#and endless but you literally have empirical evidence that it gets better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

canchewread · 4 years

Photo

Author’s note: well, my week has sucked, how about yours?

Right, no rest for the wicked then. So as I mentioned at the tail end of last month, I’m working on a new kind of Recommended Reading blog feature here on Can’t You Read.

The tl;dr is these posts are designed to combine a sharable info graphic (or meme, if you must) with some short burst analysis and an important link to a related and often overlooked story by someone else. Ideally, all of this fits into an 800 or 1,000 word package that actually gives you enough time in your undoubtedly busy day to read the article I’m linking to.

Got it? Good, let’s get cracking.

American Fascism and Networks of Power

Well my friends, the last nauseating funeral gasp of the Trump era is almost over. With the recent news that (soon-to-be) former swine emperor Trump’s own Department of Justice can find no evidence of widespread election fraud, we all appear to be getting collectively closer to the final resolution of the Klepto Kaiser’s “chicken coup” and perhaps, the waning of his political influence even on the reactionary right.

Good riddance to bad rubbish I suppose, but as I’ve repeatedly tried to explain to virtually anyone who would listen, the end of Trump is most certainly not the end of fascism in the larger Pig Empire, or even just American fascism. The reasons for this are of course myriad but a short list might look something like this:

the pre-existing and increasingly normalized strain of ideological white nationalism in our society and ingrained into non-elected portions of the state (think police, ICE, and Trump’s complete transformation of the American judiciary; similar processes are also occurring in places like India, and Brazil of course.)

A weakened incoming, center-right administration (and its “liberal” establishment lackeys) that not only lacks the courage to purge fascists from public service but also attempts to weaponize far right violence against the American left, and regards antifascist street action as being akin to terrorism or crime.

the indefinite survival of an objectively fascist opposition party that probably has a better than even chance of retaining control of the U.S. Senate.

the existence of multiple right wing, mainstream media outlets and personalities that propagate fascist ideology, which are in turn buttressed by a seemingly endless wave of Astroturfed online media and internet psyops funded and controlled by fascist, or at least hyper-capitalist to the point of being reactionary, billionaires and their lobby networks.

the continued existence of violent, reactionary street gangs, far right neo-fascist militias, fascist conspiracy cults, and of course, roughly seventy-four million people who just gleefully voted for an open fascist and in some cases, continue to agitate for what would effectively be a coup.

the need for elite capital to defend itself against social upheaval and acquire soon-to-be scare resources in the face of evidence that capitalism is simply not compatible with avoiding the impending climate apocalypse our current political and economic course is actively ensuring will come to pass.

Naturally, I could have also mentioned the ongoing political, social and economic fallout from the still-raging coronavirus crisis, but I saved that for last because I want to unpack the ways we know many of the above forces function together in action - and as luck would have it, the Covid-19 anti-lockdown protests provide an extremely clear and documented example of what might otherwise look a little bit like a conspiracy theory.

Now as you may well be aware, a concerted and sustained disinformation campaign conducted by not only President Trump, but the larger Republican Party and right wing media has successfully weaponized the response to the coronavirus as a culture war issue in America; and that conflict is rapidly spreading across the entire Pig Empire.

This in turn was combined with a purely Astroturf protest movement, and judicious application of billionaire reactionary funding to literal white nationalist and fascist militias, to churn out thousands of cultists, chuds and other members of the reactionary “Volk” who demanded the economy be “re-opened” no matter how many elderly, marginalized or otherwise compromised people it might kill. Which as we’ve learned the month’s since, is quite a lot.

While each of these groups would vehemently deny it, it’s quite obvious that the billionaires and their media, are working with reactionary politicians in the Republican Party to marshal an aggressive, potentially violent protest movement against their political enemies and policies that threaten their profits. The rich guys get to keep raking in the cash, the politicians (who work for the rich guys anyway) get power and support from the chuds, and the Volk get to disguise a backlash against equality, decolonization and social advances as a battle against tyranny. All of which is wrapped up in a neat little bow under the auspices of covert white supremacy, in a situation that looks a little bit like eugenics, and bears all the hallmarks of historically racist (and obviously, false) attitudes in America about the genetic and more importantly *hygienic* superiority of whites over non-whites.

Of course and as I mentioned above, all of this might sound like a conspiracy theory, but if you’ve been clicking on the links as we go along you know that it’s all true; unfortunately, a bipartisan billionaire-owned media interest in protecting the power and influence of elite capital in the Pig Empire, by and large prevents the mainstream media from presenting all of this information in its proper context. To counter that problem, let’s turn to investigative journalist Alex Kotch, an anti-corruption muckraker of considerable ability and someone who exists at least partially (but not entirely) outside the corporate media sphere.

On October 21st, 2020, Kotch and the Center for Media and Democracy published an extraordinary story that laid bare the inner workings of American fascism (and its capitalist roots) - we’re talking about exposing the direct financial connections between billionaire propaganda networks, fascist chud militias, right wing think tanks, GOP politicians and Astroturfed anti-lockdown protests; dark money meets dirty deeds done dirt cheap in a fake uprising that ends in obstructive lawsuits, partisan impeachment recommendations and a plot to kidnap and maybe even execute the governor of Michigan for... saving lives, apparently.

This is what the fascist alliance of elite capital (DeVos Family, Koch Network,) political power and street violence looks like in direct application; this is why I’m certain American fascism will outlast Trump’s fall - it’s all there in black and white.

Unfortunately, hardly anyone noticed it at the time because the election consumed all of the oxygen in the room; as anything involving Trump is want to do. Let’s not make that mistake again - to check out Kotch’s incredible story, click on the title header below:

GOP Politicians and Conservative Groups Set the Stage for Attempted Kidnapping of Michigan Governor by Alex Kotch

-nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

Updates available on Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.

Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites

Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

2 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 4 years

Text

Dust, Volume 6, Number 11

HAAi

As it was with September, so it is with October. After what felt like the dam breaking on all those albums optimistically held back by the pandemic, October continued to rain down releases and there was no shortage of them to cover. As ever, if diversity’s your thing, we have it: From pimp-rap to free jazz, death-metal to AM gold, jungle to Azerbaijani guitar jams, we got it all for you to peruse. Contributions this go ‘round come care of Ray Garraty, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Patrick Masterson and MIchael Rosenstein.

AllBlack — No Shame 3 (Play Runners Association/Empire)

youtube

Just when we thought that pimp-rap was going out of business, AllBlack blessed us with No Shame 3. It is a lot of what it claims: playfulness with no shame, ignorant beefs, endless balling during California nights and showing off in earnest. AllBlack alludes to the fact that even though he’s getting that rap check, he’s far from quitting the pimp game: “Made 40K in eight days, that was just off pimpin'.” But behind this happy façade is something darker that’s looming on: “As I got older, I ain't scared, I guess I'm cool with death / You speak the truth and they gon' knock you down like Malcolm X.” While admitting that rap is a cutthroat game, AllBlack is only one of the few artists of a younger generation who is ready to pay respects in his songs to the OGs — the godfathers of pimp-rap, to Willie D, Dru Down and Too $hort. The standout track here is “Pizza Rolls,” where DaBoii and Cash Kidd drop in to deliver the funniest lines.

Ray Garraty

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII (Three Lobed Recordings)

Adrop / Circuit VIII by Bardo Pond

There are plenty of reasons to do small, limited runs of certain releases, in music as in other artistic fields, ranging from the brutally practical/logistical to the aesthetic, but when the material released in that fashion is good enough, it can be a relief to see it given further life (and not just digitally). This year saw the mighty Three Lobed Recordings (who we featured in an anniversary Listed here) has seen fit to reissue on vinyl two Bardo Pond LP-length pieces that were originally issued in limited run series back in 2006 and 2008. They were in good (and varied) company then, but resonate together in a pretty special way, whether it’s the tripartite Adrop wandering from gnarled, crepuscular grind to violin-powered epiphany or back down to delicate nocturnal acoustics. The longer Circuit VIII doesn’t have as distinct phases but still builds to an all-time Bardo Pond-style crescendo, featuring Isabel Sollenberger’s only vocals of the duo. Even with a band and label this consistently on point, these particular recordings are worth the wider dissemination, whether considered as archival releases or just a hell of a double album.

Ian Mathers

John Butcher & Rhodri Davies — Japanese Duets (Weight of Wax)

Japanese Duets by John Butcher & Rhodri Davies

There’s a bittersweetness about Japanese Duets that’s as pungent as the puckered, perfectly placed reports that English saxophonist John Butcher sometimes punches out of his horns. This is the third in an ongoing series of download-only releases that Butcher, idled by COVID-19, has culled from his archive, The Memory of Live Music, and the unbearable lightness of its format, only accentuates the sense of lost opportunities and experiences. One of the things that a touring musician gains in exchange for their embrace of uncertainty is the chance to go to some unlikely place and undergo something extraordinary. The four-page PDF that comes with this download reproduces photos from Butcher and Welsh harpist Rhodri Davies’ 2004 tour of Japan, which took in swanky museums and shoebox-sized jazz cafes; each image looks like a moment worth living. But if all you can do is hear the evidence, that’s not exactly settling. This improvising duo was audibly on a roll, pushing reeds and strings to sound quite unlike their usual selves, and challenging each other to move beyond logic to the rightness of jointly made and imagined moments. Thanks, guys, for sharing the memories.

Bill Meyer

Ceremonial Bloodbath — The Tides of Blood (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

The Tides of Blood by Ceremonial Bloodbath

Yikes — talk about truth in advertising. Canadian death-metal band Ceremonial Bloodbath delivers the goods promised by their moniker and this new LP’s title. It’s a repellent record created by dudes that play in a bunch of other death-metal bands based in British Columbia: Grave Infestation, Encoffinate (not Encoffination), Nightfucker and numerous others that tunnel even further under the broader public’s attention. Give these guys credit for their single-mindedness: None of those bands is likely to make you feel any happier about the human condition. Neither will listening to The Tides of Blood, but it’s a better record than any that those other acts have released. The songs are low-tech, dissonant and about as subtle as a bulldozer’s blade knocking through your front door. In other words, the record is largely in line with what we’ve come to expect from the death-metal recently dug up by Sentient Ruin Laboratories, and for a certain kind of listener, that’s a good thing. Check out “The Throat of Belial,” which comes on hard and fast, then downshifts into second gear and unleashes a tangled, coruscating sort-of-guitar-solo. The mechanical chug reasserts itself, then speeds up again, unleashing steam and the smell of something… organic. The song has a ruthless momentum, as does the rest of the record. Pretty good Halloween music if you want to scare all the trick-or-treaters off your lawn.

