’t done much vocal training, and I live in an anti-trans state. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying to live as my most authentic self.

Authenticity – my job, my gender identity, my dreams, my personality. It’s all exhausting but it’s a journey I must face head-on. If I don’t define myself for myself, it’ll be other people who define me for me. And I’ve given years of my life to other people who didn’t have my best interests at heart, who used and discarded me. That’s not who I want to be. Maybe that’s why I’m so hesitant to settle into a Human Resources career. I don’t want to live a life as another person’s lackey. And I don’t dream of labor. I just want to write my stories and life as my true self for the world to see.

And this time there won’t be another day, And now I know This is the only way. And when we go...

Back in December, I listened to a song. It’s called “Constellations,” performed by Dabu and sung by Brigitte Naggar, composed for the soundtrack for an upcoming indie game called Goodbye Volcano High. The game’s story is about anthropomorphic dinosaur teenagers in their senior year of high school having their lives being interrupted with the revelation that a comet is on its way to strike the planet and wipe out the dinosaurs. The player character is a nonbinary pterodactyl named Fang, who must figure out what they’re going to do with their remaining time. The game is billed as “the end of an era and the beginning of a love story.”

The song “Constellations” hit hard for me; its lyrics encapsulated so many of my feelings, trans and otherwise. It’s a beautiful and heartfelt song, but when I listened to it in full for the first time in full that cold night, I couldn’t handle all those feelings at once. I was overwhelmed. I was a sobbing mess for ten minutes. It hurt, but it was also cathartic in a way. I shared those feelings that night in posts, not for attention or anything, but because I desperately needed to share them in case they reach the eyes for someone else going through what I’m going through, and maybe it’ll help them knowing they’re not alone, that someone else has felt their feelings and is healing.

It was that night, influenced by the song’s lyrics, that I came up with a personal motto, one I have now posted on as many platforms that allows for it:

“When the world is ruled by hate, rebel with love.”

So many of our online interactions are defined by hate, outrage, disgust, contempt. No platform is truly safe from that influence because when we feel those feelings, they’re incredibly strong and we NEED to vent them. We spend our time arguing with each other over the most petty things, leave feeling miserable, and then prep ourselves for when we’ll do it all over again. And frankly, I realized that night that I don’t want to fall into that trap anymore. I want to live a life celebrating good, influenced by love and compassion. Because love is so much stronger than hate. Love yourself enough and you can overcome anything. Love strong enough and you can change the world. And when so much of our daily lives are defined by hate, showing true, honest love becomes a form of rebellion.

Right now, I have many parts of myself that paint me as a target for hate. I’m Jewish when antisemitism is on the rise, I’m a transgender woman when anti-trans bills are being passed across the USA, and being a furry, I’m part of a big, openly queer space that’s now also under attack by the political right. I am surrounded by hate, and if I’m not careful, hate will be my end. But that’s even more reason to love. I don’t plan on being a martyr or anything, but I let the hate and fear of other people control my life, then just like when I’m boymoding, I’m not living as my true self.

I’m a trans woman, I’m proud, I’m full of love, and I want to make the world a better place. Whatever dreams or achievements I accomplish before I’m gone, that’s one legacy I want to leave behind. And I hope my words reach people who need them, who find comfort in them, and who come to choose to live a life of compassion and love. We only get so much time in this world, let’s make it worthwhile.

You can see it in the constellations. It spells our legacy above. There was love, there will always be love.

#Nanaki's Thoughts

[iwasnotaslasher]

Yep, time to make a masterpost!

Links only to the fics and series in English, complete or in progress (no hiatus).

Vaniller (Joel Miller/Cobb Vanth from crossover The Last Of Us/The Mandalorian)

~ Until we collide again [multichapter 3/?: set right after Joel and Ellie leave Jacksonville. Before the Miller brothers part ways, Tommy gives Joel a radio to contact a trusted man who lives near the border with Colorado, just in case they would need help through their journey. His callsign is 'Marshal' and when they meet him Joel takes a look at him and already knows he’s fucked in so many ways. - rated E]

Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling from The Sandman TV show)

~ Curiosity killed the cat [multichapter 5/?: For some inexplicable reasons Morpheus keeps manifesting to Hob as a cat. In his journey to learn how to deal with a demanding Endless (and with his feelings for him), Hob will also learn how even a mere human can be as powerful as a god. - rated M]

DinCobb (Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth from Star Wars franchise)

~ Think I'll miss you forever (Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky) [multichapter 4/4: A/B/O where omega!Din and alpha!Cobb unexpectedly imprint each other and don't know how to deal with it - rated E]

~ The Ballad of the Marshall and the Bounty Hunter [series: A/B/O smut with feelings - rated E]

This is life [one-shot: post-S2E01 of 'The Mandalorian', back in Mos Pelgo omega!Cobb finds himself in a stress induced heat and alpha!Din offers to help him through it]

Break the silence (damn the dark, damn the light) [one-shot: post-S1E07 of 'The Book of Boba Fett', alpha!Din sees his omega!Cobb in the bakta tank and goes feral, they share the resulting rut]

Picture my face in your hands [multichapter 6/6: alpha!Din makes up his mind and starts courting omega!Cobb, only he doesn't know a kriff on how to court an omega, also is a bit of a problem they have to know each other for real before bonding happily ever after]

Stony (Steve Rogers/Tony Stark from MCU)

~ Je veux ton amour, et je veux ta revanche [short multichapter 2/2: post-Endgame fix-it with Superior Ironman, time travel and multiverse travel - rated E]

~ Hidden in plain sight [short one-shot: Tony is ranting about Steve with JARVIS, except there's not only JARVIS listening - rated M]

~ All flowers in time bend towards the sun [one-shot: Tony is half dryad and shows his feelings sprouting flowers from his hair, but no one can sees it except the people who truly love him - rated E]

SamBucky (Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes from MCU) 

~ Never give up (nothing comes easy) [one-shot: morning sex and intimacy between two soldiers still learning how to navigate their relationship - rated E]

LawRusso (Johnny Lawrence/Daniel LaRusso from Karate Kid franchise)

~ The one where Johnny finds out [one-shot: a funny, almost crack story heavily inspired by that FRIENDS episode where Ross and Rachel kiss for the first time - rated T]

Geraskier (Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier from The Witcher TV show)

~ His last dandelion [short one-shot: fairy tale style story with djinn!Jaskier and dragon!Geralt - rated T]

SuperBat (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne from DCUM)

~ Under the light of a thousand stars [one-shot: A/B/O where Bruce is the last one to find out Clark is an omega and also that some “misterious” alpha had imprinted him - rated E]

#fanfic masterpost #superbat #stony #geraskier #lawrusso #sambucky #dreamling #dincobb #vaniller

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for April 18, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 14:22-25(KJV): 22 Do they not err that devise evil? but mercy and truth shall be to them that devise good. 23 In all labor there is profit: but the talk of the lips tendeth only to penury. 24 The crown of the wise is their riches: but the foolishness of fools is folly. 25 A true witness delivereth souls: but a deceitful witness speaketh lies.

Thought for the Day

Verse 22 - Evildoers bring evil on themselves, but the Lord shows loving-kindness to those who are good to others. As we have seen in other lessons, Jesus "went about doing good" (Acts 10:38). Good works flow out of our relationship with God. The more we know Him, the more we love Him and allow His Spirit to change us. This enables us to do more good works, followed by more of His mercy and truth, and so on; an endless cycle of blessing!

Verse 23 - The principle of sowing and reaping is easily seen in the area of work. Those who work hard will have a profit for their labor. Those who waste their time will end up in poverty. I have known people who talked about certain things they wanted to do, but because they did not invest the time and work needed, they never accomplished their desires. They were talkers, not doers. I hear many Christians talk about increasing their prayer life, but most never seem to do it. I have failed in this area myself. I remember a time when I was going through many difficult trials and facing new problems daily. The Lord spoke something to my spirit that I have never forgotten, He said: "If you prayed about your problems as much as you talk about your problems, you would not even have the problems." We must diligently work at maintaining a healthy prayer life; it does not come easily.

Verse 24 - This verse speaks of the wise as wearing a crown of riches. A wise man's wealth is his wisdom. We are rich indeed when we have the wisdom of God. With His wisdom, nothing is impossible to us. We noted in Day 1 that wisdom is the ability to discern the soundest course of action in a situation. This is a true gift, a priceless "crown of riches;" for wise decisions lead to abundant life (John 10:10).

Verse 25 - Those who speak the truth can save lives. This can happen in court cases; the charge against an innocent person can be dropped because of the truthful testimony of a witness. A faithful witness is also one who shares the truth about Jesus with others. The Bible itself is a faithful witness of Christ (John 5:39); its truths can save people. A deceitful witness, whether in a courthouse or preaching a false doctrine, endangers others. Spreading lies has destroyed many people. We should not believe everything we hear, but bring all things to God in prayer and measure them against His Word. Jesus Himself is the truth (John 14:6); we can trust Him to let us know what is truth and what is a lie.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, I am thankful for Your mercy and truth each day. Thank you for forgiving me and being patient with me when I fail You. I ask for the desire to be more diligent in my prayer life. I need help in my own life, and I also need the burden to pray for others who need Your help. Likewise, I lift my brothers and sisters in the Lord and ask that You minister to each of them in the area of their lives where they have the greatest need. Encourage those who are weary, give faith to those who are losing hope, grant strength to the weak, and health to the sick. Bless all of Your children and keep us all from evil. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Wednesday, April 17, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 GROUP: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

[koalaleathers]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 10Kt White Gold 1/4 Carat t.w. Cross Pendant & 18" Necklace.

[itbeabbyc]

Orlando Entertainment Culture

When you are looking for a new place to live, with endless varieties of entertainment and culture, what kind of things do you look for? For me, I look for activities, food, drinks, festivals, and music.  Growing up on Long Island, and right outside of New York City, I was fully surrounded by all of the culture and entertainment I could possibly imagine.  But, after living there for the first 20 years of my life, I decided to make the hard choice of leaving my comfort zone, and moving to a new place. Since it was my first move though, I wanted to go somewhere where I could still feel a sense of community and familiarity.  Orlando, Florida has been a second home to me my entire childhood, as I grew up going to Disney World multiple times every single year.  So, this felt like the perfect opportunity to have my first big move to a new city with a new culture.

Orlando is a really amazing and unique place when it comes to culture. You have all of those aspects of culture and entertainment that most larger cities have, with a huge added layer. Orlando’s theme parks like Walt Disney World and Universal Studios were a huge draw for me when I made the decision to come here. I love the theme parks, and knew working at the parks would be a fun opportunity for me as an entertainment management major. I found that the theme parks brought such a different cultural experience than many other places I’ve been. There is a huge community just within the theme parks and there are endless things to explore within each park.

My favorite aspect of the theme parks is their festivals throughout the whole year. Each park has their own festivals full of food, drinks, theming, and entertainment during each season. As someone who loves EPCOT(and works there), my totally biased opinion is that they have the best festivals. I think they have the perfect combination of live entertainment and special offerings that I usually can’t even completely see throughout the whole festival. I love the focus EPCOT has on culture and how they incorporate that into every single thing they do. With their Flower & Garden festival or Food and Wine Festival, you can try new foods from different cultures while also experiencing live concerts and performances around the park from local artists and more well-known artists.

While I have explored the theme park culture thoroughly, I feel like I need to explore more areas of Orlando. There is so much to see and do in Central Florida. Something else that I love about this area is the cruise industry. Living in Central Florida is amazing because you are 45 minutes away from both coasts that have beautiful beaches and cruise ports that make it super easy to travel. The best part about living in Orlando is the array of opportunities I can have, as far as my future career goes.  With such an immense entertainment industry with such variety, I feel like I have so many options once I graduate and I have a lot of peace of mind when it comes to that.  

If there was one thing I could improve about the Orlando entertainment culture, it would be the music scene.  There are concerts and a lot of smaller venues, but as someone who sees a lot of bigger artists, I think we could use a midsize arena or amphitheater.  With many artists only going to Tampa, Jacksonville, or Miami, I find myself always traveling to shows that I want to see.  I would much rather be able to drive 15-20 minutes to my shows, and Orlando could become a bigger hotspot for more famous artists.

