#tumbrel

[the-happy-man]

UK’s richest people avoid social housing rules in £1.2bn London flats project https://www.theguardian.com/news/2022/oct/02/luxury-flats-richest-people-social-housing-hinduja-old-war-office

#the parasite one percent #TAX THE RICH. POOR NO MORE. #tumbrel #anarchy in the uk #p1p

[w39xyekqtu]

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#anorectal #single-hearted #molding #anvilling #mid-swing #subattenuation #Macareus #sapogenin #comodo #oomiak #reservice #tumbrels #fastigiate #mentors #nonprohibitorily #Donoghue #tallitoth #2019 #campanular #nut-cracker

[kafk-a]

"I am in competition with no-one.

My relationship with my muse is a delicate one at the best of times and I feel that it is my duty to protect her from influences that may offend her fragile nature.

She comes to me with the gift of song and in return I treat her with the respect I feel she deserves — in this case this means not subjecting her to the indignities of judgement and competition. My muse is not a horse and I am in no horse race and if indeed I was, still I would not harness her to this tumbrel — this bloody cart of severed heads and glittering prizes. My muse may spook! May bolt! May abandon me completely!" Nick Cave reads his letter to MTV at LettersLive

#Youtube

[crypticmoth-art]

My brother saw that I was on this godforsaken app and said to me, “Do you know what a “tumblr” is? In real life? A cart that carries people to the gallows.”

I said “Yeah, that tracks.” And proceeded to check that information.

He meant a “tumbrel”.

#his defense was that he misread the dictionary

[reggiespoon]

Okay not to be Cringe And Free but I'm gonna anyway - Robespierre's sheer tenacity in the face of his opponents reminds me of nothing so much as baby Steve Rogers, who hates bullies, believes in honour and justice, and is biologically incapable of backing down.

Robespierre in the Estates General, the National Assembly, the National Convention, the Committee of Public Safety, and the tumbrel en route to the scaffold:

#maximilien robespierre #maxime my heart #my hero #stubborn dogged indefatigable fighter for his vision #impossible man #i love him #being Cringe And Free in 2023 #frev #french revolution #frevblr

[brasskingfisher]

Millenial life in the 21st century

I keep seeing stuff about how gen z have doxxed and attacked SCOTUS over their overturning of roe vs. wade and stuff critising millennials for not doing more by comparison, but speaking as a left wing millennial, we're tired and disillusioned. We've been fighting battles over all this bullshit like climate change, equality, disenfranchisement and rights for over a decade, and have nothing to show for it. Not because we haven't tried or that we've been ignored but things have kept changing and we're now running on empty, and we've nothing left to give now.

We care about these things and tried to change them, but the system was rigged against us, and then when we began to make headway the system was changed to stop us making any more progress. For you young people, disappointment and frustration over climate collapse and getting stuck in poverty has always been there, but for us it wasn't. Most of us were your age when things started going to shit. We thought that we would be able to climb the ladder and then improve things for those who came after us so they didn't have to struggle.

But then, just as we were beginning to climb, the bastards at the top destroyed the ladder and when we complained about it, insisted that there had never been a ladder in the first place. We've spent most of our adult lives trying to build our own ladders, only to have them pushed away repeatedly. Now, the whole exercise just seems pointless. We've tried time and time again without success, so why should we try again?

We want to be hopeful and many of us hope to see you young people bring the bastards down, and we'll will be right there alongside you cheering as the tumbrel passes, but after expending so much time and effort for so little gain, we just expect you guys to be cast back down as well.

#millennial #millennial life #millennial problems #millennials #politics uk #poltics #politik #uk politics #us politics #roe vs. wade #roe v wade #roe versus wade #adulting is hard #hope #women's rights #workers of the world unite #the revolution is coming #fuck the rich #fuck capitalism #fuck conservatives #long post #long tags #vent

[azspot]

If you folks don't wean yourselves off your private jets and go back to flying First Class, where you belong, then the vehicle you eventually ride may be a tumbrel.

CONTRARY BRIN

[chronivore]

Halfling Name of the Day:

Tumbrel Squeers

#gnome #halfling #hobbit

[chamerionwrites]

"I don’t believe most people are lazy. They would love to be fully, deeply engaged in something worthwhile, something that actually mattered, instead of forfeiting their limited hours on Earth to make a little more money for men they’d rather throw fruit at as they pass by in tumbrels."

--Tim Kreider, "It's Time To Stop Living The American Scam"

#came so close to snorting coffee out my nose because. MOOD #politics #mental health

[withheavenlybodies]

Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly; In my own way, and with my full consent. Say what you will, kings in a tumbrel rarely Went to their deaths more proud than this one went. Some nights of apprehension and hot weeping I will confess; but that’s permitted me; Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free. If I had loved you less or played you slyly I might have held you for a summer more, But at the cost of words I value highly, And no such summer as the one before. Should I outlive this anguish—and men do— I shall have only good to say of you.

—Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Well, I have lost you," Fatal Interview

#words

[camellachronicles]

imy in the train, imy in the morning

Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly;

In my own way, and with my full consent.

Say what you will, kings in a tumbrel rarely

Went to their deaths more proud than this one went.

…

Should I outlive this anguish, and men do,

I shall have only good to say of you.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Well I have lost you

when you release the strings attached to a person and cut the relations interweaved with them, you don't just grieve all of 8 months with all that haunts like a dream but you're awake. you grieve an entire lifetime without them. it cuts deep and through because everything inside for a moment becomes hollow. and it's not like I changed a part of me for you. it's that i grew fond of your existence in my life

now i have to relearn loving things without you

[the-happy-man]

https://theintercept.com/2022/09/28/inflation-prices-investors-iron-mountain/

The remarks of the Iron Mountain executives go straight to the question of who in the U.S. will pay to bring down the current high rates of inflation. Jerome Powell, the chair of the Federal Reserve, said straightforwardly in May that his goal was “to get wages down and then get inflation down.” In other words, Powell wants regular workers to make less money, which would lower labor costs for businesses, which presumably then would not raise prices as much as they have over the past several years.

#the parasite one percent #we eat you because we are full #tumbrel #p1p

[justawordnerd]

“tumbler”

tumbler  1. Noun. Mid-1400s, acrobat. Feminine word tumblester.  2. Noun. 1660s, drinking glass (specifically one that would tumble when filled, so you had to drink everything to set the glass down, cheeky!) 3. Noun. 1670s, part of a locking mechanism.  tumbler comes from tumble tumble  1. Verb. 1300s, to perform acrobatics 2. Verb. 1300s, to trip and fall 3. Noun. 1630, confusion, disorder 4. Noun. 1716, accidental fall Relatives of tumbler: tumbleweed, tombola, tumbrel That’s the end of the word tree; this one isn’t very big. Despite that, I’d say that this is a very accurate depiction of tumblr users: Drunk, mentally-acrobatic, confused, and locked inside for eternity.

#tumblr #etymology #words #word nerd #english language #english vocab #vocab #tumble #tumbleweed #linguist humor

[theiravshade]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Stargate SG-1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sam Carter/Jonas Hanson Characters: Sam Carter (Stargate), Jonas Hanson, Catherine Langford Additional Tags: Pre-Season/Series 01, Original Character Death(s), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Drama Summary:

The story of how Jonas Hanson started to fray at the seams and why Sam finally called off their engagement.

#I usually write Jack x Sam #But my bestie challenged me to write this #And I obliged #Ao3 #TheiraWrites #Samantha Carter #Jonas Hanson #I plan to #Write an ep tag to #The First Commandment #But I have some other things to finish first #Stargate SG-1 #Fanfic

[neilcisgenderiga]

ummm

hi tumbrel :3

[boricuacherry-blog]

"Oh, mon Dieu, Jesus!" said her mother, "there are so many witches nowadays that I dare say they burn them without knowing their names. One might as well seek the names of every cloud in the sky. After all, one may be tranquil. The good God keeps his register."

The Place du Parvis Notre-Dame, upon which the balcony looked, presented at that moment a singular and sinister spectacle which caused the fright.

"Is it true she has refused a confessor?"

"It appears so."

"You see what a pagan she is!"

At that moment, midday rang slowly out from the clock of Notre-Dame. A murmur of satisfaction broke out in the crowd. The last vibration of the twelfth stroke had hardly died away when all heads surged like the waves beneath a squall, and an immense shout went up from the pavement, the windows, and the roofs.

"There she is!"

A tumbrel drawn by a stout Norman horse, and all surrounded by cavalry in violet livery with white crosses, had just debouched upon the Place through the Rue Saint-Pierre-aux-Boeufs. The sergeants of the watch were clearing a passage for it through the crowd, by stout blows from their clubs. Beside the cart rode several officers of justice and police, recognizable by their black costume and their awkwardness in the saddle. Master Jacques Charmolue paraded at their head.

In the fatal cart sat a young girl with her arms tied behind her back, and with no priest beside her. She was in her shift; her long black hair (the fashion then was to cut it off only at the foot of the gallows) fell in disorder upon her half-bared throat and shoulders.

Athwart that waving hair, more glossy than the plumage of a raven, a thick, rough, gray rope was visible, twisted and knotted, chafing her delicate collar-bones and twining round the charming neck of the poor girl, like an earthworm round a flower. Beneath that rope glittered a tiny amulet ornamented with bits of green glass, which had been left to her no doubt, because nothing is refused to those who are about to die. The spectators in the windows could see in the bottom of the cart her naked legs which she strove to hide beneath her, as by a final feminine instinct. At her feet lay a little goat, bound. The condemned girl held together with her teeth her imperfectly fastened shift. One would have said that she suffered still more in her misery from being thus exposed almost naked to the eyes of all. It was la Esmeralda.