Jonathan Shaw

Cut Worms – Nobody Lives Here Anymore (Jagjaguwar)

youtube

Max Clarke evokes a wistful nostalgia for an America that existed perhaps only in the mind, the warm campfire glow of an era personified by The Everly Brothers’ harmonies, the twanging guitars of country rock and 1970s singer songwriters. On his new album as Cut Worms, Clarke literally doubles down on his musical project. Nobody Lives Here Anymore comes in at 17 songs that, while individually fine enough, meld into one another and gradually fade from the memory as the album unwinds. Clarke never quite transcends his influences and is not a strong enough lyricist to engage at this length. The effect is similar to that of The Traveling Wilburys where the whole is lesser than the sum of its parts. That said, Clarke is engaging company with a voice that splits the difference between the aforementioned siblings, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty. He has an ear for a melody and skillfully recreates an AM radio sound that trips the memory for anyone who grew up with this music either as inescapable background of their lives or soundtrack for their teen dreams and heartaches.

Andrew Forell

Dead End America — Crush the Machine (Southern Lord)

Crush the Machine by Dead End America

This new EP by Dead End America (DEA — see what they did there?) comprises four short, piledriving hardcore songs, all directly addressed to the current occupant of the Oval Office. “Bullet for 45 (Straight From a .45)” neatly captures the EP’s essential sentiments, and also suggests the general level of restraint exercised by the whole enterprise. Hint: Restraint and nuance are not Dead End America’s strong suits. That’s not surprising, given the folks involved. The band and record were conceived by Steve “Thee Hippy Slayer” Hanford, late of Poison Idea, and of this world. It’s pretty wonderful that this is some of the last music Hanford produced — pissed off and irreverent to the very end. Additional contributors include Nick “Rex Everything” Oliveri (the Dwarves), Mike IX Williams (Eyehategod), Blaine Cook (the Fartz) and Tony Avila (World of Lies). Sort of remarkable that a record including players from all those legendarily vile, venomous bands doesn’t just spontaneously self-combust; maybe it helps that they focus their collective rage on such a deserving target. RIP Steve Hanford. The wrong people are dying.

Jonathan Shaw

Chloe Alison Escott — Stars Under Contract (Chapter Music)

Stars Under Contract by Chloe Alison Escott

Chloe Alison Escott is the frontwoman of Tasmanian post-punk duo The Native Cats, and her pre-transition solo album, The Long O, released on Bedroom Suck back in 2014, received justified plaudits upon its release. (It remains a low-key favorite of mine.) New solo piano-and-vocals album Stars Under Contract was all recorded in one day by Evelyn Ida Morris (Pikelet), which lends these performances an on-the-fly liveliness. For the most part, it’s rollicking fun, with some wryly funny lyrics that betray Escott’s sideline in standup comedy. This performative confidence comes through in early highlight “There’s Money in the Basement,” which has the jaunty barroom bounce of “Benny and the Jets.” Later, Escott reaches for the heavens on single “Back Behind the Eyes Again,” with a truly heartbreaking piano progression. Though the 16 tracks are wisely interspersed with short instrumentals such as “What Are You Reaching For,” “Evening, Sunshine” and “Playfair,” 43 minutes is a lot of piano-and-vocals songs to get through in a single sitting. On closing track “Permanent Thief,” there’s a tantalizing flash of drum machine and bass, which could be a nod there’s another Native Cats album on the way soon.

Tim Clarke

Eiko Ishibashi — Mugen no Juunin - Immortal - Original Soundtrack (King)

youtube

If you sit up nights fretting about how Eiko Ishibashi and her partner, Jim O’Rourke, pay the bills, this music may be your melatonin for your worried mind. Immortal is the soundtrack for Blade of the Immortal, an anime adaption of a popular manga that’s been picked up by Amazon Prime. Ishibashi composed and played the music with contributions from Tetuzi Akiyama, joe Talia, Atsuko Hatano, and O’Rourke, who also mixed the music. Ishibashi’s music echoes the affect-stirring melodies of her song-oriented material and the careful sound placement of her recent electro-acoustic work for Black Truffle; when the swirl of keyboard tones looms over her piano on “Animal,” there’s no mistaking it for anyone else’s work. But this is still made for a mass market, with unabashed classical music lifts and big, booming electronic percussion that would make a multiplex’s walls throb if you gave it a chance. There’s no physical release or Bandcamp option, so if you want to check this out, Apple Music and iTunes are your options.

Bill Meyer

Ela Minus — Acts of Rebellion (Domino)

youtube

Colombian musician Gabriela Jimeno’s debut album as Ela Minus is a collection of original tracks that merge songcraft and club sounds into an assured mix of electronica on which she plays all the instruments and sings in both Spanish and English. After spending her teenage years drumming for hardcore band Ratón Pérez, Jimeno studied jazz drums as well as the design and construction of synthesizers, and she eschews the use of computers to create her music. She brings a DIY spirit to her work combined with meticulous production style that gives acts of rebellion the experimental edge of early 1980s independent synthpop. The highlight "Megapunk” is musically close in spirit to Cabaret Voltaire, its defiant lyrics — “There’s No Way Out But to Fight” — tying freedom of expression to wider human progress. A textured and nuanced album, Ela Minus joins an ever-growing group of South American producers to tune into.

Andrew Forell

Erik Friedlander — Sentinel (Skipstone)

Sentinel by Erik Friedlander

Cellist Erik Friedlander seems to pop up in the oddest places, playing now with the Mountain Goats, then with Dave Douglas, and finding a little time for film scoring on the side. It's reasonable that for new album Sentinel, he'd connect with a couple of other artists — guitarist Ava Mendoza and percussionist Diego Espinosa — equally comfortable with finding unexpected sounds in a variety of styles. The group, given their background, sounds their best when they're blending genres. “Flash” starts off as new jazz, turns into rock for a moment, then some strange cello lead pushes it into alien territory. At the edges of the trio's work, heavy rock often feels about to break out, but the group refrains from ever indulging that impulse. “Feeling You” even provides some light, pretty pop, allowing the band to show its full breadth.

Friedlander's compositions provide the basis for the album, but Sentinel never feels like just his album. The band, assembled for what sounds like a hurried set of takes, found their partnership quickly, turning the pieces into fluid performances. “Bristle Cone” lets all three members shine and functions like a microcosm of the disc as a whole: As soon as you think it's a guitar album, you start paying attention to the percussive elements; as soon as you remember it's experimental cello work, you're back to guitar rock. The trio's engagement with the music and with each other comes through, the playful innovation guiding each piece into a multifaceted whole.

Justin Cober-Lake

HAAi — Put Your Head Above the Parakeets EP (Mute)

Put Your Head Above The Parakeets by HAAi

Though it was Teneil Throssell’s mixes that initially made her name as HAAi (and remain strong even amid the pandemic, her latest for XLR8R another beauty), her own productions are a wonder unto themselves that demand repeat listens even as they come a trickling single or carefully cultivated EP at a time. The Karratha, Australia native, Coconut Beats hostess and Rinse and Worldwide FM veteran’s latest is the delightfully titled Keep Your Head Above the Parakeets EP, pure headphones music meant for sunrises, sunsets, walks in deep snow, rain-swept moors, you name it. Her talent is in balancing airy synth melodies with ever-shifting percussion influenced primarily by jungle, breaks and (ultimately) house; when people talk about psychedelic dance music, this is something like what I always hope to hear. Another unmissable missive.

Patrick Masterson

Hübsch, Martel, Zoubek — Ize (Insub)

Ize by HÜBSCH, MARTEL, ZOUBEK

Decades have passed since Derek Bailey wrote his book, Improvisation. At that time, it was already clear that the intentionally non-idiomatic music he pioneered and practiced was a subset of the more universal matter of improvising as a necessary aspect of playing music. It was also becoming clear that non-idiomatic improvisation’s aspirations and proscriptions amounted to a new but quite identifiable idiom, and this Swiss trio is okay with that. If you told Carl Ludwig Hübsch (tuba, objects),Pierre-Yves Martel (viola da gamba harmonica, pitch pipes) and Philip Zoubek (piano, synthesizer) that the music on Ize sounds a bit like the British ensemble AMM’s, they’d likely nod and thank you for noticing. They’re not trying to make a new kind of music, they’re trying to be good at a kind of music that they love, and on those terms, they succeed. Aside from the occasional Feldman-esque piano phrase, they mostly trade in layers of tone and texture, operating in complementary parallel to one another, taking the listener through states of meditative stillness and slow-motion vertigo.

Bill Meyer

J Majik — Your Sound - Photek & Digital V.I.P 12” (Infrared)

J Majik - Your Sound - Photek & Digital V.I.P by J Majik / Photek / Digital

Released on the same day as the “This Sound” single that allegedly was refashioned from “unfinished jungle project from the vaults,” “Your Sound” was further proof that UK drum n’ bass vet Jamie Spratling bka J Majik still has plenty of material from the golden era to get out into the world. The original is a certified mid-’90s Metalheadz classic, but Photek and Digital’s reworking on the a-side “originally only destined for the dubplate boxes of the ultra-elite” has been floating in the ether for years as an alternative; its light Amen sequences and booming bass will have you yearning for every closed club you can’t attend. J Majik’s remix of his own tune on the flip was originally the b-side to a 1997 Goldie VIP edit, so having a more readily available remaster here does it a world of good. One for the headz, obviously.

Patrick Masterson

KTL — VII (Editions Mego)

VII by KTL

Most of KTL’s recordings have been seeded by theater and film soundtrack commissions. But when Stephen O’Malley (Sunn 0))), Khanate) and Peter Rehberg (Pita, Fenn O’Berg) found themselves in Berlin this past March with more time on their hands than they expected, they booked themselves into Mouse On Mars’ MOM Paraverse Studio sans portfolio and set to work. The first track, “The Director,” seems to acknowledge the situation by introducing the Shephard-Risset glissando, a repeated scale that sounds like it is endlessly ascending or descending. The titular figure never arrives, but while you’re waiting, fat looped electronics impart the experience of going somewhere while leaving you exactly where you’re at. The director isn’t the only value missing from this equation; O’Malley’s default sonic signature, a massive metallic wall of sound, has been softened to a close-shaving buzz that rattles and circles around within Rehberg’s synthetic/sonic biodome. That’s right, while you’ve been baking bread and putting on that COVID-15, KTL has actually lost weight!