As the time goes on and I am about to graduate, I find myself looking for what is next.  Where could I possibly have my next big adventure and learn about a new culture in a new place.  My best friend just recently moved to Nashville, Tennessee, and I have been considering moving there for a while now.  If I want to work in the music industry, Nashville would be an absolutely amazing place to be.  Each little area surrounding Nashville has its own scene and culture, and the more you explore it the more you realize it isn’t just for country music lovers.  It is so hard to even think about leaving this amazing city that I have called home for the past two years, but it also excites me to think about learning about a completely new place as I start this crazy new chapter in my life.

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Fever {1}

Series Masterlist

A/N: I rewatched the movies and had an overwhelming need to write the story in ways that I would have liked to see it play out. I am a firm Team Jacob and will be for this fic, there will be Edward bashing. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

In regards to the wolves, I will be leaning more into the werewolf/shapeshifter mythology, rather than the Quileute storyline that Meyer wrote, I don’t feel that I would do their stories justice, and also just don't like the way Meyer handled any part of their story so I will just be playing with Meyer’s characters. If you’re interested in the Quileute histories or able to donate to their school relocation to help them move their school to higher ground, I’ve included some websites.

Quileute Nation Website: https://quileutenation.org/

Truth vs. Twilight: https://www.burkemuseum.org/static/truth_vs_twilight/facts-01.html

Move to Higher Ground Tribal School Relocation: mthg.org

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Abandonment

Summary: Starting in New Moon, what would have happened if Jacob imprinted on Bella? What if she would have chosen him after Edward left? What if she went to therapy?

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,049

I was cold, so fucking cold. And empty, I was empty. The trees overhead were swallowing me as the sun sank. He was gone, I was alone, he just left. He never loved me, I was just a momentary amusement. Cold was seeping into my bones as I lay on the forest floor, waiting for the sky to turn black and for the night to consume me. Rain started, it was cold.The rain started mingling with the warm tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

My world is not for you. I don’t want you to come with me. This will be the last time you see me. Goodbye, Bella. An endless loop of his voice repeated these statements in my mind. It wouldn’t stop, I just wanted it to stop. Then a voice interrupted me, “Isabella Swan? Have you been hurt? Did he hurt you?” Then warmth surrounded me.

“He’s gone, he left. I’m alone.” I groaned, burrowing into the warmth, but it wasn’t enough warmth. I needed more. He kept walking until we broke the tree line and he called out to a swarm of people. “I’ve got her!”

Charlie was yelling my name. “Bella?!” I felt his hands on my face. “I can take her.”

“Charlie?” I whimpered.

“I’m right here, baby, I’m here.” Charlie’s voice soothed.

“Charlie, I can bring her inside.” The voice murmured.

“Please, Sam, let me take her.”Sam, so that was the disembodied voice’s name. I whined as I was passed away from the warmth and into Charlie’s arms.

“I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you.” Charlie murmured, I could hear him puff his breath as we entered the house, he set me down gingerly on the couch. “Sam, blankets are at the top of the stairs, in the cupboard. Doc’s gonna check you out okay?” He asked, brushing hair out of my face, my fingers still shaking. I felt a blanket set on my shoulders, I pulled it close as Dr. Gerandy walked into my line of sight.

“Hello, Miss Swan. I’m here to do a quick check up. Just make sure you’re okay. Do you know where you are?”

“Home.” I mumbled.

“Do you know who is here?” He asked, flashing a light in my eyes.

“Charlie, Sam, and you, Dr. Gerandy.” I answered.

He smiled. “And what happened in the woods? Are you hurt?” He placed his hand on my forehead.

“I…I tried to follow after him. He just left, he doesn’t want me anymore. I’m nothing.” I mumbled.

“Bella, baby, did Edward Cullen do this?” Charlie asked, kneeling down next to me.

“He left, he’s gone. I’m alone.” Then the tears started and I couldn’t hold them back. Charlie’s arms wrapped awkwardly around my shoulders as I leaned into him.

“I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow, Charlie. I don’t see any physical injuries.” I heard Dr. Gerandy murmur before seeing himself out of the room.

“Bells, I have to let everyone know you’re okay and send them home. I’ll be right back.” Charlie murmured into my hair. I clenched my hands into his shirt for a moment, before releasing him.

I heard him call out of the house, saying his thanks and dismissing the group. As his footsteps fell on the floor the phone started to ring. He grumbled and padded into the kitchen, having the same hushed conversation with the callers. There was a pause in ringing for a minute before it began again. Charlie let out a large sigh before answering.

“Hello.” He greeted curtly. “Where? Outside the reservation? I’ll check on it, thanks.”

The phone hung up and he was dialing again. “Hey, Billy. No, she’s fine. Sleeping on the couch. Thanks for sending the boys. Look, I’ve got reports of fires on the cliffs.......Yeah, okay, and why are they doing that?” His voice was weary. “Really? Just make sure it doesn’t spread, I can’t leave her alone.....Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up the phone then sighed. He padded around the kitchen, I heard dishes being placed in the sink before his footsteps grew closer and I heard him drop into his recliner.

“What’s going on?” I asked, his head jolted towards me. He started to stand. “Charlie, I’m okay. What’s happening, I heard you talking about fires.”

He sighed, “Just some bonfires on the cliffs. Some of the kids in La Push being rowdy.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

His eyes met mine, “They’re celebrating.”

My brow furrowed for a moment, “They’re celebrating the Cullens leaving.” I murmured.

Charlie nodded, and sat back in his chair. He was staring at the wall, his mind somewhere else. “Bella?” He asked, in a gentle tone I don’t know if I had heard since I was small. I glanced over at him. “He left you alone, in the woods?”

I remained silent, not sure what to say. He left me, alone. And in the woods, that much was the truth. “How did you find me?”

“Your note, you left it on the table. Said you went for a walk with Edward.” Charlie murmured, worrying a piece of paper in his hand. “Then you didn’t come back. I called their house, no one answered. I called Alice, nothing. So, I called the hospital. Doc told me that Carlisle resigned.”

I closed my eyes, as tears were starting to form again. How did I still have tears left to cry? “Where did they go?”

Charlie balked, I hadn’t meant to say that. “Doc said that Carlisle took a job in Los Angeles, some big hospital, very lucrative opportunity. Didn’t Edward tell you.”

I let out a wry laugh, Los Angeles, the last place a coven of vampires would relocate to.

“Bella, I need to know, did Edward leave you alone in the woods?”

I took a breath and stared up at the ceiling. “I tried to follow him, I was on the path. Then it was dark and I wasn’t on the path anymore. I tripped. Then I heard Sam.” A sob tore through my body.

“Oh, baby, it’s alright.” I heard Charlie rise from his chair and kneel by the couch. I rolled to my side and haphazardly wrapped my arms around him. “You’ll get through this. It won’t be easy, but you will be okay.”

“Dad...” I started, my voice was so weak and I felt his arms tighten around me.

“It’s okay, Bells. I’m here.” He was rubbing small circles on my back as tears continued flowing, at some point they had to stop. They had to. I don’t know how long we stayed like that before he pulled back. “Let’s get you to bed, you can stay home tomorrow. Alright?”

I nodded, he held out his hand to help me off the couch. I walked up the stairs to my room, giving him a small good night before entering my room. I glanced at the window, expecting his shadow to darken it. I did a small turn as I looked around my room, he had left the note. That much, I knew. Which meant, he had been in the house. I opened the CD player on my dresser. It was empty. It will be as if I never existed. “No, no.” I picked up the scrapbook from Renèe, the pages that I had filled were dotted with empty frames. I felt my breathing start to shallow and I sat on my bed. The window still closed, he was gone. He didn’t want me. I sunk into the covers as the dam broke and I was swallowed whole by the tides.

I never really understood what people meant when they talked about going through the motions, at least, not until now. Six months had passed since he left. I didn’t even feel like those months existed, my only proof was the constant changing of the calendar. It was January now, that much I knew, if you asked me for the actual day, I wouldn’t have that answer. I sighed and pulled on an outfit, that Alice would be disappointed in. Maybe my poor fashion choices would summon her here. I let out a laugh and walked down the stairs for breakfast.

I sat down at the table with my usual cereal, Dad nursing his morning coffee. The circles under his eyes dark and deep. I knew those were my fault. Months of sleepless nights had worn on him, I wish I could let him sleep. I wish both of us could sleep. Silence fell in the little kitchen, silence had become common in the house.

But this morning was different, Dad’s fist hit the table. “Bella, I don’t know what to do. Something has to change, or I’m sending you to Florida with your mom.” Dad stated, a shake in his voice.

“I am home.” I snapped back, glancing up into his eyes.

“I’m sending you back, to Renèe, in Jacksonville. I...Bella...I can’t let you live like this. You don’t do anything, you just walk through the motions. I can’t let you go on like this. You can’t... Bella.”

“Dad, please, don’t.” I started, the thought of being sent back to Renèe had my heart pounding, for the first time in months I felt like I had an indicator that I was alive. “Please, I can do better.”

He sighed, “I know, Bella, but I have to do something. Bells, you’re wasting away, you’re falling behind in school, you don’t leave your room. I can’t even say you’re moping because you don’t emote enough for it to be considered moping. Dr. Gerandy recommended a therapist from Port Angeles, thought you might like her.”

I chewed on my thumbnail, being presented with the possibility of being shipped back to Renèe jostled me out of my stupor for a moment. I couldn’t go back to her, I couldn’t take care of myself, how was I supposed to take care of her again? And Phil was hurt again, so he’d be another added to my list. “A therapist might not be a bad idea.” I mumbled.

Dad’s eyes widened. “I can call, see when she has an opening. Get an appointment booked.”

I nodded, still chewing on my thumbnail.

“Bells?” He asked tentatively.

I glanced up from the table. “Dad?”

“You’re not the first to go through this kind of thing. I….” He trailed off. “I had a hard time when your mom left. I was in a bad place. It took me time, but I got through it.” He paused again, he glanced down at his coffee and took a long sip before speaking again. “You can’t waste your life waiting for him to come back. I think if I had seen someone, maybe I would have been able to get better sooner.” There was something else he was thinking, but he kept it to himself.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I mumbled.

His eyes shot over to me, and he sat up to reach across the table to place his hand over mine. “Bella, you have nothing to be sorry about. I am sorry, that I didn’t get you help sooner. And I’m sorry that I threatened to send you back to Renèe, I’m worried about you, kid.”

“I know, let me know when you get an appointment.” I said, giving him a weak smile before standing from the table. “I’ve got to get to school, see you when I get home.”

He nodded, and took another sip of his coffee as I left the kitchen. “Love you.” I heard him whisper as I left the door. Another small smile spread across my lips and I climbed into my truck. I pulled into my parking space and took a deep breath. The past few months I had been a ghost, I wonder if they’re real too….. I shook my head and stared at Forks High. There were no shiny Volvos parked at the side with a family of too perfect teenagers grouped at the entrance. No van barreling at me. Just a bunch of normal, human teenagers walking to their first class. I joined them, but I knew I was far from a normal human teenager, but just maybe, I would get closer than I was now.

#twilight fic #new moon fic #jacob/bella #jacob black/bella swan #team jacob #jacob black #fever #the twilight saga #bella swan

[coreymichaelsmithson]

The Lights of Treasure Island

For the past few years, I've been living on a barrier island named Anastasia. A sandy, sleepy, slow place, just off the coast of our nation's oldest city, Anastasia Island features tall palm trees and gorgeous beaches, along with excellent sushi and a surprisingly active arts scene. Its most splendid attraction, though, is an old lighthouse, one striped with a black and white spiral and crowned by a bright red lamphouse. It towers commandingly over the dunes, casting a long beam that can be seen from nearly anywhere in town.

I've always liked lighthouses. In days of old we set these magnificent lanterns on the edge of the sea, to guide sailors through dark and treacherous waters, to show them the way home. Lighthouses represent so many things we need: safety, comfort, reliability, navigation. But in my mind, these structures hold the magic of candles, the magic of illumination itself. When we speak of enlightenment, we may be speaking specifically of rationality and discovery, but we are also conjuring images of light prevailing over darkness. And in this way the lighthouse emerges as a powerful symbol of the spirit.  