The tumbrel had entered the Parvis. It halted before the central portal. The escort ranged themselves in line on both sides and the two leaves of the grand door swung back on their hinges, which gave a creak like the sound of a fife. Then there became visible in all its length, the deep, gloomy church, hung in black, sparely lighted with a few candles gleaming afar off on the principal altar, opened in the midst of the Place which was dazzling with light, like the mouth of a cavern. At the very extremity, in the gloom of the apse, a gigantic silver cross was visible against a black drapery which hung from the vault to the pavement. The whole nave was deserted. But a few heads of priests could be seen moving confusedly in the distant choir stalls, and, at the moment when the great door opened, there escaped from the church a loud, solemn, and monotonous chanting, which cast over the head of the condemned girl, in gusts, fragments of melancholy psalms -

"He that heareth my word and believeth on Him that sent me, hath eternal life, and hath not come into condemnation, but is passed from death to life."

This chant, which a few old men buried in the gloom sang from afar over that beautiful creature, was the mass for the dead. The people listened devoutly.

They untied her hands, made her alight, accompanied by her goat, which had also been unbound, and which bleated with joy at finding itself free, and they made her walk barefoot on the hard pavement to the foot of the steps leading to the door. The rope about her neck trailed behind her. One would have said it was a serpent following her.

Then the chanting in the church ceased. A great golden cross and row of wax candles began to move through the gloom. A long procession of priests in chasubles and deacons in dalmatics marched gravely towards the condemned girl, as they drawled their song.

At the moment when the archdeacon made his appearance in the full daylight beneath the lofty arched portal, enveloped in an ample cope of silver barred with a black cross, he was so pale that more than one person in the crowd thought that one of the marble bishops who knelt on the sepulchral stones of the choir had risen and was come to receive upon the brink of the tomb, the woman who was about to die.

The archdeacon approached her slowly; even in that extremity, she beheld him cast an eye sparkling with sensuality, jealousy, and desire, over her exposed form. Then he said aloud -

"Young girl, have you asked God's pardon for your faults and shortcomings?"

He bent down to her ear, and added (the spectators supposed that he was receiving her last confession): "Will you have me? I can still save you!"

She looked intently at him: "Begone, demon, or I will denounce you!"

He gave vent to a horrible smile: "You will not be believed. You will only add a scandal to a crime. Reply quickly! Will you have me?"

"What have you done with my Phoebus?"

"He is dead!" said the priest. He staggered, passed his hand across his eyes, looked again, muttered a curse, and all his features were violently contorted.

"Well, die then!" he hissed between his teeth. "No one shall have you." Then, raising his hand over the gypsy, he exclaimed in Latin, in a funereal voice -

"Go now, soul, trembling in the balance, and God have mercy upon thee."

This was the dread formula with which it was the custom to conclude these gloomy ceremonies. It was the signal agreed upon between the priest and the executioner.

No one had yet observed in the gallery of the statues of the kings, carved directly above the arches of the portal, a strange spectator, who had, up to that time, observed everything with such impassiveness, with a neck so strained, a visage so hideous that, in his motley accoutrement of red and violet, he might have been taken for one of those stone monsters through whose mouths the long gutters of the cathedral have discharged their waters for six hundred years. This spectator had missed nothing that had taken place since midday in front of the portal of Notre-Dame. And at the very beginning he had securely fastened to one of the small columns a large knotted rope, one end of which trailed on the flight of steps below. This being done, he began to look on tranquilly, whistling from time to time when a blackbird flitted past. Suddenly, at the moment when the superintendent's assistants were preparing to execute Charmolue's order, he threw his leg over the balustrade of the gallery, seized the rope with his feet, his knees and his hands; then he was seen to glide down the facade, as a drop of rain slips down a windowpane, rush to the two executioners with the swiftness of a cat which has fallen from a roof, knock them down with two enormous fists, pick up the gypsy with one hand, as a child would her doll, and dash back into the church with a single bound.

He held the young girl, who was quivering all over, suspended from his horny hands like a white drapery; but he carried her with as much care as though he feared to break her. One would have said that he felt that she was a delicate, exquisite, precious thing, made for other hands than his. There were moments when he looked as if not daring to touch her, even with his breath. Then, all at once, he would press her forcibly in his arms, against his angular bosom, like his own possession, his treasure, as the mother of that child would have done. His gnome's eye, fastened upon her, inundated her with tenderness, sadness, and pity.

At that moment, Quasimodo had a beauty of his own. He, that orphan, that outcast, felt himself august and strong, and gazed in the face of that society from which he was banished, and in which he had so powerfully intervened, of that human justice of which he had wrenched its prey, of all those tigers whose jaws were forced to remain empty, of those policemen, those judges, those executioners, of all that force of the king which he, the meanest of creatures, had just broken, with the force of God.

#the hunchback of notre dame #book quotes #victor hugo