Bill Meyer

Lisa Cay Miller/Vicky Mettler/Raphaël Foisy-Couture — Grind Halts (Notice Recordings)

Grind Halts by Lisa Cay Miller/Vicky Mettler/Raphaël Foisy-Couture

Montreal-based guitarist Vicky Mettler, bassist Raphaël Foisy-Couture and Vancouver-based pianist Lisa Cay Miller are all new names to me. For their trio collaboration on Notice Recordings, the three work their way through a set of eight free improvisations that range from one and a half minutes to eight minutes long. The combination of piano, guitar and upright bass is striking from the start: Miller slips seamlessly between the keyboard and inside-string preparations, mostly eschewing readily identifiable sonorities of her instrument. Mettler’s resonant, brittle electric guitar is the perfect foil to Miller’s piano and one often has a hard time teasing apart where inside piano strings end and guitar strings begin. Add to that Foisy-Couture’s dark low-end bass, which he attacks with groaning scrapes, shuddering arco and assorted string treatments. The three engage in active improvisations, plying their respective instruments into a collective whole while steering clear of garrulous interaction. The fourth piece, “Lower” is as close to trio exchanges as things get, opening up the ensemble sound to allow shredded guitar textures, resounding piano chords and scabrous bass abrasions to accrue into pulsating timbral layers. A piece like “As It Spins” is more about process, adding in the rumble and clatter of assorted percussive detritus, used on their own and to activate the strings of the instruments, which jangle with resultant shimmering overtones. The pieces often segue one into the other, creating an enveloping sound-space throughout. Based on this one, I look forward to hearing more from each of the participants.

Michael Rosenstein

Mint Field — Sentimiento Mundial (Felte)

Sentimiento Mundial by Mint Field

Mexico City-based duo Estrella del Sol Sánchez (voice, guitar) and Sebastian Neyra (bass) enlist drummer Callum Brown to expand the range of their dreamily psychedelic shoegaze on Mint Field’s second album Sentimiento Mundial. Sánchez has the breathy cadence of Rachel Goswell and moves easily between an almost folky introspection in her guitar playing to squalling walls of sound underpinned by Brown’s often motorik drums on tracks like “Contingenicia” and “No te caigas.” The bulk of the album is more reflective, Sánchez’ Spanish vocals close to your ear as she concentrates on atmosphere and dynamics. The result is a dreamscape that lulls, then hits with febrile bursts of restless dread, an impressive collection that fans of 4AD in particular should recognize and embrace.

Andrew Forell

Takuji Naka/Tim Olive — Minouragatake (Notice Recordings)

Minouragatake by Takuji Naka/Tim Olive

Minouragatake (a mountain outside of Kyoto, Japan) is the fourth recording by Takuji Naka and Tim Olive, a duo that has played together for close to a decade now, melding together music of slowly evolving rich timbral abstraction. Each are consummate collaborators and for this session, they make their way across the seven untitled tracks with steadfast focus to the nuanced details of their respective sound sources. Naka utilizes “long loops of sagging/distressed cassette tape winding into and out of similarly distressed portable tape players, with real-time analog processing.” Olive uses his regular array of magnetic pickups and low-tech analog electronics, drawing out volatile hums and changeable striations that coalesce with his partner’s slowly devolving layers of sound. These pieces are imbued with unflappable deliberation, each sound integrated into the cohesive, gradually unfolding improvisations. Each of the pieces sound as if one is tuning in mid-stream and end with a sense that they could continue on indefinitely. Rather than adhering to any formal developmental arcs, the two patiently sit within unfurling sonic worlds as layers ebb and flow. Naka’s degraded tapes lend an aura of catching wafts from some distant celestial emission which Olive subtly shades and colors with hisses, whispered mutable fuzzed gradations and aural grit. Snatches of scumbled lyricism morph into static-laden swirls; washes of flaked and tattered textures disperse into shuddering thrums. Naka doesn’t record much so it’s good to hear another project from him. Olive has been on a particular roll as of late and this one is a laudable addition to his discography.

Michael Rosenstein

Okuden Quartet — Every Dog Has Its Day But It Doesn’t Matter Because Fat Cat Is Getting Fatter (ESP-Disk)

Every Dog Has Its Day But It Doesn't Matter Because Fat Cat Is Getting Fatter by Okuden Quartet: Mat Walerian/Matthew Shipp/William Parker/ Hamid Drake

Put aside the bleakness of this double album’s title because this music embodies the idea that things can get better. Not that there was anything wrong with Polish woodwinds player Mat Walerian’s previous recordings, which have all involved some combination of the musicians on this one. But Walerian has never sounded so strong on his various instruments (alto saxophone, bass and soprano clarinets, flute); so clear on how to get the most out of Matthew Shipp, William Parker and Hamid Drake; or so engaged with jazz, and not just the free jazz that he’s made with these gentlemen to date. By turns subdued, impassioned and bathed in all the shades of the blues, Walerian no longer sounds like a guy who has great taste in sidemen who happen to have played with some of the greats of our time, but a guy who sounds like he belongs in their company. Each lengthy track (they range from 11 to 18 minutes long) imparts a narrative feel without dispelling the mystery that makes you want to hear them again. Here’s hoping that when things start moving again, this band finds a way to move around the world and move us in person.

Bill Meyer

Om — It’s About Time (Intakt)

It’s About Time by OM - Urs Leimgruber, Christy Doran, Bobby Burri, Fredy Studer

To a fan, It’s About Time might sum up the feeling upon learning that the Swiss quartet Om finally recorded a new studio album 40 years after its predecessor, Cerberus (ECM). It also captures the existential question facing a quartet of improvisers, some of whose paths have often crossed during that time, but some of whom have taken very different roads. On the one hand, drummer Fredy Studer and guitarist Christy Doran play in a Jim Hendrix cover band with Jamaladeen Tacuma; on the other, soprano saxophonist Urs Leimgruber works mainly in freely improvised settings with the likes of Alvin Curran and Joelle Leandre these days. Burri seems to be the guy who has maintained connections with everybody. How to make sense of such a history without denying anyone’s musical identity? During their first go-around, between 1972 and 1982, Om was played polyrhythmic electric jazz. During the mostly low-profile gigs they’ve played since reconvening in 2008, they’ve had time to forge an updated vocabulary that is less groove-oriented but takes full advantage of the timbral resources on hand. While it’s evident that time has passed, it’s by no means a waste of time.

Bill Meyer

Rüstəm Quliyev — Azerbaijani Gitara (Bongo Joe)

youtube

Azerbaijani music, by and large, hasn't broken through to the American mainstream. That might not change, but the new anthology release of Rüstəm Quliyev's work, titled Azerbaijani Gitara, at least makes a case against our insularity. Quliyev's work, even for an insider, would be hard to pin down given that the overriding goal seems to be the synthesis of as many styles of music as possible. Western ears will be most comfortable with the psych-rock influences here. Quliyev also reworks Bollywood, folk, Middle Eastern dance and more on his electric guitar. Taken from recordings from 1999-2004, this nine-song collection sounds more coherent than that idea might suggest, but no less frantic. Quliyev plays with a persistent energy, his kinetic approach matched my his chops, often with a tone reminiscent of Carlos Santana (if we reach a little). On songs like “İran Təranələri,” he allows the piece to develop patiently, but these cuts rely on movement and virtuosity. Quliyev had a challenging life cut short by lung cancer, but his music finds itself unleashed through apparent joy.

Justin Cober-Lake

ShooterGang Kony — Still Kony 2 (Empire)

youtube

A fortnight shy of his 22nd birthday (this coming Wednesday, mark your calendars and send best wishes), Sacramento rapper ShooterGang Kony has dropped his second full-length project of the year in Still Kony 2, a skit-free set of songs with a Biggie homage as the cover that explores further his emotional depths while still retaining the bouncy Bay Area nature of his livelier side. There’s stuff like “Red Ice” and “Fasholy Good,” of course, but there’s also the stretch of sobering songs later in the tracklist, including “Overdose,” “Flaggin” and the particularly affecting “Do or Die.” No matter the type of beat, though, Kony feels completely at ease with his cadence and wholly in control of his verses despite occasionally verging on a Detroit-like dismissal of the beat. Even if you can’t see the geekin’, you can certainly feel it.

Patrick Masterson

Suuns — Fiction EP (Joyful Noise)

FICTION EP by SUUNS

For better or worse, Suuns’ new Fiction EP is pretty much the sound of 2020 encapsulated, not in the sense of distilling current musical trends, but rather in succinctly conveying the disorientating feeling of living through a year that has been such a traumatic mess. Across these six tracks, the Montreal-based band creates a fuzzy, feedback-streaked, claustrophobic racket that just about coalesces into song forms around breakneck rhythm tracks. “Fiction” and “Pray” will meet the expectations of anyone expecting Suuns to continue sounding like fellow noise-rockers Clinic, but elsewhere there’s surprising variation to the band’s sound palette. Opener “Look” emerges out of the darkness like a warped apparition, concluding with a chant of what sounds like “Sheep, sheep, sheep.” They enlist the help of Jerusalem In My Heart for droning instrumental “Breathe,” and Amber Webber lends ghostly vocals to “Death.” At the EP’s end, the Mothers of Invention’s wailing blues-rock classic “Trouble Every Day” is barely recognizable, foregrounding Zappa’s lyrics and chewing them up into a garbled rush of splenetic invective. Though short, there’s something satisfyingly ghastly and cathartic about this EP that really cuts through.

Tim Clarke

Women — Rarities 2007-2010 (Flemish Eye/Jagjaguwar)

Rarities 2007 - 2010 by Women

Some outlets rode much harder for Women than others when the band was still a dysfunctioning unit (RIP Cokemachineglow, namely), but there’s little doubt left a decade on that what the Calgary quartet had going was a volatile yet beautiful indie-rock ideal that hasn’t been duplicated in Viet Cong/Preoccupations or Cindy Lee since. These rarities, affixed to a deluxe decennial reissue of Public Strain due out in November, could all have made the final tracklistings of either of their full-lengths. The music veers between sunny ‘60s singalongs and dark guitar dissonance; I find myself thinking of The Walkmen’s first LP on “Bullfight” (a free release from 2011 in the aftermath of the band’s collapse the year before) and of The Chameleons on “Group Transport,” which is considerably more Janus-faced with its juxtaposed harmonies, for example. It took me much longer than it should have to come around on Women, but in case you’re still on the fence or also just never got around to them in the first place, perhaps this small coda will sway you in their favor once and for all.