This February, for my 47th birthday, I explored the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I saw several amazing lighthouses. Impressive as they were, I did not think they quite compared with the singular majesty of the structure that stands on Anastasia Island. After a harrowing return journey, one in which I drove with no working alternator (and sometimes without headlights or windshield wipers) through nearly 700 miles of tornadic thunderstorms, I felt the most profound relief when I finally crested the peak of the SR-312 bridge, which connects my island to the mainland, and I saw those familiar black and white stripes in the distance, signaling that I had made it home. Less than half a year later, my feelings about this special lighthouse of mine would be forever changed by a chance encounter.

Just under two months ago, I received a brief and rather unremarkable message from a stranger on Scruff, a queer dating platform that I use. One might charitably call Scruff "a social club for discerning gentlemen" ... it appeals to men who are hirsute, meaty, perpetually horny, and even a few of us freaks who defiantly straddle the line between "butch" and "nancy". Since this man's profile didn't really offer all that much information, and his one available picture wasn't particularly compelling, I promptly tucked his message away and forgot about it, and went for my customary sunset walk on the beach.

I live exactly one mile from the southern boundary of a state park, which offers a four-mile stretch of pristine dune habitat, completely undeveloped and sparsely occupied. The only man-made objects in sight are a few empty lifeguard stands, the city's sightseeing pier, a radio antennae, and our lighthouse. Dolphins gather here, their dorsal fins rising and falling between the breakers. Squadrons of pelicans fly in tight formations, gliding only a few feet above the water's surface. Terns and sea turtles nest in its sands, and I've found many shark teeth among the sea shells and ghost crab burrows. This is a special place, a holy place, and I've made a daily ritual of enjoying its cloudscapes and crepuscular glow as I explore the edge between land and sea.

After a pleasant stroll, maybe an hour or so of blissful meditation, I turned around and started heading back towards my car when I caught sight of a man who had just walked out of the water and was now drying himself off. We locked eyes.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Arrestingly beautiful, the kind of handsome that stops you dead in your tracks. I just kind of gulped for a second, and then walked right up to him, with an audacity that I didn't even know I possessed, turned on every damn bulb in my Christmas tree, and murmured, "Hi!", making the word shimmer like tinsel. In a short amount of time, I learned that he was a Russian artist, born in St. Petersburg but living in Moscow. I had met him during a brief pause on his long drive from Jacksonville to Key West; he had only intended on stopping in St. Augustine long enough to explore our old Spanish fort and take a swim on our nicest beach. He possessed a keen intellect, a quick wit, and a laudable command of English. As we spoke, he kept giving me flashes of the most mischievous smile, and so when I finally asked him what he was grinning about, he revealed that he was the same man who had messaged me earlier. This came as a surprise, for I hadn't recognized him at all ... I had only been drawn in now by his gorgeous movie-star looks, the undeniable sex appeal of his dripping wet body, and some weird sense of destiny.

We talked. We talked some more. We went to dinner. And then he stayed for the better part of three days.

In my bed, we enjoyed the most astonishing kind of communion. Our nights and mornings were filled with such tenderness ... soft eyes, soft caresses, fearlessly sustained gazes, the kind of kisses that tell a hundred little stories. One by one, various secrets were brought to light. We shared toe-curling carnality, thunderous climaxes, an unalloyed and unembarrassed intimacy. We shared joy.

On our second day together, I took him to the top of Anastasia Island's lighthouse. We lingered on each landing to kiss and giggle, and our embraces grew more intense. We felt a stronger and stronger pull towards one another. I knew that this was more than just a simple infatuation. By the time we reached the lantern's round balcony, and stepped out together onto the most spectacular view of St. Augustine, I knew that I was falling in love.

I don't blame you for rolling your eyes at this. You may, in your justifiable cynicism, think it ridiculous for a man to utter such a powerful phrase within such a short time. But if you've ever known me, you've come to recognize by now my considerable capacity for love. My passions and appetites may rise to the surface with little interference, and will I admit some recklessness in how I've invested my energies, but I am no fool. I am neither naïve nor desperate. And I can say in all sincerity that what we felt then was, at least for a short while, genuine love.

From the top of the lighthouse we could see everything. The old downtown, with its mixture of colonial and Spanish Renaissance buildings. The Matanzas River, named for the 1565 massacre of shipwrecked Huguenots, separating my island from the mainland. The harbor of St. Augustine, crowded with sailboats and pleasure craft, a forest of masts. And then the sea, blue and inviting, the sea that would soon separate us. We held each other tightly and looked upon the Atlantic together, casting our dreams towards the horizon, into this vista of seemingly endless possibility and hope.

On our last night together, we took a naked midnight swim in my pool, which is lit from above by a row of blue lights. A light and warm rain fell on our heads as we twined our legs underwater, and our ardor cast a web of rippling refractive patterns on the pool's concrete bottom. He looked me in the eyes, kissed me with the utmost gentleness, and formally invited me to come stay with him in Moscow. I accepted with my new magic word, "Да."

The following morning, our parting was so sweet, and so warm. We solidified our promise to be reunited. He drove down to Key West, enjoying a music playlist I assembled for him, and then he flew up to New York for a week's visit with old friends. After he returned to Moscow, we embarked on a passionate long-distance affair via telephone and social media apps.

I plunged right away into the Russian language, practicing for hours a day, rediscovering my knack for linguistics. I bought books on the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, books on Russian verbs, flashcards, a portable dictionary. I subscribed to online learning programs, put apps on my phone, read up on the country's history. I was all in, bringing every available bit of my enthusiasm, work ethic, and inventiveness to the challenge. Every day, I would send him sweet little videos or text messages ... sharing good news, conveying small but significant events of my daily life, showing off my rapidly accelerating grasp of Russian. I sent him notes of encouragement, pictures of me looking my cutest, small but enjoyable details of my life on Anastasia Island. I sent him a short clip of the black skimmers that sliced back and forth across the thin swash of the surf, their beaks dipping into half an inch of water. I sent him pelicans, beach crabs, waves, paintings, difficult words, idioms, cute terms of venery, sunsets, clouds, kisses, evidence of my changing body. I sent him love, every day. "каждый день," I promised him, placing my hand on my heart, "каждый день." Every day.

My love deepened by the hour. I know this is going to sound so gushy and gross, but I really pushed the lighthouse metaphor pretty hard, calling myself "твой смотритель маяка" or "your lighthouse keeper". I meant this in all sincerity, without a drop of bathos or schmaltz. Our time atop the lighthouse was sacred to me. I promised him that I would keep its light burning bright.

Over time, however, things shifted. As my interest grew, his began to dwindle. He sent less and less of himself, slowly removing from our conversation his humor, his sexuality, his warmth, his trust. It was like seeing a fully assembled jigsaw puzzle get lifted into the air, and watching all the pieces falling out ... at first only a few at a time, then more and more, until there was only a jagged perimeter where there had once been a lovely picture.

The nadir came when he lost his temper with me over my visa. I was confused about the process, as the Russian consulate and other sources were providing patchy and often conflicting information, and his own explanations changed from day to day. During our last video chat, I asked one too many questions, and he snapped. He rolled his eyes, effectively called me stupid and childish, and hung up on me three times. My many attempts at reconciliation were completely rebuffed. It was both baffling and extraordinarily painful.

Two days after our fight he was in a terrible car accident, one from which he miraculously escaped unharmed. He posted on social media an impassioned paragraph about the event, and how it drew into sharp focus all the love he had in his life, how he felt that he wasn't deserving of such love, how grateful he was for his friends. Yet instead of contacting me, inviting me into this experience, or trying to repair our frayed connection, he spent his evenings logging back into Scruff, the aforementioned dating app. He continued to ignore me, choosing instead to pursue (or perhaps refresh) other opportunities. I tried in vain to reach him, to restore our bond, but was met with only the most chilling silence.

How had I been so wrong? Had my desire devolved into mere obsession, albeit one artfully disguised as love? Had my zeal somehow suffocated him? The irony for me was that this disastrous affair unfolded during a period of rapid and positive transformation. In the space of the last seven months, I'd already changed my diet, fixed my teeth, joined a gym, paid off a chunk of my debt, reorganized my home office, purchased a standing desk, resumed my daily beach walks, started seeing both a psychiatrist and a therapist. My relationship to my body was improving, I was working at a higher level of professional responsibility, gaining new clients, writing my fourth novel, and churning out the finest paintings of my career. A recent experience with ayahuasca had given me valuable insights into my adulthood. It seemed only right that this Russian should be the cherry on my sundae, a prize I had been working so hard to deserve.

And so, after admitting my own disenchantment, I surrendered. Reeling from an overwhelming feeling of loss, I wrote him a heartfelt letter in Russian, one in which I explained the hurt his indifference was causing me. I poured a lot of benevolent energy into this letter. And then I said to him the saddest word I've learned in Russian, "Прощай", which is the type of goodbye you use when you think you are not likely to see someone again. It translates, literally, into "forgive me."

Here is the letter I wrote to him, translated into English:

***

"V_____, beautiful V____:

Okay. I give up.

Your silence gave me a very clear and very painful answer. You have been entrusted with something rare and beautiful, and you have shown that you do not want it. So now it's gone.

I'm sorry my heart bored you so much. I will no longer annoy you with my desires.

The love that I offered you ... pure and strong, given without demands or jealous limitations ... does not come often.

It pains me to realize that you do not appreciate what I have tried to give you. It is even more painful to realize that I may have aggravated the situation with my zeal. But the distance that you put between us is your choice, and I must respect that.

It seems that the epiphany you experienced in the car accident, the moment you thought of all the love in your life, did not include my love for you. Your priorities are yours, and I accept that. But you almost died yesterday, V_____. And instead of choosing to bond with a man who cares about you so much, your focus shifted to Scruff. Your indifference is so obvious now. Please do not say anything ugly or cruel in response. There is already enough sorrow on my island. I feel both grief and embarrassment, but not anger. I've always wanted the best for you, and it's still true.

I sincerely wish you a long and happy journey. I hope you enjoy many successes and find many pleasures. I hope you stay healthy. I hope the man you choose deserves your best gifts. I hope you find a better lighthouse. I must direct my light now to those who are really looking for it. So now I must tell you the saddest word that I have learned in your language.

Goodbye."

***

Please allow me now to rewind a few years, and tell a correlative story.

In the autumn of 2019, during a period of intense sadness and frustration, I fled from Anastasia Island and drove impulsively across the state to the Gulf Coast. I didn't have a clear destination, I didn't pack enough clothes or supplies, and I was so blinded with tears and unexpressed rage that I didn't know where I was, or even care much about where I might land. While getting lost somewhere in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, I glanced at a map, dragged my finger along the squiggly coastline, saw the name Treasure Island, and thought, "That's gotta be the place."

I don't know what I was expecting to find there. Something about the name sounded so exciting, so exotic. And as the evening wore on, my anticipation grew. I thought, in my desperation, that everything would be all right once I got to Treasure Island. Over the next few hours, I convinced myself that I'd finally feel good again in such a place, that my pain and confusion would certainly evaporate once I reached this safe haven. I'd check into a nice hotel room, preferably one with 300 thread-count sheets and a coffee maker, and I'd dream about pirate ships and gold doubloons, and when I opened my eyes and yawned and stretched against the sun-dappled pillows my life would basically feel like a commercial for some bougie brand of almond milk. When I arrived, however, I was deeply disappointed to see another narrow stretch of high-rise hotels, littered beaches, rank seaweed, and greyish-brown water. I found the cheapest hotel room around, one of the few remaining vacancies on the shore, and there I found neither crisp bedsheets nor good coffee. The view from my balcony, however, was utterly amazing: I could see not only a broad curving swath of the beach, but also a glow of distant resort hotels, some of them reflected in the waves. It was strangely romantic, seeing these twinkling lights ... red, gold, green, blue ... and their silent conversation with the stars, a dialogue of jewels above the warm churning waters of the Gulf. But it wasn't the salvation I had been hoping for.

When I got up the next morning, I was still facing the same problems, the same irritations, the same heavy sorrows. Treasure Island would not, could not, rescue me from myself. So I drove back home to my own island, back to my lighthouse, and was relieved to discover that it was in fact even more stirring than I had remembered. During my absence Anastasia Island had become a magical and restorative place, quite different than the one I had left only days before.

