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My mother is all into homesteading and off-grid living videos right now. Every time I check up on her, this is what she wants to talk about.

It gives her a sense of peace and purpose I guess. Which is good, she’s been struggling to find that with her injuries and condition. She’s learning skills, and feeling prepared for “the worst”. Like I can’t get her to stop watching conspiracy theory bullshit on YouTube so at least this kind of content alleviates some of the anxiety the other content amplifies, because she feels like she can do something now to secure her safety later.

But to get through these conversations, I have to tell myself— hey, if natural disaster comes our way, some of this might be useful. But I know she’s not just thinking a big storm or natural disaster. She’s preparing for the collapse of society. And I don’t know how to break it to her that we wouldn’t survive that. You can make long lasting candles with crisco? Cool. Where you going to by crisco when society collapses? You’ll stock up now? Ok cool. What will you do when it runs out? Honestly, before it runs out, what will you do when people with guns come to take your various stockpiled supplies?

If we hit a point where society collapses, we’re done for. Food, medicine, etc. we can’t survive without society, without a world where people are working together trying to help each other out.

So, I’ll go through with this shit in the name of natural disaster preparedness, and because it helps her. But that’s as far as I’m willing to put energy into it. I refuse to prepare for, bet on, or hope for the collapse of society. I’d rather spend my energy trying to prevent society collapsing, what little part I can play in that. I’d rather spend my energy supporting people in my community. I’d rather work and build towards a better future, not prepare for the worst.

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tattoo; pt 3

“There is nothing more for you here, young sage.”

Cal idled in the charred remains of the Archive. Sister Taske paused at the doorway, a half-burned scroll tucked under one arm. “We recovered everything we can,” she continued. “You don’t need to keep coming back.”

“But I don’t want to leave,” Cal said softly. Deep scorch marks littered the floor and the remnants of the holobook shelves. He’d repaired the remaining generator twice, but it could only fuel the smallest lights in the base, leaving the upper levels shrouded.

The first time the Empire returned, they scavenged for valuables. Cal had already helped move the recovered books and artifacts to Tanalorr, but Taske’s report still left him sick. When the Empire came back again to destroy any remaining evidence, he was waiting for them.

Now the only evidence was a pile of Stormtrooper armor in the sands outside.

Cal knelt down into meditation, though these days the act feels more like a punishment. The Force still trembled here, as if Vader’s shadow continued to haunt the once sacred space. Despite his own failings, Cal wouldn’t abandon the Archive to such darkness. He inhaled slowly and sent a shaky breath across his bruised knuckles.

A bright spot moved through the dark as Taske joined him on the Archive floor. The Anchorite didn’t speak, but the engraved tassels on her headpiece swayed with each exhale, inhale, exhale.

The red glow of Jedha’s sunset slowly crept through the broken atrium ceiling. Tentatively, Cal felt a shift, the inky hatred dissipating into a sort of lament. It settled around him in a circle, with invisible lines stretching from doorway to doorway, intersecting each other and covering the burn marks carved into the floor below. A restoration. A promise.

He cracked open his eyes to find Sister Taske’s scroll unfurled on the ground. Faded dashes and circles covered the page, a pattern painfully familiar even in the dying light.

“When she found us in NiJedha, Master Junda committed herself in both spirit and body,” Taske explained. “She did not take the Anchorite vow as we do, accepting anonymity in pursuit of knowledge. Instead she chose a different way.”

Cal reached for the parchment, brushing ash from its broken edges. Its echo manifested faintly, eroded by both age and fire. “In stillness, knowledge. In surrender, understanding,” he whispered.

“Ancient wisdom. From another time.” Taske rose to her feet, though the effort took her a moment. Her masked face hid her weariness, but Cal knew the Archive couldn’t be maintained forever.

Perhaps he didn’t have to leave all of it behind. Cal gathered the scroll and followed her to the doorway. “There is one thing left for me here, if you’re willing.”

–

“I can’t do this again,” he had cried.

Admittedly, the conditions weren’t much better this time either. Sister Taske cleared off the counter of her former shop, and Cal sat on a stool he salvaged from a study room upstairs. It took two days to find the necessary supplies, including another trip to Pilgrim’s Sanctuary and raiding the Imperial base in the Halls of Ranvell. For the ink itself, a collection of Jedha plants burned down into soot, then mixed with a distilled Mina-Rau spirit that Greez pilfered from Pyloon’s storeroom. The remaining drink was poured neat into a glass in Cal’s left hand.

Cal slipped the cuff from his right wrist and laid his arm across the counter, palm up. The tattoo had faded slightly, pockmarked by the assorted scrapes and abrasions he’d collected in the last decade. A constellation of freckles stretched along its base, right next to his identification marks. So much had changed since Bracca. He’d changed, inside and out. But he couldn’t fix the inside today.