Patrick Masterson

Yo La Tengo — Sleepless Night EP (Matador)

youtube

In July, Yo La Tengo released the abstract, droning instrumental EP We Have Amnesia Sometimes, harking back to the sound of their excellent soundtrack album The Sounds of the Sounds of Science (2002). This new Sleepless Night EP brings together five covers and one original, first released in conjunction with an L.A. exhibition by Japanese artist Yoshitomo Nara, who helped the band pick the songs. Sleepless Night opens with “Blues Stay Away” by The Delmore Brothers and “Wasn’t Born to Follow” by The Byrds, both fairly straight renditions of the blues and country-rock originals. The real keeper in this collection comes next in the form of Ronnie Lane’s “Roll On Babe,” beautifully sung by Georgia, which hypnotizes with its languid sway. Their cover of Dylan’s “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry” also has Georgia take the lead over beatless organ, bass and guitar. “Bleeding” is the sole original, a shimmering atmospheric piece with ghostly vocals from Ira, which dissolves in a pool of pitchshifted reverb. Finally, “Smile a Little Smile for Me” strips out the rhythm section from the Flying Machine original and slows the tempo, Ira’s measured vocal performance lending the song an affectingly forlorn slant. Though the material here offers few surprises, it’s a reassuring release from a justifiably loved band at a time when we could all use a little more reassurance.

Tim Clarke

1 note · View note

fursasaida · 5 years

Note

Care to share your thoughts on what reality is and what makes life life?

I’m thinking a lot about consequences and loss after the events of the last few days, so it seems like the right time to come back to this. The first time I tried to answer it was overly explanatory: I was trying to walk you through every idea I’ve read and internalized that brought me to the perspective I have. I think that’s probably more trouble than it’s worth (for you the reader, not just for me), so I’ll just provide the names of some texts at the end for anyone who’s interested.

The short version is this. What does it mean for something to happen? Why do things exist the way they are and not other ways? How are these existing things related to each other? My understanding is that things come to exist through happenings, and that these happenings can only be defined by having some sort of consequence. That is, a mark must be made, or something must be divided from something else, or transformed, etc. An apple becomes part of my body because I eat it, and we can know that I ate it because my stomach is fuller and the apple is smaller. In turn, the event that produced these tangible marks defines my relationship with the apple; this includes not only the eating but my ideas about apples as food and the processes by which the apple becomes available to me (that is, how the apple is produced). I think a lot about Cole about 2/3 of the way through 12 Monkeys, when he starts to accept the premise that maybe he’s insane (rather than that he’s a time traveler) because moving between different points in time has destroyed his sense of sequence, causality, and consequence. It’s not just that time as we currently imagine it is linear and orderly (time is actually much more complex than this). It’s that if events have no consequences–if they make no marks, if they can’t be understood to affect anything–then they are not parseable as events.

This does not translate into clockwork determinism, though, where everything is inevitable because it’s all just endless chains of cause and effect. The past is fundamentally inaccessible (in exactly the same way that the future is). All we have is memory and material traces of the past, which exist in the present. We constantly reproduce and remake the past on the basis of these traces and memories, now, in the present. Therefore the past can be changed. But it cannot be erased or undone, because the very things we have to work with–our means of changing the past–are the marks and traces and memories that show that there ever was a past at all.

If I put this on a metaphorical level I think it’s pretty easy to understand. We change our minds about what traces of the past mean all the time. Take a monument, like say an obelisk. When it was built it meant something very specific to the religious-political elites who made it in Ancient Egypt, and to its audience; obelisks were, among other things, tools of communication. Over time, obelisks became ruins and mysterious monuments bearing unreadable marks. Later, as Europe became fascinated by Ancient Egypt, obelisks became symbols of wealth and power, used to imply continuity between French and British Empires and the Ancient Egyptian empire. When an obelisk was placed at the center of the Place de la Concorde in Paris, it was because it was seen as an apolitical symbol in the context of French political strife (though this of course ignored that the French colonization of Egypt was…..political). Meanwhile the study of heiroglyphics proceeds such that obelisks become, instead of tools of contemporary communication, part of that category called archaeological evidence. And meanwhile Egyptian politics and nationhood develop to the point that obelisks become part of the category of objects called “heritage.” The object remains the same, though it weathers and it travels; the actions that produced it as itself endure, literally as marks in stone. Its meaning changes over time and with context as different narratives and ideologies reshape it for their own purposes. The history of these reshapings can be traced as what we call “historiography,” or the writing of history; that is, history has a history of its own.

The point I want to make very clear is that the “remaking of the past” is not only symbolic or ideological. It’s not just about interpreting things differently; it is more than historiography. No one can make it so that the obelisk was never carved. But what the obelisk is, not only what it means, does change. Normally I would get into quantum physics here (the quantum eraser experiment and quantum discord), but I’m trying to keep it simple, so just consider it noted that this phenomenon appears even at the molecular level. You can decide in the present whether the light you measured (i.e., used to make marks) in the past was composed of particles or was a wave. But when you make that decision, the marks from your last decision do not go away. The past has a past. The traces of that meta-past cannot be undone even when you change what the past is.

If the past could be erased or undone, this would mean that, say, toppling a monument means it was never put up–that that event didn’t happen. It is tempting and easy here to retreat to the metaphorical/historiographic level and say, well, in a way that’s what toppling it is doing; it’s announcing the end of somebody’s power, trying to erase that power in the landscape. But making people ignorant of the past is not the same as undoing it, because whatever happened in the past–by virtue of the fact that it happened at all–had material consequences that are not reversible. The toppled monument may become covered in soil and overgrown, but it was still carved out of rock and nothing undoes that. The stone does not magically reappear as part of the rock it came from. That people forget does not make it something that never happened. Instead it becomes the mark of a past version of the past. Whether we remember that past version doesn’t change the fact that it happened; it just means we have remade the past in the present. If you’re familiar with Walter Benjamin’s notion of debris and the Angel of History, my version of it would be that we are surrounded by all the traces of all past pasts; indeed, part of what makes it possible to remake the past is the fact that these traces endure to coexist with us in the present, and not all of them fit together.

This matters to my feelings about what reality is and what makes life life because, as I said early on, if you could undo the marks of the past–and of the past’s past–then there would be no events. There would quite possibly be no things at all. To move this to an ethical register, to live a life in which you always have a do-over button is, for me, impossible to imagine. It requires that the other people around you be essentially simulations (assuming they, too, have do-over buttons, and therefore are proceeding through their own playground universes), or else be puppets to your whims. It means you will never be responsible for anything or to anyone; it means always being able to declare “I didn’t mean it” and have that make everything okay because no one else will ever know what you did–because you didn’t do it. The minds, feelings, and pain of others need not ever be real to you, only your desire to avoid being made to feel bad by their reactions, which you need not even understand; you can just redo stuff by trial and error until you get “changes” you want to “save,” and move on. It is a life of being sorry only to get caught, so to speak. You need never make any mark on the world you don’t intend or like, which is–I mean like, materially–just literally not what existing is. I exist because of the other things and beings that constitute me and that I help constitute in turn. If I can pick and choose, if I can curate what all of those marks and relationships look like–well, for one thing, I’d never have time to do anything else (perhaps I don’t wish to disturb these carpet fibers in this particular way), but also I am simply not operating in the domain of what existence is? I think Russian Doll illustrates this pretty well. Nadia and Alan do live this kind of do-over existence, but the universe doesn’t just accept it. Even after reboots, their actions have consequences, entropy proceeds, things start to decohere.

That life is hard because there are no do-overs is true. It’s not that I have no sympathy for this fact; trust me, I feel it acutely all the time. Nothing I’m saying here is intended to come across like “grow up and join the real world, snowflake!” But without this fact there is also no life, because nothing happens; there are no meaningful relationships or responsibilities. It might be pleasant to be able to return back to your last save and redo things better, but it would also mean living in a world where nothing is real. Responsibility is many things. Two of them are a) the ability to respond to others, and b) the ability to allow others to respond. Even a puppetmaster must contend with the fact that their puppets sometimes break; they have to look after them. But this shouldn’t be seen as only restrictive, a burden to be borne. The forms of responsibility enabled by the indelible past are also what allow us to remake it–to respond differently. We are only here because we inherit the past, and in that sense we owe it a debt; but we have also received from it the gift of being here at all.

References!

At Multiverse Impasse, a New Theory of Scale

Walter Benjamin, “On the Concept of History”

Laurent Olivier, The Dark Abyss of Time (review/summary here)

Gastón Gordillo, Rubble: The Afterlife of Destruction (which you can hear something about on this podcast)

On 12 Monkeys:

“12 Monkeys Is the Apocalypse Film We Need Right Now”

The film Looper, if you haven’t seen it, is itself a comment on 12 Monkeys and extends its ideas in the direction of responsibility.

Karen Barad, “Temporality, Materiality, Justice To-Come” and Meeting the Universe Halfway (you can find a pdf if you google)

(It was hard to find anything both readable and open-access on this, but if you’re really interested, get into quantum discord and quantum illumination)

Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past

Paul Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting

Jacques Derrida, Spectres of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International

Derek McCormack, “Remotely Sensing Affective Afterlives”

#anonymous #happy new year i guess #time #responsibility i suppose

15 notes · View notes

angelic-guardienne · 7 years

Note

Chocobros finding their s/o tortured and tied up by MTs? Any type of torture. How do they deal with the idea that their S/O got hurt because of them and how do they try to take care of them?

I decided to take this one on as an OT4+!, since I’ve been sitting on it for so long and not been able to come up with good enough reactions for all the bros. I’m sorry this took so long, and I’m sorry if this doesn’t really fully answer the prompt... hggggnn...

Tagging: @themissimmortal @nemo-ne-impune-lacessit @roses-and-oceans @for-lack-of-a-better-world @alicemoonwonderland @joioliviapolaroid @crazykruemel @ponkita @amicitonia @tales-of-a-fallen-star @goldenrosechain @valkyrieofardyn @insomniacapples @kawaiinekorose @kerrtrash

Content Warning: Implied heavy torture, kidnapping, angst

All of them are absolutely distraught once the battle is over and they can’t find you. It’d been an ambush by the empire, one they hadn’t been truly prepared for, so everyone got out pretty banged up -- except that suddenly didn’t matter anymore because you were gone.

Noctis can’t sleep and constantly looks somewhere between the verge of tears and rage. Prompto is reviewing all of his battle photos to try and find the point where you’d been snatched or literally any evidence as to where you might be but comes up dry. Gladio’s gonna wear a hole in the ground with all his pacing and a hole in his friends with all that aggression. Ignis can’t cook properly and is endlessly fidgeting with his glasses, he constantly checks his phone for more information from any possible source.