What I should have learned back then, but have only come to realize now, was this: I didn't need to travel to a distant island of treasure and twinkling stars, for my own island already had plenty of both. I didn't need to seek the incandescence of a handsome man to light my way, as my own inner flame was at last beginning to shine without the shutters of inhibition or profligacy.

I am now recalling my disappointment with Treasure Island, while concurrently considering my grief over the Russian. At first, I wanted to hate him for his carelessness, for how he squandered my gifts. But I don't hate him. Not really. There's no need to wring my hands any further over his callousness. I don't even mourn his absence anymore. My mood has shifted today, and I no longer choose to see this abortive liaison as being so devastating. For I know, deep down, that the failure here was not really mine. I am not a loser for investing myself unreservedly in someone who could not fully appreciate me, nor I am not the weaker man for feeling injured. I will not be permanently depleted for having offered all that kindness to an undeserving recipient, as my wellspring of love remains inexhaustible.

I tried to share my lighthouse with the Russian. But he did not recognize how special it really was, and he declined to follow its beacon to a rewarding harbor. And thus, our romance was destroyed, and his memory became just another broken boat littering the shallows.

I have seen so many ruins in my years: bad relationships, lousy jobs, soured opportunities. My life story reads like a ledger of dashed hopes. It seems sometimes that both the island I occupy and the more elusive island I am eternally seeking are surrounded by shipwrecks. Yet the lighthouse of my spirit still stands, sturdier and stronger than ever. The waves may batter its bricks, salt may scour its surfaces, it may occasionally groan under its own weight ... but it will not crumble, it will not fail, and even in the darkest of hours this lamp of mine will continue to shine: bright, focused, undiminished.

[uchiha-destiny]

Let me know if you like this and I'll continue the story! (:

Writing Prompt: You are a serial killer who hunts other serial killers, not out of nobility, but because you love the thrill of outsmarting them.

Hunt Number 23

 • Chapter One

Another news story flashes on the television screen, "Another young girl found dead in Louisiana swamp land last week. 6th body found this year. Identified as recent missing persons Adalaide Montgomery" I watch intently, as the girls photo on the screen catches my eye. I learn this latest victim is the youngest found yet, just 14 years old. All the others had been 16-17, never older or younger. I've never been to Louisiana, my secret hobby haven taken me several new places I otherwise might never have gone, so I'm compelled to learn more. I feel guilty as I think of the half-dozen girls that are gone already, but I quickly reassure myself as I think of the last bastard I took down. Thomas Briggs, or as the rest of the world knew him, "The Jacksonville Slasher". I had just gotten back three weeks ago from an 18 month long hunt, by far the longest it has ever taken me to out-smart a serial killer. He was careful, precise, and intelligent. All the more reason why it brought me pure ecstasy to finally slit his throat, exactly as he had done to 14 unsuspecting and random victims. The only connection being the city they lived in and the way they were killed, he knew how to keep himself safe from cops. I'm no cop though, no. I'm the closest you can get to a psychopath without losing the ability to empathize. Another news story brings me out of my thoughts as I realize I'm smiling at the memory. This time its an Amber alert, 15 year old Harley Francis gone out of Shreveport, Louisiana. Missing 28 hours. I'm captivated as the girls photos flash one by one across my screen, as the resemblance to the last victim found is uncanny. Honey blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, rosey cheeks and scarlet lips. "Hmm," I think, "Must have found his type." I go online to confirm this theory, searching to see how many, if any, of the other victims had been identified. All but one, the first one. I scan the victims faces one by one in order of death date seeing nothing of familiarity until I land on victim number 5, the second to last found. There it is. Blonde hair, green eyes and rosey cheeks, this time accompanied by freckles. Gracie Lackerson, taken 5 weeks short of her 18th birthday. She was the oldest of the known victims, but by my guess though was the one who triggered the new-found pattern. This pattern was fairly common in the serial killers that I hunt, some knowing their preference from the beginning and some like this that don't quite figure it out until they've been active for a while. In cases like this I've realized that it is almost certain that once they've found their ideal victim type that speed of the kills will accelerate. As I realize this I made up my mind, maybe if I get there quick enough I can save this one. I grab my laptop and go to the travel agency site and as my mind is still clouded by endless thoughts and theories I almost type in my real name. "Stupid." I mutter to myself under my breath. I put my laptop to the side and walk towards the spare bedroom as I locate the floorboard that I have trusted with my secrets for the last 15 years. I gently lift the board and reveal my fathers old metal tacklebox and retrieve it. I open it and pick up the stack of countless ID's that I have collected over the years. A security measure I started taking after my second kill when I realized I wasn't stopping anytime soon. I go through and am reminded of each and every killer I have ever taken down and which of my many identities took who out. I stop somewhere in the middle and find a rather obscure one that would be expiring next year and pluck it out to use. Guess my name is Jesse Taper this time. I return to my laptop and book my flight, I'll be in Louisiana tomorrow afternoon. So begins hunt number 23.

#writing prompt s

[vettingsanders]

He Did Nothing For Years

The Bernie Sanders Story

I was going to title this post something that more adequately expresses my rage, like “Bernie Sanders is a Grifting Fuck and a Garbage Human,” but then I decided to be classy and paraphrase a quote from Evita instead.  But I’m also petty so consider the subtitle of this rant to be “A Grifting Fuck and a Garbage Human.”

I was going to wait to post this until the primaries are over because if by some unholy hell miracle Sanders wins the nomination, obviously we all have to unite behind even the shittiest, most doomed to fail candidate, but fuck it.  Vote blue no matter who, that goes without being said, but Sanders is the worst possible choice and was even when there were a dozen plus horses in this race, and now y’all are going to hear all the reasons why.

The Early Years: Sanders the Deadbeat

Sanders graduated from the university of Chicago in 1964 with a BA in Political Science and chose not to work until he was elected mayor of Burlington in 1981

I say “chose not to work” because he was fully capable but preferred being a bum.  He had no student debt, he had no health conditions that prevented him from working, and the 1960s were characterized by rapid growth of the workforce, with three out of four college graduates holding high level positions by 1970

Sanders occasionally did some freelance writing and carpentry during these years, according to his resume, probably so he could claim he was trying to work in order to collect unemployment.  Let’s take a look at some of his writings:

At age 28, he wrote an article for alternative newspaper The Vermont Freeman entitled “Cancer, Disease, and Society.”  In the article, he argues that sexual repression can cause cancer, and women who are virgins, have fewer orgasms than their peers, or simply don’t enjoy sex are more likely to develop cancer.  The article includes statements such as “the manner in which you bring up your daughter with regard to sexual attitudes may very well determine whether or not she will develop breast cancer, among other things” and “How much guilt, nervousness have you imbued in your daughter with regard to sex?  If she is 16, 3 years beyond puberty and the time which nature set forth for child-bearing, and spent a night out with her boyfriend, what is your reaction? Do you take her to a psychiatrist because she is “maladjusted” or a “prostitute,” or are you happy that she has found someone with whom she can share love?”  He also argues that the education system contributes to cancer, as does having “an old bitch of a teacher (and there are many of them).”  https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2157403-sanders-cancer.html

In 1969, in another article for The Vermont Freeman, he wrote, “In Vermont, at a state beach, a mother is reprimanded by Authority for allowing her 6 month old daughter to go about without her diapers on. Now, if children go around naked, they are liable to see each others sexual organs, and maybe even touch them. Terrible thing! If we [raise] children up like this it will probably ruin the whole pornography business, not to mention the large segment of the general economy which makes its money by playing on peoples sexual frustrations.”  https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2015/07/bernie-sanders-vermont-freeman-sexual-freedom-fluoride/

His resume, incidentally, also lists him as a freelance youth counselor during his period of unemployment, which is just great.  The man who thinks thirteen year olds should be getting pregnant and children should touch each other’s genitals, counseling your kids.  Fantastic.

In the 1970s, Sanders stole electricity from his neighbors rather than paying his own bill.  https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2015/07/bernie-sanders-vermont-119927

He stole food from the refrigerator of The Vermont Freeman’s publishers https://newrepublic.com/article/122005/he-was-presidential-candidate-bernie-sanders-was-radical

 He was asked to leave a hippie commune in 1971 due to sitting around engaging in “endless political discussion” rather than working.  Let me repeat, he was too lazy for a hippie commune. https://freebeacon.com/politics/bernie-sanders-asked-leave-hippie-commune/

Now, all of this apart from the theft is arguably okay.  It’s his own life, and if he wants to squander it publishing poorly written essays and doing jack shit, whatever.  Except it wasn’t just his life, because he had a son, Levi.  And he was a deadbeat, paying no child support and causing Levi’s mother, Susan Mott, to rely on welfare, which made her face discrimination when trying to find housing.  https://twitter.com/m_mendozaferrer/status/1093295853907922946

Bernie Sanders is a deadbeat dad.  No respect.

Failing Upwards: Sanders the Politician

In 1971, Sanders joined the Vermont Liberty Union Party, a socialist political group.  From 1971 to 1977, Sanders was the party chief and habitually ran for office, failing every time.  He left the group in 1977, stating that they did not do enough to fight banks and corporations during non-election years.  This is just one example of Sanders decrying everyone else as too impure for him.

In 2016, the Vermont Liberty Union Party voted to brand Sanders as a war criminal.  Their general secretary, Peter Diamondstone, said of Sanders, “ He never was a socialist!"  https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/bnjby3/the-vermont-political-party-bernie-sanders-founded-isnt-into-him-anymore  This is just one example in the long list of Sanders alienating his allies.

He finally won the mayoral election for Burlington in 1981, by only ten votes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1981_Burlington_mayoral_election

Sanders was only elected to the US House of Representatives in 1990 because he had the support of the National Rifle Association.  The incumbent Congressman, Republican Peter Smith, advocated for an assault weapons ban, so the NRA flooded Sanders with money.  https://www.sevendaysvt.com/vermont/stickin-to-his-guns-the-nra-helped-elect-bernie-sanders-to-congress-now-hes-telling-a-different-story/Content?oid=27816693

In 2006, 2012, and 2018, when running for the Senate, Sanders ran as a Democrat in the state primaries, then declined the Democratic nomination, and ran as an independent in the general.  This made it basically impossible for any Democrat to run against him.  https://www.politico.com/story/2018/05/21/bernie-sanders-democrat-independent-vermont-601844

After a landslide loss to Secretary Clinton in the 2016 Democratic primary, Sanders demanded changes to the DNC primary structure that would make the process easier for him to win with just a plurality of delegates instead of a majority.  These rule changes were the reason the 2020 Iowa caucus was such a clusterfuck. https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/bernie-sanders-iowa-caucus-winner-trump-democrats-a9317761.html

Despite all his talk of getting out the youth vote and inspiring disenfranchised voters, Sanders planned all along to squeak by with only thirty percent of the delegates in the 2020 primary by provoking infighting among other candidates to split the moderate vote.  The supposed movement he claimed to lead is a sham. https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/04/bernie-sanders-thinking-he-will-win-it-all-2020/587326/

“I Never Saw Him”: Sanders and Civil Rights

Sanders touts his participation in the March on Washington in 1963 as proof of his devotion to civil rights activism.  He loves to remind people that he marched with MLK, as seen during the She the People 2019 forum where he repeated that old chestnut for the millionth time and was booed by the attendees. https://www.thedailybeast.com/bernie-sanders-met-with-boos-after-name-dropping-martin-luther-king-at-she-the-people-summit

In actuality, Sanders was one of 250,000 people at the march, along with Mitch McConnell, who is clearly no champion for civil rights. https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/7-things-know-about-sen-mitch-mcconnell-r-ky-part-flna6C10621413

Representative John Lewis, an actual civil rights hero who worked with Dr. King and whose skull was fractured by police on Bloody Sunday, said that he “never saw [Bernie Sanders].  I never met him,” during the movement. https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/local/2016/02/11/john-lewis-never-saw-bernie-sanders-during-civil-rights-era/80263450/

Sanders was charged with resisting arrest during a segregation protest in Chicago in 1963, and was charged $25.  He later white flighted to Vermont, one of the whitest states in the country. https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2016/02/bernie-sanders-core-university-chicago/

Sanders never bothered to vote during the Civil Rights movement, only putting forth the effort when he himself was running. https://imgur.com/gallery/mmS40Gq#460q6bS