BD carefully aligned himself at the end of Cal’s arm. Merrin also offered to stay, but there was enough work to be done on Tanalorr, and secretly Cal wasn’t sure he wanted an audience.

The droid’s projector whirred to life as glowing lines and dashes appeared from Cal’s wrist to the end of his forearm. They stretched across the Guild mark, changing its shape to something new. A restoration. A promise.

Taske finished tying the sutaban bone needle to a small dowel. For Cere’s tattoos, she told Cal, an elaborate hand-carved stick had been chosen from a selection of Jedi relics, and prayers were recited with each new line applied. Today’s process would be much less ornate.

“Are you ready, Jedi?” she asked.

Cal waited for the fear to come. For the Force to roar its way through him once more, for all the hurt and sorrow etched into these monastery walls to overtake him until only white-hot pain remained.

“You have grown stronger,” Vader growled, saber crackling in sync with the burning Archive walls. “No,” Cere replied. “I’ve only let go of my fear.”

The echoed-memory washed over Cal like a wave. Trust in the Force, like she always told him. 

Inhale, exhale. Cal closed and opened his hand.

“Not sure I’ll ever be ready,” he said quietly. “Let’s begin.”

[part 0] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

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Cal Kestis ~ Jedi Survivor

Colours

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A lot of people hate to hear this, but they in particular really need to understand it.

If you were raised in the US, and you weren't specifically raised as a specific religion other than Christianity, then you are culturally Christian. Yes, even if you were raised atheist. Yes, I know you hate that idea. People who were raised in specific other religions in the US are usually still influenced by it, just not as thoroughly.

But specific Protestant values and attitudes have worked their way so far into US culture that we do not ever think about. (They've gotten into US Catholicism, too, Catholics elsewhere are frequently WTF at US Catholics, or so I'm told.) The "Protestant work ethic" is one of them, that "manager in your head" you should kill. Purity as a principle. The nobility of suffering (very Calvinist specifically). The prosperity culture (again, very Calvinist). A whole list. I'm honestly not good enough at Christian history to list it all. After all, I wasn't raised Christian myself. But I can see and acknowledge that I was raised in a culture with a Christian hegemony. If I pay attention, I can see where it's affected how I think. And when I do pay attention and look at it, I can change it. I can root out those patterns in my head. It's a lot of work, but it's well worth doing.

Denying that you are culturally Christian on the basis of your absence of Christian upbringing, or absence of Christianity now, just shows that you don't understand what cultural Christianity is. It is the culture that you have marinated in all your life, if you grew up in the US. The same way you've marinated in racism, classism, sexism, right on down the line (and generally they are all one thing). All of that affects you, and the only way to fix it is to acknowledge it and work on it.

This isn't a "hot take". It's just a fucking fact.

I'm posting at 10:30pm US Pacific time on a Sunday night, and fucking nobody is going to see this. Or reblog it. But I feel better having said it.

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it's true and you should say it.

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Get. Onto. Your. Representatives.

(And romance fans / writers? THIS MEANS YOU.)

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I'm a fandom oldie and a strong proponent of "ship and let ship", and I defend everyone else's right to ship what they love... But I think that gives people the idea that I like, automatically love every single ship??? Or every single trope?

I don't though!

There are a lot of fandom tropes that are on my "absolutely fuck no" list. There are a lot of irk kinks that are also on my "nope absolutely not" list, too. Personally, this is healthy. I'm able to look at something and go "Yep, I hate it, but it's not harming anyone, so continue to do as you please."

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In Prince's funky name, amen.

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concept for a tv show: a cute simple love story between an assistant and a chauffeur or bodyguard or whatever else rich people have and in the background the rich people are having the wildest telenovela level drama that we only catch glimpses of

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trying to find 2000s webcomics you vaguely remember is like walking through a cemetery of domain names

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I'm so tired I'm angry ALL the time. All. The. Time.

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To put it bluntly, the only way to end homelessness is to house people or kill them.

That's it. Those are your options. Homelessness doesn't go away based on "crime crackdowns." You will imprison the unhoused, and when they are free, they will be unhoused again. Or they will die in prison.

When you burn encampments or force people out without their stuff, they remain unhoused or freeze to death.

After working with the unhoused, it's become abundantly clear that those who don't want to support them instead want them dead.

There is blood on the hands of every government and organization that controls the homeless population with force instead of compassion.

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i made this sketch ages ago when we first played fallen order and finally got around to slapping a little color on it. ily son boy

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Spin the wheel. That's who's trying to kill you.

Spin the wheel again. That’s who’s trying to protect you.

(If you have zero idea about the name you got, spin until you see someone you recognize.)

(Six months ago, I did a version of this poll with about five hundred options on the spinner wheel. For this one, I more than doubled it.)