Eventually, Cindy tips them off much like she did with the Regalia -- the bros have to take time to rush and gather more information and formulate a plan before they can go and rescue you. Despite wanting to get it done ASAP, they can’t risk rushing in blindly and possibly getting you killed.

When they finally do get things sorted out, they go to rescue you like the knights in shining armor that they are, fighting through a seemingly endless horde of MTs and imperial soldiers to finally get to you... they’re shocked beyond words at the state they find you in.

There’s no time for that, though, they can do a full damage assessment when you’re safe, right now all that matters is that you’re alive and that they really need to get out of there before backup shows up and they put you in even more danger. They’re putting their rage towards the Empire aside -- you’re their priority right now.

Except, when you finally wake up, everything is wrong and there’s none of the relief. You cower away from Prompto’s touch, begging him not to hurt you anymore. You’re wholeheartedly convinced that Ignis tries to poison you every time he cooks, even when you see all the others eating the same food. You avoid Gladio like the plague, telling him that you couldn’t handle seeing him die again. You can’t make eye contact with Noctis without almost having a panic attack.

They’re all even more distraught now. Had they really taken so long? Were they too late? What the hell had they done to you?

They’re all so angry, but they’re keeping it under wraps so they don’t make things worse for you. They can’t bear seeing you like this, but they’re not sure what they can possibly do to make things better for you. They’re glad you’re alive but they wouldn’t call you safe just yet. They’re so worried about you.

The executive decision is to leave you in Hammerhead with Cindy and the rest of them so you can recover and be out of danger. Hopefully, you’ll be happier there than you are with them. They’re not happy, but they have your best interest at the forefront so they’re willing to do anything.

Prompto and Gladio are visibly taking this all the hardest, but they’re all totally wrecked -- Noctis has shut himself off and Ignis has bottled everything up to the point of almost being cold. Car rides don’t have their usual warmth because everyone is on edge and anxious. No one can really think straight while you’re in such a state.

Doubtlessly, they exert their angry energy by taking down a few more bases out of pure revenge. The Empire would pay for what they did to you, and every part of that payment would be in blood.

Right, just before their rampage makes headlines, Cindy gives them a call. See, this whole time she’s been helping you recover, and while she doesn’t know the full extent of what was done to you, she has a general enough idea. She relayed that information to the bros, kind of like a status update. This stokes the flames, but Cindy tells them not to do anything reckless and stupid, because she’s steadily working towards getting you to consider seeing them again.

That changes things a lot. There’s still the rage, of course, but the bros are trying to direct it towards something more productive -- like doing hunts to raise gil for your return, things like that. Cindy’s been texting Prompto to ask for pictures here and there, and he eagerly sends them.

Eventually, they get another call from Cindy -- you’ve requested to see them.

When I tell you those boys dropped everything to pile into to Regalia to speed over to Hammerhead… they dropped everything.

The hesitation only sets in once the car is in park and they’re lingering right outside the garage, waiting for Cindy to come out -- how are you gonna react to seeing all of them again? Should they go in one at a time? What if they overwhelm you? What if you have a relapse when you see them again and you get scared of them again? So many questions, they might actually be panicking.

Cindy strolls out of the garage, and she’s by herself, and the bros are expecting something terrible to come from her mouth, but she just tells them to keep calm, talk in low tones, try not to rile you up or make any sudden movements -- she’s gonna bring you out in a second, but they have to cool it because you’re still kinda skittish.

After everything’s settled, Cindy goes back into the garage. She’s not gone for very long, but it feels like an eternity to the bros -- they’re anxious to see you.

Cindy reappears, this time holding you gently by the arm and helping you walk. Your time at Hammerhead has done you very well; you still have a limp, but you’re looking much healthier than you were when they found you. You just look… better.

It’s silent for a bit as you look at them, just take them in, and they wait as patiently as possible. When you move, there’s a sheepish little smile on your face, and you hobble forward and pull Prompto into a hug, since he literally looks on the verge of tears no matter how much he’s trying to hold it in.

(He does cry when you let him go)

You try to apologize for a lot of things, but the bros don’t even let you get that far -- they tell you that nothing was your fault, nothing at all, and then they all request to hug you. They each get separate hugs and kisses and such.

Even though you’re doing a lot better, you are still recovering and all, and while you do invite the bros to come around more often, you tell them you think it’s best that you hang back for a little while longer, at least until this limp goes away. They agree -- they’d rather you be at full strength for your return.

It’s not a perfectly flawless recovery; you still have nightmares about your capture, you still have relapses sometimes, but in general, you’ve done so much and the bros are so proud of you and they just love you even more, like record-breaking levels my friends. They still blame themselves quite a bit, knowing that you were most likely captured because of your relationship with them (there’s some debate that you should probably not travel with them anymore for that reason, but you argue relentlessly and they eventually acquiesce)

So yes, it’s a happy ending. Not a flawless one, but a happy one nonetheless.

#poly!bros #writing #ffxv #final fantasy xv #ignis #ignis scientia #prompto #prompto argentum #gladio #gladiolus amicitia #noctis #noctis lucis caelum #asks #ot4+1 #chocobros #this took me like a year to finish aghhh and i wrote all of this in a few hours #this went through like three drafts and then got stuck in development hell #i'm trying to clear out my drafts cause that 38 is really menacing nowadays #haaaaa

270 notes · View notes

secretagentspydetectiveninja · 6 years

Text

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 67

The closer and closer to the end of this fic, the more bittersweet the chapters seem to become...

Anyway, reminder that the Morse code hecks up on tumblr and therefore you should read it on AO3 here, and other reminder to not question the fact that the snake speaks in Morse code

Over the next few weeks, the school population dropped even lower. While the new Empress Chloé did seem to have avoided a full-on civil war by the skin of her teeth, that certainly didn’t mean that the Bourgeois Empire was stable or prospering, and it showed. There were even fewer guards and servants than before, and it was strange to be able to walk around the entire school without seeing any renovation work going on at all for once.

Most of the students who left were the younger nobles, afraid of being far away from home for so long during such turbulent times. The remainder of the royalty class was still intact for now, though who knew how long that was going to last. Class seemed strangely quiet without Chloé’s incessant nattering going on in the background. Lady Caline did her best to keep everyone’s spirits up, trying not to give them too much homework and encouraging their friendships, but there still seemed to be a storm cloud hanging over the school.

By the time of the Cupid Festival, that storm cloud had become literal. Aurore herself had left the school, deeming it no longer satisfactory to her elegant tastes, and Mireille’s broken heart was influencing the weather so strongly that there was a torrential downpour for the whole week, and it simply wouldn’t cease.

Kim woke up on the morning of the Cupid Festival to the sound of that rain again, the endless rain that had been going on for days now. His heart sank – how were he and Max supposed to have their anniversary picnic at the fountain if it was still raining? Well, perhaps the rain would have stopped by afternoon, and they could still go ahead with it…

There was a knocking sound on his window. He went over to open the curtains, before it hit him – how could someone be knocking on his window?

Looking outside, he didn’t see anything strange in the sky. No birds hitting the window, no one climbing up here to play some prank on him. Just the raindrops.

There was another tap on the window. This time Kim saw it himself – someone had thrown a stone at it. He looked down at the ground to see two people standing there under an umbrella, looking up at him. Not just any people. Max and Alix! From the looks of it, Alix was getting ready to chuck another stone.

Kim opened the window, ignoring the splashes of rain that got onto his arms. “Guys! What the heck are you doing?”

Alix was the one holding the umbrella over them, since Max seemed to be carrying a… okay wow, he was carrying an actual guitar with him, and a megaphone too.

“Good morning Kim!” Max said through the megaphone. “I can’t actually hear you from down here, by the way, so you don’t need to say anything. Anyway, I promised you a guitar serenade like this, didn’t I? I doubt you’ll be able to hear it over the rain, and also I can’t really play the guitar, but I’m not going to let any of that stop me, and Alix very kindly agreed to steal Marinette’s umbrella to keep me dry…”

Kim just watched in amazement as Max proceeded to attempt to play the guitar far below, barely audible at all. Alix seemed to be laughing, earning her occasional glares from Max. To be fair, Kim would probably be laughing too if he could actually hear the guitar – he knew perfectly well that Max didn’t know how to play!

“There, I did it!” Max was talking through the megaphone again, audible once more. “I’m sorry that wasn’t particularly romantic, but I wasn’t counting on the rain. I’ll see you for our picnic later, which I’m sure will be much better!”

The window in the room beside Kim’s opened too, and he stuck his head out to see Marinette there, looking down at the courtyard, bewildered. “Max? Alix? Is that… my umbrella?”

“Bye Kim!” Max said quickly, and he and Alix rushed off before Marinette could say anything else.

Well… that had been an odd start to the morning. Was the rest of the Cupid Festival going to be this weird?

Alix already had a bunch of friendship stickers stuck all over her pet snake from various people by the time she managed to track down Markov to give him one too. He was in the “new” wing of the school – though it had been around for a year already by this point – hovering just far enough behind the large balcony over the river that the roof protected him from the rain. Evidently he wasn’t cold at all, though probably because he was a robot.

“Markov, there you are!” She ran over and stuck a friendship sticker to his forehead. “Happy Friendship Festival. Yes, I said Friendship.”

He stared at her silently for a few seconds, before speaking oddly quietly for once. “Alix, I… I have a confession to make.”

Really? What could a robot possibly need to confess?

“Did you kill anyone?” she asked. After all, this balcony wasn’t exactly the safest place, despite being so big. Maybe Markov accidentally pushed someone off the edge or something. Or maybe he electrocuted someone with the rather dodgy-looking chandelier in the room just behind the balcony. It would be easy enough to push someone off the staircase to make them land on it. Or something like that.

“No, I haven’t killed anyone! It’s not a bad confession. Just… a strange one.”

“Oh, okay.”

“The truth is… I am no longer like you. I now know what it feels like to be in love.”

Markov was in love with someone?! A robot, made out of metal and wires, had actually fallen in love?

Alix had to stop herself giving a rather spiteful retort – honestly, to think that a robot could fall in love, and yet she couldn’t, and Markov was a traitor for…

No, she couldn’t think stuff like that, that was mean! She was past the stage of being bitter about things, right? She was cool with everything now. And this was obviously something important to Markov, so she very firmly told herself to take it seriously and stop being a jerk.