During his speech in Jacksonville on the 50th anniversary of MLK’s death, Sanders rewrote history and tried to claim that King’s real focus was economic justice and not civil rights.  "All of us know where he was when he was assassinated 50 years ago today.  He was in Memphis to stand with low-income sanitation workers who were being exploited ruthlessly, whose wages were abysmally low, and who were trying to create a union. That’s where he was. Because as the mayor just indicated, what he believed — and where he was a real threat to the establishment — is that of course we need civil rights in this country, but we also need economic justice.” https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rubycramer/bernie-sanders-revolution-needs-black-voters-to-win-but-can

In thirty years in Congress, Sanders has not sponsored any bills pertaining to civil rights: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/browse?sponsor=400357#current_status[]=28&enacted_ex=on

Sanders voted for the 1994 crime bill https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/bernie-sanders-has-dodged-criticism-crime-bill-vote-while-others-n1020726

In 1994, he praised the bill and stated that the US needed more jails.  https://twitter.com/KFILE/status/1221468426855755776

He touted his vote for the crime bill on his website at least until 2006, as proof he was “tough on crime” and “strong on the cops” https://web.archive.org/web/20061018180921/http:/www.bernie.org/truth/crime.html

In 2015, during a meeting with police reform activist group Campaign Zero, Sanders responded to being asked why he thought a disproportionate amount of people of color were incarcerated for nonviolent drug offenses with “Aren’t most of the people who sell the drugs African-American?”  Those present at the meeting stated, “Even confronted with figures and data to the contrary, Sanders appeared to have still struggled to grasp that he had made an error.” https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rubycramer/bernie-sanders-revolution-needs-black-voters-to-win-but-can 

In 2018, fifteen racial and social justice leaders in Vermont, including multiple NAACP branch presidents, ACLU organizers, and BLM activists, sent an open letter to Sanders and the Sanders Institute to complain that they were “excluded” from the “national progressive movement that Senator Bernie Sanders is trying to foster.”  The letter asks “how could Senator Sanders host what is supposed to be an intersectional, progressive event without inviting the very people whom he serves?”  http://mediad.publicbroadcasting.net/p/vpr/files/201812/sanders-letter-2018.pdf

Curtiss Reed, Executive Director of the Vermont Partnership for Fairness and Diversity, stated that the exclusion of Vermont POC from the Sanders Institute’s event was “a catastrophic failure of his sort of tone deafness to marginalized communities in the state of Vermont” and added “I’m tempted to say this is no longer a question of benign neglect on the part of the senator, but willful ignorance on his part not to include marginalized voices in this national conversation on the progressive movement.”   https://www.vpr.org/post/we-find-ourselves-excluded-racial-justice-leaders-ask-bernie-sanders-get-program#stream/0 

Vermont Black leaders stated they were “invisible” to Sanders, and that the senator “was just really dismissive of anything that had to do with race and racism, saying that they didn’t have anything to do with the issues of income inequality.  He just always kept coming back to income inequality as a response, as if talking about income inequality would somehow make issues of racism go away.” https://www.thedailybeast.com/vermonts-black-leaders-we-were-invisible-to-bernie-sanders

In his 1998 autobiography, Sanders repeatedly and needlessly used the n-word. He chose to keep the word in the text when republishing the book in 2015.  https://www.inquisitr.com/5620596/bernie-sanders-under-fire-for-use-of-n-word-in-2015-book-clip-from-audiobook-version-goes-viral-friday/ 

“I Will Not Make It a Major Priority”: Sanders the Ally

During an interview as mayor of Burlington, Sanders said LGBTQ rights were not a “major priority” for him and he would “probably not” support a bill to protect gays from job discrimination.  https://slate.com/human-interest/2015/10/bernie-sanders-on-marriage-equality-hes-no-longtime-champion.html

Also during his time as mayor, Sanders signed a resolution affirming that marriage is between “husband and wife.” https://www.washingtonblade.com/2016/02/06/clinton-surrogates-pounce-on-sanders-over-82-marriage-resolution/

Sanders and his wife stated in 1996 that they opposed the Defense of Marriage Act simply because it would weaken states’ rights.  Only later did he claim his opposition was due to support for same-sex marriage. https://time.com/4089946/bernie-sanders-gay-marriage/

Sanders argued same-sex marriage was a states’ rights issue in 2006. https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=57&v=kej9QAsS3uI&feature=emb_logo

In that same year, after same-sex civil unions had been legal in Vermont since 2000, he responded to a reporter asking if same-sex marriage should be legalized in Vermont with “Not right now,” after the “very divisive debate” preceding the civil union legislation. https://web.archive.org/web/20160407064606/http://www.timesargus.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060607/NEWS/606070302/1003/NEWS02

In thirty years in Congress, Sanders has not sponsored any bills pertaining to LGBTQ rights: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/browse?sponsor=400357#current_status[]=28&enacted_ex=on  

Sanders the Warmonger

Sanders loves to tout his opposition to the Iraq War as proof of his moral superiority.  But in 1998, he voted for the Iraq Liberation Act, which states that “it should be the policy of the United States to support efforts to remove the regime headed by Saddam Hussein from power in Iraq.”  He also supported Clinton’s airstrike on Iraq.  https://www.govtrack.us/congress/votes/105-1998/h482

In 1999, Sanders had anti-war protesters at his office arrested. https://www.counterpunch.org/2015/07/27/bernie-sanders-savior-or-seducer-of-the-anti-war-left/

The Iraq War Bill that Sanders voted against required Bush to first try diplomatic efforts and abide by UN rules of military conduct.  It also required transparency and progress reports.  https://www.congress.gov/bill/107th-congress/house-joint-resolution/114/text

The Authorization for Use of Military Force Act (AUMF), which Sanders did vote for, required none of that and is the reason the Afghanistan War was so much of a clusterfuck.  Bush would have used the AUMF to invade Iraq even if Congress had voted down the Iraq Liberation Act.  The only person to vote against the AUMF was Representative Barbara Lee.  Sanders voted in favor of it.  https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/107/sjres23/text

Sanders claims to oppose the defense industry.  But he brought Lockheed Martin and their 1.2 trillion dollar, over budget, outdated stealth fighters to Vermont. https://www.thedailybeast.com/bernie-sanders-loves-this-dollar1-trillion-war-machine

During his tenure as mayor of Burlington, he fired the assistant city treasurer when she was jailed for an anti-war protest. https://academic.oup.com/publius/article-abstract/21/2/131/1917641?redirectedFrom=PDF 

Sanders the Healthcare Crusader

Sanders was chairman of the Senate Veteran Affairs Committee during a 2014 scandal when dozens of veterans died while waiting for medical care.  During his tenure, Sanders only held seven hearings on VA Oversight, as opposed to the House committee’s forty-two hearings.  Veterans argue that Sanders was too invested in the idea of the VA as a shining example of government healthcare to address its failings.  Despite the scandal and tragedy, Sanders as recently as 2017 bragged that  he was involved with “the most comprehensive VA health care bill in this country.” https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-veterans-scandal-on-bernie-sanderss-watch

He voted against the Clinton plan for universal healthcare in 1993.  https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2016/3/14/1501210/-Where-Was-Sanders-on-Health-Care-in-93-and-94-Against-the-Clintons

Sanders also voted against CHIP, the children’s health insurance program that AOC relied on to see a doctor in her youth: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/votes/105-1997/h345

Despite campaigning on Medicare for All since 2015, Sanders was unable to explain how much the program would cost during a 2020 60 Minutes interview.  https://www.cnn.com/2020/02/24/politics/bernie-sanders-donald-trump-2020/index.html

When Senator Warren did the math for him and released her detailed M4A plan, Sanders attacked her, calling his plan “more progressive” and saying hers would “have a very negative impact on creating jobs.” https://www.cnn.com/2019/11/03/politics/bernie-sanders-elizabeth-warren-health-care-plan/index.html

Sanders claims that his healthcare plan is standard in other countries.  But his M4A plan would ban private insurance, which is not done in any country but Canada.  In the Scandinavian countries Sanders loves to hold up as an example of government healthcare, the market for private insurance is growing.  https://aapsonline.org/no-bernie-other-countries-do-not-ban-private-care/

“Too Brassy, Too Bitchy”: Sanders the Feminist

In his autobiography, Sanders quoted an article calling his 1996 primary opponent Susan Sweetser “too brassy, too bitchy.” https://books.google.com/books?id=_2YjBm2_JGUC&pg=PA173&lpg=PA173&dq=sanders+too+brassy+too+bitchy&source=bl&ots=SWrIR5Xa8m&sig=ACfU3U2-Hj1-UXIOM0Zz274h6_Nu8juoBg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjHhtObq6LmAhWvUt8KHc8mDVUQ6AEwA3oECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=sanders%20too%20brassy%20too%20bitchy&f=false

 In his Vermont Freeman article “Cancer, Disease, and Society,” Sanders called teachers “old bitch[es]” and blamed them for men developing cancer.  He also said women developed cancer due to sexual repression.  https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2157403-sanders-cancer.html

Referring to their 1986 governor race, his opponent Madeleine Kuhn stated, “When Sanders was my opponent he focused like a laser beam on “class analysis,” in which “women’s issues” were essentially a distraction from more important issues. He urged voters not to vote for me just because I was a woman. That would be a “sexist position,” he declared.”  https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2016/02/04/when-bernie-sanders-ran-against-vermont/kNP6xUupbQ3Qbg9UUelvVM/story.html

Sanders called Planned Parenthood “a part of the establishment” because they endorsed Secretary Clinton for president.  https://www.politico.com/story/2016/01/planned-parenthood-bernie-sanders-218026

Sanders called Hillary Rodham Clinton, former law firm partner, former First Lady, former Senator, and former Secretary of State, unqualified to be president. https://www.cnn.com/2016/04/06/politics/bernie-sanders-hillary-clinton-qualified/index.html

In January 2020, leaked phone banking scripts from the Sanders campaign called Warren a candidate of the affluent who wouldn’t bring any new voters to the Democratic base.  https://www.politico.com/news/2020/01/11/bernie-quietly-goes-negative-on-warren-097594

In response, members of Warren’s campaign leaked information that, at a dinner in 2018, Sanders had told Warren he did not think a woman could win the presidency.  Sanders and his supporters decried this as a lie, even though reporters knew of the dinner and had been asking Warren if Sanders had discussed women’s electability there for over a year.  https://twitter.com/mlcalderone/status/1104477933886935040?s=19

Sanders supporters then flooded Elizabeth Warren and her supporters’ Twitter mentions with snake emojis.