“How do you know?” she asked, before wishing she hadn’t said that. It made it sound like she didn’t believe him or something, but she did. She knew too well what it felt like to not have people believe her. And anyway, Markov already had emotions. Considering that, him falling in love wasn’t a stretch.

“It is the conclusion that seems to make the most sense,” he said. “She fascinates me beyond what appears to be normal, and when I see her my internal processors start overheating for no discernible reason, and my logic pathways seem to malfunction terribly, she makes me feel so strangely happy, and I wish I could tell her how I feel but I can’t…”

Hearing a friend gushing about unrequited love seemed to kick Alix back into winggirl mode instantly. “Yes you can! Give her a Cupid sticker and tell her the truth, whoever she is!”

“No, it’s not like that. It would not work. It is impossible for me to ever be with her, no matter what.”

“Are you sure? I know you’re a robot, but still. You could totally date a human.”

“The problem is not that I’m a robot or that she is human. It is something more fundamental than that. And I must resign myself to the fact that it cannot happen, and move on, though it makes me unhappy…”

A rather unnerving thought had just occurred to Alix. “Dude… it’s not me, is it?”

“What? No, it’s not you!” Markov laughed, bobbing up and down and poking her in the nose. “I do like you a lot, but the same way I like all my friends! Though you are very pretty to look at. Especially when you’re doing sports, and you wear those… sporty clothes… uh, I think my CPU is overheating again… um…”

“So who is it then?” Alix asked quickly, deciding to ignore that last part.

“Oh! It’s… um, well, you see, she’s dead. So I cannot confess my feelings to her, unless ghosts are real, but as of now I have no way to detect them. She will never know the truth.”

“You’re in love with a dead person. Uh, okay.”

“But she’s a wonderful dead person! You yourself told me how amazing she is!”

Really? Alix could not remember ever telling Markov about any cool dead ladies.

Wait… unless…

She flicked open the lid of her sceptre, revealing the little blue hologram of Pharaoh Rania.

“Are you talking about this dead lady?”

Markov’s dot eyes had already transformed into hearts. He zoomed up close to the hologram, his fans whirring so loud they could be heard over the rain. “Yes… it’s her… she’s so beautiful…”

So he was in love with the hologram of a long dead pharaoh. For several seconds Alix just stared, in stunned silence. Out of everyone she could have possibly expected Markov to fall in love with, Rania wouldn’t have even made the list.

“So you have a crush on my like great-great aunt or something,” she said finally. “My ancestor. Who has been dead for a hella long time.”

“Yes.”

“Well… uh… one time Jalil did decipher an old text that seemed to be a necromancy ritual, so maybe it’s not totally hopeless, but like…”

Markov snapped out of his reverie. “No, don’t wake her from the dead! Let her rest!”

“Um, okay.”

“And anyway, she was already married, and she was old by the time she died, so she would not have looked like this… though of course that doesn’t matter to me! Looks are not more important than personality when it comes to love, I know that. For example, you look nice, but that doesn’t mean I… I mean, you have a nice personality too… you look a little like Rania, actually… but I’m not – I’m not saying I–”

Alix snapped shut the sceptre. “Stop making it weird.”

“Right! Sorry.” Little dark blue blush circles were creeping up under his eyes. “Anyway, none of this matters, because Rania is long dead. I should move on. I have this Cupid sticker I’ve been keeping in my pocket, so I suppose I should give it to someone else.”

“Pocket?”

Markov retracted his arm for a second, then pulled it out again holding one of those heart-shaped Cupid stickers in his hand. “Yes, pocket. Sometimes I store food in there. I don’t know what it feels like to eat, but I can always pretend!”

Oh yes, of course Markov couldn’t eat. Somehow that seemed so much more depressing than him being in love with someone who was already dead – though maybe that was just Alix’s priorities being in a weird order.

“Who should I give this to?” he asked.

“I dare you to give it to Lady Mendeleiev.”

“What? But I don’t like her!”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s a dare. She’ll be mad at you but it’ll be so worth it.”

Markov shook his head. “I don’t want to waste this sticker. And I wouldn’t want to play with anyone’s feelings, not even Mendeleiev. Maybe I’ll just have to… pretend it’s a friendship sticker… and give it to a friend instead…”

“Like Max? He’s the one who created you, after all.”

“No, the only person he should get one from is Kim! I was actually thinking… well… someone else… I mean, it isn’t a big deal, but…”

He had started drifting ever so slightly closer, the blue blushy marks back, CPU whirring so fast Alix could feel the heat from here. Rolling her eyes, she just snatched the sticker off him. “Okay yeah, I get it, fine. I’ll have this sticker. Now get out of here before you self-combust, you lovesick toaster.”

Markov did not need to be told twice. “Bye!” He zoomed off and out of sight.

Alix opened up the sceptre again and stuck the Cupid sticker on the underside of the lid, where it could be with Rania all the time. “Somehow I don’t think Rania’s the one he really likes…”

The snake nodded in reply. Poor Markov, he probably didn’t even realize it. She’d just have to find a way to set him up with someone. Someone who was okay with dating a robot, somehow. Or get Max to build more robots, so that Markov could have an immortal companion who would stick around forever, just like him.

“Hey! Alix!”

She turned around to see Kim running over, looking pleased – crap, he wasn’t going to try to throw in her a basketball hoop again, was he?

“How much coffee have you had?” she asked quickly.

“Huh? None, don’t worry!” He had something strapped to his shoulders, and once close enough she saw that it was the lute thing he had used to play her songs on the previous Cupid Festivals. “I’m just happy because Marinette’s made cookies and she’s gonna give some to Mireille, so hopefully that’ll change the weather, and then me and Max can have a picnic date like we were supposed to.”

“Isn’t it too cold for a picnic outdoors?”

“Pfffff, as if a bit of cold weather is gonna bother me. We have coats, we may as well use them. Anyway, I have something to do for you, so…”

“I know already,” she said. “You’re going to tell me to shut up and not laugh, and then you’re gonna play me a song, and then you’ll give me a friendship sticker and tell me how awesome I am.”

“Nope!”

He went and sat down on the nearby bench with his lute in hand, then patted at the seat beside him.

“C’mere. I have a way cooler present this year.”

Really? Like what? She sat down next to him, and then he handed the lute over to her along with a guitar pick.

“There you go. This instrument is your present this time. It’s called the đàn nguyệt and it’s all the way over from my kingdom, so you’ll take care of it, yeah?”

“Wait, what? You’re giving me this?”

“Yep!”

“But… I don’t even know how to play it…”

She took a closer look at it. The end of it was circular, and there were only two strings. It might look like an ordinary guitar from a distance, but close up it didn’t resemble one at all.

“I’ll teach you how to play it, don’t worry,” Kim said. “You taught me a bit of electric guitar that one time, remember? I’ve kinda forgotten most of it, but still.”

Oh yes… that had been years ago, during the cursed spring holidays. She had almost forgotten about it by now.

“So, are you ready to learn?”

Alix nodded, still too surprised to say much – she hadn’t expected to be getting music lessons today, of all things.

“Okay. The name of the instrument means ‘moon lute’ and it’s got these two strings made of silk, and you can pretty much tune it how you want, though I’ve put them a 5th apart for now, and…”

For a while he explained various things about the instrument itself, far more knowledgeable than usual. Then he began teaching her to play simple little notes on it. It certainly did have a different feel to a guitar, despite still being a string instrument.

The strangest thing was how good a teacher Kim was. For once he wasn’t being his usual annoying competitive self, as much fun as that always was. He was being…

Well, he was being more like Max!

Maybe all that tutoring he’d been getting had ended up being put to good use, and not just for schoolwork. Perhaps what Kim had learnt from Max was something far more valuable. Patience, encouragement, clarity. It was surprising, and in the best way possible.

“And that concludes today’s lesson,” Kim said finally, once Alix had actually managed to play a little tune on the instrument. “As a thank you for being such a good student, here’s a sticker. Happy Cupid Festival, you little goofball.”

He pushed aside her fringe and stuck a friendship sticker on her forehead, just like he’d done last year. Almost at the same moment, the sounds of torrential rain from outside lessened to near-silence. Looked like those cookies had worked on Mireille after all.

“Well, as a thank you for being a good teacher, here’s thirty six friendship stickers,” Alix said, pulling a roll of sticker paper out of her pocket and thrusting it into his hands. “I mean, it’s not as cool a present as yours, but…”

“Yeah, well it makes sense.” Kim had already started peeling off the stickers and putting them all over his shirt. “My best friend is way cooler than your best friend, so she deserves to get better presents.”

“What? No, you’re wrong. My best friend is way cooler than yours, he’s the coolest ever and even thirty six friendship stickers aren’t enough to show it.”

“Pffffffff, that’s stupid. My best friend is the awesomest person in the universe, while your best friend is a total idiot, and you know it.”

“Well actually, your best friend is the one who’s a total idiot, while mine is surprisingly smart and thoughtful, so…”

-... --- - .... / --- ..-. / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / .. -.. .. --- - ...! the snake tapped out on the wall behind them.

“What did he say?” Kim asked.

“Um… he says you’re still a punk bitch, but he’s gonna miss your stupid antics after school finishes.”

Kim grinned at her, not fooled for a second. “Yeah, okay. And what else does he say?”

“He says that… that you’re a really awesome friend. Like, when you’re not being annoying. Okay, even when you’re annoying! Because you’re fun. And… and no one else in the universe is like that. No one else is as fun to hang out with, or mess around with, or just talk to, or…”

“Wow, your snake really seems to think highly of me, huh?” He winked and ruffled her hair.

“Yeah, I guess he does.”

“You know, Alix, you’ve already told me more than once how awesome you think I am, and how we’re gonna be best friends forever and all of that stuff. I already know you love me. You don’t have to keep being all defensive about it! You don’t need to worry about me getting really full of myself – I’ve got Max for that!”

“No, it’s not that…” She put the instrument aside and curled up with her knees to her chest, wondering how to put it. “It’s just… we’re not really gonna be best friends forever, are we?”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you’ll leave! When the summer holidays start! Either that or something awful will happen, but let’s pretend it won’t – you’ll go home and you’ll stay there for years and years and I won’t get to see you.”

“But that doesn’t mean we won’t still be friends! I’ll call you up like every single day, and… and…”

“That’s not the same, is it? I know that friendships diminish over time and distance in a way that romances don’t, because… because it’s less important… and I know you say it’s not, but…” She trailed off, wondering if she sounded like a whiny broken record. It still worried her, though. Sometimes it seemed that life had doomed her to forever be a third wheel, no matter what it took.