Sanders said of Secretary Clinton, “It is not good enough for someone to say, ‘I’m a woman! Vote for me!” https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2016/11/21/13699956/sanders-clinton-democratic-party

Bending the Knee: Sanders the Dictatorship Fanboy

During a 2020 60 Minutes interview, Sanders inexplicably decided it would be a good idea to start praising Fidel Castro’s genocidal regime, stating, “We’re very opposed to the authoritarian nature of Cuba, but, you know, it’s unfair to simply say everything is bad. When Castro came into office, you know what he did? He had a massive literacy program.  Is that a bad thing, even though Fidel Castro did it?” https://www.vox.com/2020/2/24/21147388/bernie-sanders-cuba-60-minutes-nicaragua

He doubled down on this praise at the next debate, whining, “Really?  Really?” when the crowd booed him.  https://www.miamiherald.com/news/politics-government/article240627047.html

In 2014, Sanders visited Cuban prisoner Alan Gross, who lost over 100 pounds and five teeth during his captivity.  During the meeting, Gross recalls Sanders telling him, “I don't know what's so wrong with this country.”  https://www.npr.org/2020/03/04/811729200/former-prisoner-recalls-sanders-saying-i-don-t-know-what-s-so-wrong-with-cuba

In 1985, Sanders praised bread lines and food rationing.  “American journalists talk about how bad a country is because people are lining up for food.  That's a good thing. In other countries people don't line up for food. The rich get the food, and the poor starve to death." https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2020/2/21/1920767/-Time-to-switch-out-from-Bernie-he-praised-nations-with-bread-lines-that-s-a-good-thing-Danger

Sanders hung a USSR flag in his office as mayor of Burlington.  https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2019/feb/24/bernie-sanders-reveals-his-radical-inclinations-ov/

He honeymooned in the USSR, and praised the state of the Soviet Union. https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/inside-bernie-sanderss-1988-10-day-honeymoon-in-the-soviet-union/2019/05/02/db543e18-6a9c-11e9-a66d-a82d3f3d96d5_story.html

In the 1980s, Sanders attended a Sandinista rally in Nicaragua where the attendees chanted, “Here, there, everywhere, the Yankee will die.” https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/05/bernie-sanders-pro-sandinista-past-problem.html

Sanders recently praised China, saying that it has made "more progress in addressing extreme poverty than any country in the history of civilization." https://thehill.com/hilltv/rising/458976-sanders-china-had-done-more-to-address-extreme-poverty-than-any-country-in-the

“They Can’t Stop Us”: Sanders the Conspiracy Theorist

Despite conceding the 2016 primary and stating that “Secretary Clinton has won the Democratic nomination and I congratulate her for that” (https://www.cnn.com/2016/07/11/politics/hillary-clinton-bernie-sanders/index.html), he later made the Trump-esque statement “Some people say that if maybe that system was not rigged against me, I would have won the nomination and defeated Donald Trump.” https://www.newsweek.com/bernie-sanders-defeat-donald-trump-2016-rigged-primary-dnc-nbc-kasie-hunt-1446116

 On February 21, Sanders tweeted, “I've got news for the Republican establishment. I've got news for the Democratic establishment. They can't stop us.” https://twitter.com/BernieSanders/status/1231021453270769664

After Super Tuesday, Sanders stated that Buttigieg and Klobuchar were pressed to drop out as part of an establishment plot to defeat him. https://thehill.com/homenews/sunday-talk-shows/486503-sanders-klobuchar-and-buttigieg-ended-campaigns-under-great-deal

Sanders has repeatedly attacked the press as “paid by the corporations and billionaires who own the media.”  He’s promoted the conspiracy theory that Jeff Bezos makes The Washington Post write negative articles about him. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/aug/27/bernie-sanders-attacks-media-press-fair-or-trump-2020-democrats

During the Nicaraguan conflict, Sanders accused American reporters of ignoring the truth and told a CBS reporter, “you are worms.” https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/05/bernie-sanders-pro-sandinista-past-problem.html

Sanders accused The Washington Post of trying to harm him in the Nevada caucus by reporting on Russia’s attempts to boost his campaign. https://www.mediaite.com/tv/bernie-sanders-takes-a-shot-at-washington-post-good-friends-when-asked-about-timing-of-russia-report/

“We Support Them”: Sanders the Spoiler

Robert Mueller’s investigation found that Russian interference sought to boost both Sanders and Trump’s 2016 campaigns, stating “we support them.” https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2018/02/17/indictment-russians-also-tried-help-bernie-sanders-jill-stein-presidential-campaigns/348051002/

Sanders was well aware of the Russian efforts, stating “What we knew is–well, of course we knew that.  And of course we knew that they were trying to cause divisiveness within the Democratic party.  Uh, that’s no great secret.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDYbHult0Do

When The Washington Post reported on Russia’s efforts to boost Sanders in 2020, Sanders had already known for weeks and said nothing.  After the report came out, he attacked the Post and accused them of trying to tank his performance in the Nevada caucus, stating “I’ll let you guess, about one day before the Nevada caucus. Why do you think it came out?  It was The Washington Post?  Good friends.” https://www.mediaite.com/tv/bernie-sanders-takes-a-shot-at-washington-post-good-friends-when-asked-about-timing-of-russia-report/

The Fish Rots from the Head: The Sanders Campaign

The 2016 campaign breached the Clinton campaign’s voter data and harvested and stored voter information https://time.com/4155185/bernie-sanders-hillary-clinton-data/

The 2016 campaign received a 645 page letter from the FEC detailing the campaign’s finance violations (https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/05/the-bernie-sanders-donors-who-are-giving-too-much/482418/) and had to pay a $14.5 K fine to the FEC after receiving donations from non-citizens. https://thehill.com/homenews/campaign/376373-sanders-campaign-pays-145k-fine-to-settle-fec-complaint

The 2016 Nevada campaign director sought to rig the state’s caucus by urging staffers to buy double-sided coins for tie-breaking coin tosses http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/sanderss-nevada-director-floated-two-sided-coins-for-tiebreaks-report/ar-AAhHiAI?getstaticpage=true&automatedTracking=staticview

The 2016 campaign initially decried superdelegates as “undemocratic” (https://www.cnn.com/2016/02/23/opinions/superdelegates-democratic-party-kohn/) before attempting to persuade them to go against the primary’s outcome and back Sanders instead of Clinton https://www.npr.org/2016/05/19/478705022/sanders-campaign-now-says-superdelegates-are-key-to-winning-nomination

The 2016 campaign was accused by staffers of sexual harassment, demeaning treatment toward women, and pay disparity by gender https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/02/us/politics/bernie-sanders-campaign-sexism.html

Weeks before the 2016 general election, Jane Sanders retweeted a video from an April town hall of her husband telling an attendee to “make these decisions yourself” regarding whether or not to vote third party if Secretary Clinton won the primary https://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/story/news/politics/2016/09/26/retweet-bernie-sanders-wife-jane-raises-questions/91140254/

The 2020 Sanders campaign appointed Russian interference denier and Jill Stein 2016 voter Briahna Joy Gray as the campaign’s National Press Secretary https://twitter.com/briebriejoy/status/888555665865814017?lang=en

Following promises to run a civil campaign, Sanders hired David Sirota, a man who’d spent months attacking other primary contenders online, as a speech writer.  The campaign also confirmed that Sirota had already been serving in an advisory role prior to his official hiring https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/03/sanders-promised-civility-hired-twitter-attack-dog/585259/

Press Secretary Briahna Joy Gray called for the doxing of a Sanders critic on Twitter. If there was any repercussion for this behavior, it has never been made public. https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2019/8/14/1879124/-Bernie-Sanders-s-Campaign-Doxed-a-Critic-on-Twitter

The 2020 campaign hired and fired YouTuber Matt Orfalea within 24 hours after being alerted of his sexist, racist, homophobic, and ableist content, suggesting he was not vetted before his hiring https://www.dailydot.com/layer8/bernie-sanders-matt-orfalea-mlk-youtube-video/

Despite his firing and the campaign decrying his behavior in October 2019, in January 2020 Jane Sanders was still retweeting and praising Orfalea.  https://twitter.com/Rob_Flaherty/status/1236861997398048768

In March 2020, Orfalea posed as a Biden volunteer and made calls to voters claiming that Biden has dementia.  https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/jgeanp/a-man-fired-from-sanders-campaign-is-calling-biden-voters-and-saying-he-has-dementia

They hired and fired Darius Khalil Gordon after two days after being alerted of his sexist, racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic, and ableist Tweets https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/12/bernie-sanders-new-head-organizer-called-people-fgs-bhes/

The campaign also hired former Women’s March leader Linda Sarsour as a campaign surrogate.  The Women’s March cut ties with Sarsour following anti-Semitic statements. https://nypost.com/2018/11/20/womens-march-founder-calls-on-current-leadership-to-step-down/

Sarsour was also condemned by the Anti-Defamation League for the statement that “a state like Israel that is based on supremacy, that is built on the idea that Jews are supreme to everyone else.” https://forward.com/news/national/435964/bernie-sanders-linda-sarsour-jewish-voters/

Sanders National Campaign Co-Chair Nina Turner claimed that Biden’s strong support among Black voters is due to the voters’ “short memories” and “not a true understanding of the history” https://thehill.com/hilltv/rising/473161-top-sanders-officials-hits-biden-over-riding-on-obamas-coattails

The 2020 campaign paid staffers working 60 hours a week an average of 13 dollars per hour despite Sanders campaigning on a 15 dollar per hour minimum wage https://www.vox.com/2019/7/20/20700841/bernie-sanders-minimum-wage-staff-pay

Bernie Bros attacked Biden’s Detroit rally on 3/9/20, striking senior aide Symone Sanders in the head with an iPad and knocking her down. https://www.politico.com/news/2020/03/10/joe-biden-detroit-protests-sanders-124874

“Nobody Likes Him”: Sanders Himself

In 1996, Congressman Barney Frank said of Sanders, “Bernie alienates his natural allies.  His holier-than-thou attitude—saying in a very loud voice he is smarter than everyone else and purer than everyone else—really undercuts his effectiveness.”  https://www.boston.com/news/politics/2016/04/11/history-barney-frank-bernie-sanders-criticize

In her recent Hulu documentary series, Hillary Rodham Clinton briefly spoke about Sanders, saying “He was in Congress for years.  He had one senator support him.  Nobody likes him, nobody wants to work with him, he got nothing done. He was a career politician. It's all just baloney and I feel so bad that people got sucked into it.” https://twitter.com/Burkmc/status/1235863901813661697?s=09

A former campaign staffer called Sanders “unbelievably abusive.”  Another campaign insider called him an asshole, and a former Senate staffer recounted, "He yelled in meetings all the time.”  https://www.sevendaysvt.com/vermont/anger-management-sanders-fights-for-employees-except-his-own/Content?oid=2834657

One aide stated that Sanders “never makes you feel like you’re good enough to be in the room with him.”  https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/06/us/politics/bernie-sanders-image.html

Sanders voted in favor of dumping nuclear waste on the poor and predominantly Latinx community of Sierra Blanca, Texas https://www.texastribune.org/2016/02/28/Sanders-Nuclear-Waste-Votes-Divide-Texas-Activists/

When asked if he would visit the site in Sierra Blanca, Sanders answered “Absolutely not.” https://archives.texasobserver.org/issue/1998/09/11#page=11

Sanders voted five times against the Brady Act which required universal background checks and a waiting period to buy firearms. https://www.politifact.com/truth-o-meter/statements/2015/oct/13/hillary-clinton/hillary-clinton-bernie-sanders-voted-against-brady/o

He also voted against the AMBER Alert System. http://archive.boston.com/news/local/vermont/articles/2006/09/21/sanders_vote_on_amber_alert_emerges_as_key_campaign_issue/

He wanted to primary Obama in the 2012 election cycle. https://www.thenation.com/article/yes-bernie-sanders-wanted-obama-primaried-in-2012-heres-why/

After saying millionaire senators are immoral (https://www.cnn.com/2019/04/24/politics/bernie-millionaire-senators-immoral/index.html) and railing against millionaires and billionaires in his 2016 campaign, Sanders responded to criticism of his millionaire senator status by saying “if you write a best-selling book, you can be a millionaire, too.”  His stump speech now only rants about billionaires. https://theweek.com/speedreads/834228/bernie-sanders-says-millionaire-like-write-bestselling-book 

Upheld a ban on rock concerts as mayor of Burlington like a Footloose villain https://i.redd.it/atpybo1rcwa31.jpg

Despite running on forgiving student loan debt since 2015, when pressed for specifics during an interview with Dana Bash, Sanders responded, “I don't have the plan in my pocket right now,” because, you know, why on Earth should he know the details of his key campaign promises? https://mobile.twitter.com/DanaBashCNN/status/1137779734467792897

Two days before the 2016 general election, Sanders tweeted “I do not believe that most of the people who are thinking about voting for Mr. Trump are racist or sexist.” https://twitter.com/berniesanders/status/794941635931099136?lang=en

 Sanders had a heart attack at age 78, making his continued life expectancy 3.1 years. https://www.cardiovascularbusiness.com/topics/acute-coronary-syndrome/study-65-older-mi-patients-die-within-8-years

He could have dropped out of the race after his heart attack and endorsed Warren, and she could have spent the primary building coalitions with the demographics where she was the weakest, and could well have been the front runner by now.  Instead, he selfishly stayed in the race, screwing her over and knowing full well the odds are against him living through a single term.  He continued to do the only thing he’s good at: fucking everyone over.

Say whatever you want about Biden, it’s not like there aren’t things to say.  But I’ve seen so many posts about how “Sure, Biden’s the worst EVER, but he is EVER SO SLIGHTLY less worse than Trump,” and excuse me, fuck off.  Biden horribly lost his wife and daughter before his 1972 Senate term even started, and instead of dropping out, he continued to serve his constituents while commuting home two hours every night to raise his sons.  Meanwhile, in 1972, Sanders was a deadbeat bum stealing electricity.  There’s no comparison.