Kim gently put an arm around her. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t normal friendship, is it? It’s super, extra special friendship. And the reason I gave you the đàn nguyệt this time is so that next year when I probably won’t be able to meet up with you, you’ve still got a cool present to remember me with.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I need to give you something really special too then…”

“You already did! My phone was a present from you, remember? And I wasn’t lying about calling you up every single day. When the telecommunication lines back home are fixed, I’ll be able to talk to you whenever I want.”

“Good! You’d better!”

He pulled her into a hug and didn’t let go. “You’re so tiny and annoying. I’m gonna miss you.”

It wasn’t often that he hugged her like this. Usually his ridiculously long, heartfelt hugs were reserved for Max, so often that it was a wonder they hadn’t lost their impact. But this felt special, and different, and good.

“Hey Kim?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

He chuckled. “Wow, I can’t believe you’re the one telling me that. No wonder you’re related to Jalil.”

“I mean it! Fu said the timelines are gonna split again, didn’t he? I don’t want you to… I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, okay?”

She left out what she really wanted to say. I don’t want you to die. True, not every bad timeline had resulted in death. But the ones that had turned out fatal still haunted her. Decapitation, snake venom, poisoned chocolates… what could possibly be next? Whatever it was, she couldn’t let it happen to Kim. The thought of losing him, after everything else they’d had to go through…

“You have a point,” he muttered. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I don’t wanna die.”

Oh, so he was thinking it too. Was he afraid? He must be. Everything seemed so much colder all of a sudden, thinking about those stupid cursed timelines full of despair.

“Hey look, it’s snowing!” He let go of her and jumped off the bench, running over to the balcony. She looked over to see that it had indeed started snowing outside – maybe that was the actual reason it was suddenly cold, then. Had Mireille not liked the cookies or something?

She followed him over, looking over the edge of the railings at the raging river down below. “The moat’s really turbulent today, isn’t it?”

“Pffffffffff, I could totally still swim across it. Not that I would! Because I am being careful from now on, of course, so I won’t do that.”

“Good.” It was cold out here, but something was making her cold on the inside too. Like some strange sense of… foreboding. But what? She had a quick check of the timelines, but nothing bad was happening in any of them right now.

“This is so awesome!” Kim was saying, catching snowflakes on the tip of his finger. “I hardly ever get to see snow, and now me and Max’s date is gonna be a snowy one, that’s gonna be so cute…”

Alix didn’t want to dampen his fun, but she had something on her mind, and she had to say it. “Dude, I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it. I just don’t like it. This… this balcony here.”

The snake hissed, tapping something on the railing.

-- . / - --- ---!

“Oh good, so it’s not just me…”

Kim was staring at her in wonder. “Alix, are you psychic or something? ‘Cause that’s awesome!”

“I’m not psychic! Well except the timeline thing. It just feels bad somehow and I don’t know why. Look, I’m gonna go now, it’s freezing out here…”

“Oh yeah, same. I need to go prepare for my awesome Cupid date with Max. See you later then!” He gave her another quick hug, then ran off.

Huh… this Cupid Festival somehow seemed so bittersweet compared to the other ones. Two years ago the biggest thing she had to worry about was wondering if her friend secretly had a crush on her. Last year she’d been totally focused on getting Kim and Max together, and it had worked. This year though, she’d got the nicest present ever, and reassurance that her best friend cared about her too much to ever drift away, but with the ever-growing fear that she would lose him at some point during the next few months…

Max was already waiting out at the fountain in the snow. He was early, he knew it, but there was just something so enchanting about snow! Though he was not an outdoors person in general, this kind of weather was too precious and fleeting to miss. Sure, the ground was still slippery and wet from the rain earlier, and the snow was not settling, so maybe a lunch picnic here would not be ideal. But at least spending some time out here would be nice.

Thinking back to last year he remembered how it had been so sunny and bright, such a different atmosphere to now. That was back before the assassination drama, before the Bourgeois Empire almost collapsed into chaos, before the danger got so real and tangible that it weighed everyone down. Part of him just wanted to go back. Last year’s Cupid Festival had been a day so magical it was almost impossible to believe it had really happened. But the results were right here – Kim was his sweetheart, and had been now for a whole year!

Right on cue, he saw Kim running over towards him out of the snowy mist. “Max! How dare you get here before me?!”

The next thing he knew, he had been wrapped in one of Kim’s giant ribcage-crushing hugs, though this one seemed much fluffier than usual considering the coats they were wearing.

“I guess I’m just quicker than you sometimes,” Max replied, gladly hugging Kim back. “Remember last year, when I confessed before you too?”

Kim hugged him even tighter. “Of course I remember. That was like, the best day of my life. Anyway, I guess I’ll beat you to giving you a present this year, and it’s not just gonna be a generic Cupid sticker.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little box. For a few seconds Max wondered if the box contained a ring, and if Kim was about to get down on one knee and… well, it wasn’t like Kim hadn’t proposed before already, because he had. But the thought of him doing it properly stopped Max’s heart for a moment in a way that it hadn’t done before – oh boy, if Kim actually really proposed to him…

“I know I kinda already gave you a brooch,” Kim continued, his face going red, “but that one didn’t really count, did it? I bought it for Chloé, and then I only actually gave it to you because Alix didn’t want it. It didn’t really mean… well, it didn’t mean what this present’s going to mean.”

He opened the box and pulled out a small heart-shaped object. It was partially red, partially green, and decorated with little heart sequins. Definitely not a ring.

“I made this one myself. With Marinette’s help, though, since I don’t really know how to make stuff. But yeah, it’s green and red because green’s your favourite colour and red’s mine, so I thought it would suit us. And um… this time when I’m giving it to you, I really mean it.”

Kim stepped in and pinned the new brooch to the front of Max’s coat, so gently and delicately, frowning slightly in concentration. Max couldn’t take his eyes off him. Those little flecks of snow settling in his hair, the admiration in those dreamy grey eyes, the visible wisps of breath curling out into the cool winter air, oh, there was just something so beautiful about it all.

“There you go. A new brooch, and an actual Cupid present this time. And I know I say this all the time, but I… I love you, Max. A lot. And every time I say it, I mean it.”

It was true that this was something Max had heard very often, considering how openly affectionate Kim was with him, even long before they’d gotten together. But this time Kim seemed somewhat more flustered, now running a hand through his hair and inadvertently loosening many of the snowflakes resting there.

“And like… I know I’m a hopeless romantic and I’ve had loads of crushes on people, but this one feels different. It always felt different. You… you just feel right, Max, in a way that no one else ever did. You’re always there for me. You’re special. And I don’t wanna use the term ‘true love’ lightly, because I know I take love way more seriously than other people, but…”

He trailed off. Max tried to think of something to say in reply, anything at all! But it would just be impossible to match Kim’s heartfelt speech in words of his own. Instead he laid his shaking hands on the side of Kim’s face, those warm cheeks heating up his frozen fingers, and kissed him softly. It had been exactly a year since their first kiss, and how many had they had in between? Too many to count.

By the time he pulled away his glasses had fogged up too much for him to see. It didn’t matter, though. He simply closed his eyes again and let his forehead rest against Kim’s, still close enough to be sharing breaths. His lips were tingling, and not from the cold.

“I love you too, Kim,” he breathed. “I love your present, and I… I feel the same way about you that you do about me…”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’m well and truly in love with you.”

“Aww, Max, me too…” Kim chuckled slightly. “That’s so cheesy though. I love it.”

“I know. And I have a present for you too.” He stepped back and quickly cleaned his glasses, then pulled the little wrapped gift out of his pocket and gave it to Kim. “Here you go. I feel like perhaps it’s not as heartfelt as the brooch you made for me, but I wanted to give you something that you can use, so…”

Kim had opened the wrapping in no time and was now staring in wonder at the little box in his hand. “Is this some kind of camera?!”

“Yes. I remember how excited you were to buy a disposable camera in my kingdom quite a while ago, so I built a digital one for you while I was working on Markov. It doesn’t run on film, so you can use it for as long as you like, and can transfer the pictures onto your phone to look at them or send them to people.”

“You… you built me a techy camera?”

“Yep!”

For a few seconds Kim just stared in silent amazement, before pulling Max into another giant hug. “That’s the coolest thing ever! A digital camera! And you’re the one who built it, I mean, can you even get any cooler? I’ve got the coolest sweetheart in the entire world!”

Hearing compliments from Kim always made Max’s heart swell with pride and love. “I’m so glad you like it! You’ll send me pictures you take, right?”

“Of course I will! In fact…” He let go and pressed the on switch on the camera. “The first picture I take has gotta be of you. Or wait! It’s gotta be us. Both of us. I don’t know how I’m gonna do that with no one else here, but I’ll find a way.”

“The commoners have a recent trend of doing that actually,” Max said. “Hold the camera at arm’s length with the lens pointing in our direction and hope it works.”

“Okay, I’ll try that… Smile!”

Max put on his best smile as Kim held out the camera with one arm and put the other around him. There was a snap as he took the photo, then they took a look at the preview of the photo on the little screen at the back. It seemed to have worked, even if it did look a bit daft – the two of them were smiling cheerfully at the camera, with the snow around them and the fountain in the background.

“Oh Max, this is perfect! This is wonderful! Thank you so much!”

“Well thank you for being a wonderful friend and sweetheart!”

“This picture is the best. I’m gonna get it printed out and framed. And then when I properly go home, I’ll hang it up on the wall in my bedroom. That way I’ll get to see you every day, even if you’re halfway across the world.”

Max’s heart sank slightly – it was a bittersweet notion. “I’ll do the same. I’m going to miss you a lot, you know.”

Kim, putting his new camera into his coat pocket, sighed. “Yeah, same. I guess some things about getting to go home again are happy, and other things are sad. In fact, since I don’t even know whether or not I’m gonna make it all the way to summer, I want to ask you to do something.”

“Kim–”

“Shhh, you know what Fu said about the timelines, you know you might end up in the bad one. Please listen.”

Thinking about a possible timeline where Kim was not with him was almost too heart-wrenching to contemplate, but it was a possibility all the same. Max nodded.

“Okay. So, whether or not I live or get to go home or whatever, you have to promise me you’ll still hang out with Alix loads. Properly, I mean. Spend time with her and stuff.”

“Of course I will!”