#long post #Bernie Sanders #politics #2020 election #election 2020 #primary 2020 #2020 primary

[imagineit-here]

Bryson Tiller - Blame

Bryson’s POV

Scrolling through Instagram is redundant. It’s the same shit, the Instagram baddies that sometimes try way too hard or the fake promotion ads that always pop up, there’s always something. I go through my endless DMs from these beautiful women with a lot to offer physically but my mind keeps wandering back to the one girl that actually mattered. Y/n. Just thinking about her name got me feeling some typa way. I hover my finger over her smiling gorgeous face on her profile picture, debating on if I should click and re-open the wounds I thought I healed from or just close the app altogether. “You trippin dawg”, I say to myself before clicking her name and watching as all her pictures load. I take a breath, scrolling one by one already knowing what I’m bout to see. “Weekends with him”, was her caption as she stood in the mirror with her new man firmly gripping her fine ass that I claimed was mine ages ago. I scoff as I continue to scroll, every picture hitting all her best angles. Damn, she fine. I clicked onto our DMs and started typing...

Two years ago “I missed you!”, Y/n runs up to me, jumping and wrapping her legs around my waist as tight as she can. “What’s good shortie?”, I ask as I gently place her down giving her a forehead kiss. “I missed you too baby” “I was wondering when you’d come see me, seems like forever”, she laughs, jiggling the keys to her car. “First of all its been like 2 weeks and secondly I told you I’d rent a car, I always do”, I roll my eyes playfully as I load the back with my suitcase. “Oh shut up, I have a car it’s fine babe. Plus this is Jacksonville not Hollywood, I don’t think I’d love to always be seen in an expensive car every 2 weeks, it’s weird” “Y/n it’s been a year of us being together and you still dunno that your boyfriend is just that extra?”, I joke, hopping into the passengers seat cause I know she loves to drive when i’m around. “Hm, true”, she gives me a small peck before staring the car and driving off.

This is how it was, I’d come around every week or two, only every three weeks if I have a show or a busy schedule but never more. She hated the distance and I knew it. She would much rather be with a man that was settled and had their life in one place I just know it. But nevertheless we made it work cause that’s my boo.

A year ago “You actin’ brand new Y/n, what’s really going on?”, I stood at the edge of the bed heated. She’s been acting way off for the past two months. “Bry just drop it! I just feel a little overwhelmed with this whole distance thing that’s all” “You sure? Cause we’ve been doing this for the past couple of months, you ain’t never complain!”, I start to yell as well, clearly something was up and she couldn’t tell me. Me of all people. “...I’m just trying to balance work and being with you and all the attention we’re getting from your fans. It’s starting to take a toll on me and you know this, I’ve told you this”, she sighs, taking a seat on the hotel chair next to the bed. “All of this is too much and you know it”. “You think it ain’t much for me too? How many times have I made trips just to come see you? All the things we been doing. You can’t just feel like this is too much now. It’s been too much from the beginning and we’ve been good”, I pace around the room, “So don’t come to me with that bullshit, I know you lying”. This time I look her straight in the eyes. She tries to avoid eye contact with me and instead starts playing with her nails. “Tell me somethin’... tell me... is it someone?” Her eyes grow wide and she immediately looks up at me, guilt is written all over her face. “Yeah, I got my sources”, I scoff, taking my clothes out the closet and jamming them in my suitcase. “Bry-” “Nah”, I continue to shove my stuff as she darts to my side, now begging for me to look at her. “Just let me speak before you bolt out Bryson please”, she pleads. “Honestly, I been knew it was another man. I just wanted you to tell me yourself, it happens...people fall out of love but I thought you at least had the respect to tell me” “Bryson you haven’t been here for me! You come and we go to fancy restaurants and high class parties but when was the last time you actually checked up on me? Hm? Just to see how I’m holding up with everything?” I freeze for a second before taking a deep breath. “When did we hide shit from each other? Why couldn’t you just come to me and we solve this? Another man? That’s how you thought the situation would get better?” “It’s not like I’ve cheated on you Bryson, he was just there when you weren’t. I was just confiding in him in a lot of things that’s it”, she gets off the bed and goes to glance at the gorgeous high rise city view. “You emotionally cheated on me Y/n that’s something. And the fact you kept it a secret from me just says something”, I sit at the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands. “You like him?”, I gulped, waiting to hear her response. I got the reply I was dreading. “I’m sorry... I do”.

Some months ago. Your POV BRYSON: I can’t help but blame myself for our relationship failing. I’m ashamed and can’t seem to stop explaining myself to you. Y/N: We loved and we lost Bryson. I forgive you for everything, part of it was my fault anyway. BRYSON: Nah, I know you getting your new man was my fault... Whatchu wanna do? I hate the fact you with someone else. Y/N: I’m sorry... I knew he wanted to get back with me, I could feel it, even after all this time. We’ve been texting back and forth even after our break up, I still care about him but not to that extend. I’m not ready to risk my relationship for something that wasn’t meant to be in the first place. It’s better to cut it off now before it gets worse.

“You good baby?”, my boyfriend groggily asks, wrapping his arm around me and kissing my back. “I’m good, go back to sleep”, I reassuringly say, exiting my chat with Bryson and closing my phone.

Now. Bryson’s POV As I finished reminiscing, a wave of relief covered me. After all that we been through, I ain’t feel no way anymore. I’m okay with seeing her like this although I hate that it’s not with me,  I can’t hate on the guy, he must be good for her. I ain’t never gon’ talk shit bout him or beg for her ever. My mind suddenly was erased of all the sadness, anger and regret I harnessed. I knew what I was supposed to do. I quickly deleted what I started typing with a comforting smile on my face. And with one last look at her ever inviting smiling face, I tapped off her profile and shut Instagram.

A/N Just a short little imagine for now.

#brysontiller #imagines #brysontillerimagines

[lobotheduck]

Due to the fact that tomorrow’s Mother’s Day and a month after is the one year anniversary of my mom’s death, I’ve been trying to keep myself occupied as much as possible. I feel like everything’s beginning to catch up with me in terms of experiencing things without her, though I am relieved that she passed away before this pandemic started because I would be extremely fearful if she were still around and at risk—not to mention the fact I wouldn’t be able to see her due to restrictions. She died 6 days shy of her 49th birthday last year, so I went through what would have been her birthday, Halloween (which was out favorite holiday), my 28th birthday, Thanksgiving (though that’s not a huge holiday for us since we’re Native), my brother’s 27th birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s and Easter without her, but it’s Mother’s Day that’s hitting me hardest. 

Last year, I was able to bring her cupcakes for Mother’s Day when she was at Select, and that was shortly before they made arrangements with VITAS to bring her back home so she could spend her last few weeks with us and the dogs. There’ll be no more cupcakes, no more letters for her to read and mermaid pages to color together like we tended to do the last few years of her life. I still plan on writing her a letter and keeping it on the nightstand where I keep her ashes and my favorite picture of her from when I was a kid, but it’s different.

I’m glad that I was able to go up to Jacksonville and spend my 27th birthday with her and my grandmother while she was still at Mayo, never knowing that it would be the last birthday I would ever get with her. I was raised Jehovah’s Witness, but my mom would always celebrate my brother and I’s birthdays because, in her mind, those were her days. The day she became a mom. 

My mom was the quintessential mother, and she loved my brother and I beyond words. When she died, all my friends cried with me because she practically adopted most of them. She loved children, and thought that they deserved endless love and endless patience, and that’s exactly what she would give. 

Hell, even when we all grew up, she continued to pour that love and acceptance into every conversation and interaction she had. My mom was truly a people person, and she could make friends with anyone, from total strangers in line to all of the nurses and caregivers in charge of her. The outpouring of love from friends and neighbors truly meant the world to me, but it also made the absence I felt all the more pronounced.

My mom was the sun in my eyes, the source of all life on the planet. It’s been empty and dark without her here with me. I miss her everyday, even though I’m relieved to know that she’s no longer suffering, chained to a body that actively betrayed her at every turn. 

I miss the color of her eyes and the soft sound of her voice, but I miss her hugs most of all. I miss the way she started every conversation with, “Hey, baby,” and ended it with an, “I’ll talk to you later, love you.” The last time I saw my mother she could no longer talk, robbed of breath as I was forced to uphold her do-not-resuscitate order, even though it haunts me ‘til this day. 

My mom wasn’t perfect, by any means, but she was my mother, and I loved. I still love her, and her physical absence touches every corner of my life. I’d give anything to give her just one last hug, to be able to tell her how much I loved her one last time. 

I’ve been binge watching The Amazing World of Gumball because it was something we’d both watch together in the hospital. It’s keeping me as sane as possible at the moment. I haven’t cried, but I’m sure that’ll change once the clock strikes 12. 

#personal #grief #mother's day #illness #death #loss #the amazing world of gumball #tawog

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Good Place: You've Changed, Man (4x10)

Another great episode, of course! Man, I can't believe we're staring down the barrel of the end of this show. I love it so very much.

Cons:

Because of of all the plotty stuff going on, we didn't get much time to revel in the fact that Chidi has returned, and that he and Eleanor have confessed their love for one another. I enjoy Chidi being confident, and it makes sense as a consequence of everything he's been through. But his neurotic tendencies are definitely a big part of the character, and I'm hoping that before the end of the show, we get a chance to see more of this new settled Chidi, so he still feels like the character we've grown to love over four seasons. I also want a chance to hang out with Chidi and Eleanor as a couple, because there have been so many interruptions to their love story that we haven't gotten to see it flourish very much.

I wish we could have seen Simone, and the other humans from the experiment? It feels a little odd to have them totally absent, two episodes in a row, after all of the buildup of their characters over the season. I want them to come back in to the story before the end.

Pros:

I loved watching the gang come up with new ideas for the afterlife! At first, it seems like they've come up with a reasonable solution. Not very creative or shiny, but serviceable. Basically, make a Medium Place available for most people. Then the very best go to the Good Place, and the worst of the worst still go to the Bad Place. This is very... Greek Mythology of them, actually. It was never explicitly stated as such, but it reminded me very much of the ancient Greek perception of the afterlife. It certainly improves the basic problem, anyway, that of people going straight to Hell if they aren't absolutely perfect.

And Shawn doesn't go for it, prompting Eleanor and the others to selflessly offer themselves up for torture, in exchange for a yes.

In a slightly less excellent version of The Good Place, this would be the solution. It makes sense, it seems to solve the basic problem, and the good guys make a noble sacrifice. The next few episodes would show the humans finding a way to escape eternal torment, something about how they really have improved, and how that earns them a special spot in the Medium Place or even the Good Place. Curtain closes.

But because this is a show that constantly pushes the boundaries, and takes things to better, more exciting heights, that's actually not the final answer. Instead, we get a better plan. One that builds upon everything that came before it. Instead of the Soul Squad being the exceptions, they become the template. They want to replicate what they went through for all of humanity. Instead of life on Earth being the test, it's a class. The test comes in the afterlife, giving people a chance to grow and change, as many times as it takes until they really improve.

This is... so beautiful. What a powerful message, in today's world, to say that change and improvement is possible, but you have to work hard for it. It won't be easy, and that's okay. That's part of the beauty of real development. This episode stated something so clearly, that had been danced around for a lot of the show: Michael's "Good Place" was designed as torture for Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason. But it didn't work as intended. It made them grow and improve as people. If the same opportunity was given to everyone, maybe all of humanity could get better. Or at the very least, most of them.

Michael and Shawn's final conversation was very... human, despite the fact that they are immortal demon creatures. For Shawn, everything actually comes down to being bored, and to having fun with Michael in their rivalry in a way he hasn't in a long, long time. If he refuses their plan, it means billions of years without humans to toy with again, and it means an end to the game he's been playing with Michael. But if he says yes? There's a lot of creativity here. The Bad Place architects will be involved in creating the tests for the humans. There's endless possibility, a whole new motivation. They can find ways to test and challenge and... hurt people, but instead of just doing it for the sake of it, they will be doing it to motivate change and improvement. In the end, Michael's argument gets through!

A lot of the comedy here came from the Judge and Janet, going through the voids of the various Janets to find the button that destroys all of humanity. This is our ticking clock, as Janet tries to convince the Judge to consider other options, all while the Judge keeps looking for the button. I loved these journeys through the different voids, the disco, the different ways the voids searched for the missing button... The Judge and Janet made for great scene partners.

I feel like I'm always bad at listing my favorite funny moments from this show, because there are always so many top-notch jokes to mention! I liked "Jacksonville plea bargain" of course, and Tahani's name drops were delightful as always!

I think that's all I've got. I can't believe how close we are to the end of this show... I'm going to be emotional!

8.5/10

#review #the good place #the good place review #good place #good place review #tgp

[darlinrogue]

He never knew what the hell Adam was thinking. For as simple as Adam liked to claim he was, Virote never could figure out what was going on through his head. But, Virote could figure out that he could use some affection, underneath the moonlight. He wasn't telling Adam any facts about space. Not now. It wasn't right. But... ❝Know that you're adored and appreciated,❞ he said, turning to the other, hands now cradling his face like something precious and good. ❝You're my favorite person.❞

Bully Adam Out Of Joining A Cult 2020

Vi and Adam 

A hop and a skip, and Vi was on the second, then third, step of the boardwalk. Adam swaggered over, his boots shuffling in the sand as he climbed the dune. Vi turned to face Adam, and stood at the base of the stairs, his chin tilted-up. The square of Vi’s shoulders told Adam he wasn’t getting past. Adam hooked his thumb in his belt loop and reached for Vi’s hip. An instinctive grip on the curve of his waist. The ocean whispered and roared, beating itself against the sand. Each rolling wave consuming the last, reaching the shore but always ebbing back in inevitable defeat. The wind rushed-out to meet the sea and tossed Vi’s hair, tangled Adam’s curls. Vi’s fingers were cold when they cupped Adam’s cheek, dry and gritty from the sea salt. Adam’s lips parted, a silent, unvoiced exclamation and defense rising on his tongue. 

Meet me on the beach. The text had hit Adam’s phone at a little past midnight, while he laid in bed, sleepless and tangled in the sheets. Thinking about the blood spilling down Mox’s face and an empty tunnel leading nowhere. Vi offered a welcome and much needed diversion. Anything to get the crimson out of his head and anything to not lay alone for another second. There was no specification of what beach or what part of the endless strips of Jacksonville’s ocean side, Vi meant. Yet, twenty minutes later, Vi was waiting for him at a public walk between two resort hotels. They walked the path riddled with broken beer bottles, snuffed cigarette butts, and mounted the dunes to revel in the open, empty expanse of the Atlantic. Clouds and storms brewed where the sea fell off the Earth. For a mile, maybe two they walked where the low tide revealed firm sand, careful not to let chilled water lick their boots. Adam didn’t talk about what happened a couple days ago-- it was nice to hear about something else. About Vi’s day or a dramatic story about his grandma. 

There was easier to think about than another thrown away opportunity.

Because another one arose in Adam’s hands. In the form of a deceptively small man with a personality far bigger than his thin wrists. A spirit that didn’t fit as easily under Adam’s arm as his shoulders did. Vi terrified Adam because he wasn’t sure that he could hold all of him. Some part was going to escape his grip, slip through his fingers. Each time Vi looked at Adam, he dug a little deeper. Through Adam’s skin, veins, muscles, tendons, and bones, excavate his marrow to find what he was really made of. Find the string of Adam’s losses, his burned friendships, and drunken night spent smashed, alone, in foreign hotel room. Figure out that he’d been ignoring voicemails from his mother and the woman he loved more than himself. It was easy to smile for Vi because Vi was easy to smile at. That didn’t make it any easier to hide the worst sides of his personality. 

Adam’s bottom lip trembled and his teeth clacked when he shut his fool mouth. The clouds shifted, and the moon, at the far end of waxing, broke free. Vi glowed, not literally, but like, his skin was all smooth and pretty, totally luminescent. Like Adam was looking at an angel or something divine, sacred, and he was profane, treading in old cowboy boots on holy ground. Something about, how after hours of darkness, seeing Vi bathed in light stole Adam’s breath. Like, he had to remember to take a deep breath so he didn’t pass-out, unlock his knees. Adam untangled his thumb from his belt loop and lifted his hand to lay over Vi’s hand on his cheek. Vi’s skin and knuckles were cold to the touch, even in Florida, early-December had a bite. Adam leaned his head into Vi’s palm, eyes closing against pin pricks. He sighed, shoulders shuttering and he shook his head.

Simple, very important fact: Vi’s hands were cold. Had to fix that, immediately. Adam gathered both of Vi’s hands into his own and pressed them to his chest. He held tight to Vi’s hands, his calloused fingers rubbing blood back into the stiff digits. Slowly, inch-by-inch, Adam tipped forward and rested his forehead against Vi’s. He didn’t believe a word Vi said. That there was anything to be adored about him. Anything to be appreciated about him. There was no way that Vi had such shitty taste that Adam Page could be his favorite person. Yet, despite those dangerous whispers, Adam believed Vi. He believed Vi when he said those things and he didn’t know how something so contradictory could make so much sense. 

“Thank you,” He whispered. 

He gripped a little tighter to Vi’s hands and hoped he wasn’t being clingy. Stay with me, don’t let him go back alone, don’t make him wake-up alone. He’d say none of it because there was the sliver, the slightest, chance, that Vi did not want to hear it. 

“You’re my favorite person too,” Adam murmured, and that, he did believe. 

#sailorvinus #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #‘Star Signs’ || Vi and Adam #ok vi now hit him with your sandal

[koalaleathers]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 10Kt White Gold 1/4 Carat t.w. Cross Pendant & 18" Necklace.

[uglyducklingpresse]

Backlist Bulletin #7: TV Sutras

Catching the zeal for Dodie Bellamy’s The TV Sutras was slow at first, and then total. I grazed tentatively through the first half of the book, which is made up of 78 sutras, or aphorisms of received spiritual knowledge. In the preceding note, “The Source of the Transmission,” Bellamy claims that her process was not an attempt at “irony, cleverness or perfection — or art. The TV Sutras are totally in-the-moment sincere, even if that sincerity makes me cringe afterwards” (14). The text challenged my modes of reading; the sutras aren’t poems, but I wasn’t sure that I should internalize them as honest advice. The received knowledge, after all, was transmitted via television broadcast and written into the form of an ancient Indian scripture. In an interview with David Buuck, Bellamy cites Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, a book of aphorisms on the practice and theory of yoga, as the base for her form, and a bad therapist who recommended yoga and meditation at home as a catalyst.

For each day of her 78-day sutra practice, Bellamy includes both a divinely inspired soundbite and its human-filtered interpretation. Both parts reach into their own well of images: for the sutras, a broader cultural subconscious as refracted through the commercials and melodramas of daytime television; for the commentaries, the store of spiritual language within Bellamy herself:

#16

Who says you have to have 12 periods a year on the pill.

Montage of young women repeating, “Who says.”

COMMENTARY

Each of us progresses, unfolds at our own speed. There is no set route. Acknowledge and follow your own rhythm. Trust your own experience/authority over societal expectations/programmatic doctrine.

— p.32

The commentary reflects central concerns of the book: how subjective experience is located in time, how spiritual authority is conferred, what boundary we can possibly draw between self and culture. In the essay that follows, “Cultured,” Bellamy unwinds the spiritual autobiography that formed the conduit to these sutras — in particular, she discusses her ten years as a member of a New Age cult. Dodie as narrator recounts events in a chatty, semi-fictionalized, often otherworldly manner, laced with fantasy.

Bellamy grabs hold of pieces of memory, allowing them to glisten with the sense of bliss found in her spiritual devotion. On a trip to Jacksonville, Florida, for a cult convention — Dodie’s first trip out of the midwest — she describes a potted plant: “a series of waxy green banana peels stacked one inside the other, and from the center pokes a trumpet of magenta, too intensely magenta for this world, its ‘petals’ sharply pointed — like razors — the incandescent dentate of an alien vagina” (111). Images of “other realms” and archetypal spiritual authority are superimposed over her young adult life. Delusion and euphoria bounce off of each other: “With my Teacher/sixth initiate boyfriend, high in the air, surrounded by treetops and light, life from then on would be one long spiritual retreat; I’d be like one of those ancient naked yogis who lives on a platform on stilts, wooden fence all around to hide his enlightened cock and balls as he waves to his devotees” (136). If the first section of the book is an even-paced, methodical, and procedural sequence, the second part is an unfurling, spiraling, high-entropy revelation. It is delicious prose, like listening to someone you love gossip. I eat it up and I’ll believe anything she says.

Throughout “Cultured,” memories work like sutras, accessed as the smallest possible unit that holds itself together, “terse, easily memorized, but […] intended to be expanded and explained” (207). Bellamy writes, “I’m reminded of the way that anyone from my past is reduced to a discrete set of images — and one fragment will emerge” (207). Memory is encountered from a new vantage point, again and again.

*

I want to convince everyone I know to read this book. If I told everyone that it was about cults, charisma, abuse of power, desire, sex, and bliss, everyone would read it. I put my head down when cultists in the subway station offer me literature, but I want to know who they are and what their lives are like. Sometimes they look at you with gentle ease spread across their faces, sometimes alarming concern for your soul. I remember being a Christian mega-church attending pre-teen filled with desire to bring everyone into the envelope of love I’d found in my bible study group. Years later, I still answer the door and talk to the evangelists about the Lord for too long, before my roommate makes me politely move on with a fake obligation. Faith — even others’ faith — can be so bright. I know better.

In the beginning of “Cultured,” Dodie is in a nail salon where Oprah is playing in the background, airing an investigative montage on Tony Alamo, an apocalyptic cult leader and sexual abuser. Last month, I watched a new documentary on Bikram Yoga in which toned and optimistic women gleefully enmesh themselves into a pyramid scheme/fitness club, under a verbally and sexually abusive leader. Like in Dodie’s cult, where a plagiarism scandal rocks the foundations of their leader’s authority, the appropriation of Eastern spiritual traditions into an American profit machine is foundational. The drama of the cult is consumable because it allows us to see an intensification of commonplace power dynamics, made into something recognizably perverse.

*

In Barf Manifesto (UDP, 2010), Bellamy celebrates writing that moves through the body and makes a mess, through a discussion of Eileen Myles’ essay “Everyday Barf.” Of this aesthetic, Bellamy writes:

The Barf is an upheaval, born of our hangover from imbibing too much Western Civ. The Barf is reflective, each delivery calls forth a framing, the Barf is expansive as the Blob, swallowing and recontextualizing, spreading out and engorging. Its logic is associative, it proceeds by chords rather than single, discrete notes. Hierarchies jumble in the thrill, in the imperatives of purge.

— p. 32

“Cultured” unfolds in this logic. After Bellamy disentangles herself from the cult, the same patterns resurface in different forms — in her entry into an experimental writing scene in San Francisco of the 1980s, specifically the “cult of New Narrative” to which she belonged, in the endless options for spiritual healing she engages in, in the pyramid scheme of teaching creative writing professionally. In this jumble, the draw of a charismatic spiritual leader who makes it all cohere is strong. But those figures are counterbalanced by moments of meditative clarity, the internal authority of Bellamy’s “bullshit meter,” her perception. Each paragraph delves into one of these modes, building on one another until they reach a crescendo. As she remembers sitting in a park with her girlfriend in Bloomington, Indiana, Bellamy writes, “No one told me that moving closer into what I perceived on a daily basis, the swingness of the swing, was the key to spiritual writing.” (230)

Towards the end of the essay, the “I” becomes increasingly destabilized, moving fluidly between the perspective of Dodie and a charismatic, frenetic guru alter-ego. The TV Sutras creates fertile ground for a curious, shifting perspective, allowing both writer and reader to enact the roles of spiritual leader and acolyte. As Bellamy writes, “The sutra process is the opposite of accepting things as they are, highlighting instead the instability of knowing.” (207)

— Paige Parsons

TV Sutras is available directly through Ugly Duckling Presse (here), through our Partner Bookstores (here), and through Small Press Distribution (here). Purchases made directly through Ugly Duckling Presse on March 6th are 50% off, use discount code CHARISMA at checkout.

The backlist bulletin is a column on titles from UDP’s back catalogue, curated and written by Apprentices.

#Ugly Duckling Presse #whoneedspoetry