“Good, because she always says how she never had real friends before coming to school, especially not best friends, and I know she’s worried about me. But I’m not her only best friend – you are too. I’ll be too far away to do anything, but you won’t. I want you to make sure she’s not gonna spend the rest of her life as the lonely third wheel she’s always been. Even if we all end up in the best timeline, she’s still the only one who’ll actually have suffered through the experience of losing us all, and she’ll need more than just her pet snake for comfort.”

“I promise I’ll be there for her, no matter what,” Max said firmly. “You two will both have countries to run, but I won’t need to do that. I think I’ll actually have time to visit you both plenty.”

“What, even me?”

“Your kingdom may be far away, but didn’t you once say that the very first thing you’d do when returning is build an airport?”

“Huh, I did say that, didn’t I…”

“Exactly.” Max’s own sense of hope and resolve was increasing now, just at the thought of it. “If you do build an airport early in your reign, I’ll be able to visit fairly often. Of course there’s still the issue of cost and fuel and time zones, but we’ll sort that all out. The important thing is that I’ll be able to see you.”

Kim hugged him once more, though this time more gently, and when he pulled away his eyes were shining. “Yeah, that sounds awesome. And I guess I could attend International Alliance events myself rather than sending diplomats, so that would give me even more excuses to see you guys, right?”

“Right. But focus on your country first and foremost. Your people will need your help. And if you’re ever the one who needs help, well… I’ll only be a telephone call away.”

“Jeez, sometimes I wonder if it’s possible for you to get any sweeter, and you still manage to outdo yourself. I love you so much.” Kim took Max’s hands in his own. “Your hands are so cold!”

Max’s face wasn’t cold, that was for certain. “In that case you should probably keep holding onto them… you know, thermodynamic equilibrium and all that…”

“Hmmm…” Kim raised Max’s hands to his lips and kissed the tips of his fingers. “Hey Max? I know we probably should have lunch now, indoors so we don’t freeze, but I’m not in a hurry so, um… can I kiss you again? Please?”

Last year it had been Max who asked for a kiss, and this time Kim had indeed managed to beat him to it. He nodded, holding Kim’s hands a little tighter. “You always can.”

“Aww… Happy Cupid Festival, Max.”

“Happy Cupid Festival, Kim.”

They kissed again, thousands of snowflakes swirling around them in the winter breeze, settling into their hair and clothes only to melt in their shared warmth, and even a few mysterious flower petals seemed to float through. And Max was melting too, his cold hands heating up, and he wanted to make the most of every moment like this he got – aware that with a timeline split on the way between now and summer, every kiss with Kim might be his last.

#will anyone hate me if i make markov the token straight friend? yes a robot #royalty au #miraculous ladybug #le chien kim #max kante #kimax #like sO MUCH KIMAX #alix kubdel #markov #random stuff #aish writes #the misadventures of prince kim

4 notes · View notes

madluv · 7 years

Text

CHOKE / a jarley fanfiction

Written by Lemily @madluv

NSFW Fluff/Smut

Harley Quinn’s jealous streak gets the better of her and Joker is going to pay!

She was red hot fury. Veins burning with a potent, vile rage, that had her fingers trembling, her heart hammering. She had screamed, cried, smeared her once immaculate make-up, thrown her favourite bottle of perfume and let Bud and Lou feast a frenzy on his extensive collection of footwear. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to wreck havoc on his and her belongings, pent up in the penthouse alone and stewing. She needed to see him – hurt him – just as he had been hurting her.

She didn’t believe it at first. The newspaper article, the photo print, of none other than her puddin’ stirring chaos in the city. And if she hadn’t been admiring him so, she would of missed the most important detail, the thing that had made her blood boil and her jaw clench tight. As beside him stood a woman civilian, red-headed, red-lipped, wrapped up in his free arm, awfully, dreadfully, close to her one and only. And Harley squinted, further studied the photograph, donned her glasses, and had spotted then, how her puddin’s hand was around the wench’s wrist. How they were together admist the carnage. Together. How the snapshot had caught him in the act.

The lyin’ cheatin’ sleazy good fer nothin’ son-of-a-bitch!

Harley tried to tell herself briefly, that it was purely coincidence. That the circumstance must have been different. It was funny if you’d been there – that kinda thing! To save herself the heartache. To try and stop the floods of tears that were prickling behind her searching eyes. It’s not what it looks like, she told herself – not what it looks like MY ASS – and she couldn’t stop her imagination running away, just like J had clearly been doin’ with his HUSSY, parading around the town as they would do. Probably having taken his new squeeze to their local haunts too, kissing under neon lights, just like their kiss, arm in arm, once upon a dream. And captured in the lens, it was undeniable evidence! Not dissimilar to the many clippings that donned the wall of their bedroom. Harley’s loving memoirs. HA HA HA. She seethed.

A few hours had been spent solely dedicated to tearing up said bedroom, since he was absent and she couldn’t tear at his STUPID FACE. She’d screamed and screeched and sobbed so hard that it had pained her. Her chest splitting and heaving with anger and grief. She’d thrown herself onto their bed, only to throw herself back off again, and had fought with the sheets like a rabid animal, in the throes of her despair she had decided, there was no better time for revenge.

She couldn’t let another minute pass by, leaving him to think and gloat on how he’d fooled her. Harley was no idiot, and she was going to prove to J just how quickly she’d caught him at his little game. And so, clad in nothing but a thin nightdress, mascara running, tiny heels, she took his favourite car and sped recklessly, dangerously, stupidly to his bar, accompanied by a small ball-hammer placed delicately upon the incriminating newspaper in the passenger seat.

Harley parked (horrifically) with no care in the world of who or what she damaged, bumping three other vehicles and scoffing at the sound of paint peeling under pressure. She inched the car crunch-crunch-CRUNCHING into it’s space. J loved that car. She loved J. Fortunately cars were much easier to fix than broken, battered hearts. And soon to be broken, battered bodies. She got out, SHATTERING the windscreen with one grand and gratitious SWING! Laughing through hysterical tears, Harley stormed towards the back door of his club. Her heart bled, and his would too before the night was done.

The doorman, dressed like a clown, looked less of a fool than she was feeling. And she glared at the goon from behind watery eyelashes, demanding simply, “where is he?” Her tone was low, and with a fist around the handle of her hammer, had him stammering.

“Ahh – hey Quinn, you know – Jay don’t want no visitors tonight –" his gloved hands were up in surrender to the scorned woman at his station.

“Why, is he fuckin’ her?”

The clown’s brows raised high at the question, the facepaint couldn’t hide the confusion. But Harley didn’t need clarification. He was fuckin’ her. Just as they would do in the private intimacy of his office, when the simple order would circulate: Do not disturb.

“He is fuckin’ her ain’t he?”

“Woah – what? Look, Quinn, no offence to ya’ really, you know we love ya’, but this ain’t the first time you’ve come knockin’ with questions like this. This is Jay we are talkin’ about here–”

What was his point? Yeah it was J she was talking about. Who else other than the cheatin’ back-stabbin’–

“Look, Harley, I’ll do you a favour and let you inside, but you can’t tell the boss that I did.”

So, Harley’s most beloved was screwin’ around on work time (quite literally!) couldn’t this clown see she had more pressing problems to deal with, than his career concerns? “It’ll be our little secret,” she told him, barging through.

The thrumming of loud, steady music, the murmer of the punters, dancers, criminals and celebrities alike, ebbed through the brickwork and through to the back. Harley weaved through the narrow corridors, manned by all manner of lackeys, recieving nods of recognition and respect. This was, after all, just as much her place now, as his. They’d been together long enough that every door, every meeting, every nook, every cranny of Joker’s nightclub was open and accessible to none other than the notorious Harley Quinn. It was their empire. No secrets. Or so he’d said. FUNNY GUY. Real funny.

Though anger spurred her onward to his office on the third floor, a feeling of utmost dread weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t prepared for the scene she was conjuring, and it bought with it more tears, more pain. So much pain! If the scarlet harlot was in there, with him, legs at his hips and back pressed against the desk – there would be a crimson crescendo before Harley was done.

She booted the door, one bold, brave move. Her breath hitched, crying, cringing, tensing for the moment her heart would be torn wide open. Her hammer poised to strike rested at her cheek and Harley charged into his office in one rapid movement, a manical mess spilling forth.

What Harley saw then, shocked her more than all of her impure imaginings. The Joker, her Mister J, the light and love of her life, sat, alone and contemplative. And he smiled at her, gladly, despite her unexpected entrance. A single brow raised as he noted her attire (or lack thereof) and cocked his head curiously at the weapon she was wielding.

“Harley, baby!”

He went to stand, arms wide and beckoning but Harley ignored him, bewildered, eyes darting the room, desperately seeking what she had been certain to find. Where was he keeping his floozy? Had the men given him time to usher her into a hidin’? Had he been warned? Prepared? Were there accomplices in this bitter and twisted betrayal?

“Looking for something?” Joker asked, and watched as she pulled open his wardrobe, tugging each and every suit jacket off of it’s hanger and onto the floor. “Baby?”

“I’m lookin’ for her!” She snapped, turning to shove the newspaper clipping into his face – “where are you hidin’ her huh? You think I wouldn’t find out?” Harley’s breath was ragged and she shook with fury as he surveyed the article, squinting at the image therein.

J sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not this again –”

“Well?” she wanted an answer, or would find it herself! And took to pulling out the contents of his glass cabinets, knocking down vintage drinks and shattering tumblers. She began to work around him at his desk, unsheathing every drawer and emptying every last sheet of paper, every pen, every paperweight.

“Who do you think I’m hiding Harls, Tinkerbell?” He barked a laugh, but she could tell from his tone he wasn’t amused. Funnily enough – neither was she.

Harley turned her warpath onto him – THIS AIN’T THE TIME FOR JOKES – and threw her hammer onto his desk, freeing her hands up to grapple at his throat. She took J by surprise and pinned him instantly, easily, pressing hard upon his adam’s apple.

“Harls –” he choked, “sweetness, it’s not– what you think!”

“Sure, it ain’t Mister J!”

“I don’t know – who she is!” His voice was high and cracking under the tightness of her grip. “Honestly – I was just – gonna kill her.” It sounded like something J would say, it sounded a lot like somethin’ he’d do too.

“Gonna?!” Harley searched his humoured features, even with her crushing his windpipe, he still smiled for her. “Is that before or after ya’ decided to fuck?”

He blinked. “What? No – I didn’t get to kill her – cause of – cause of the Batman.” He gave a limp (g a s p ing) shrug.

Funny. She had wanted to question his swollen lip and busted brow, and the purple, yellow hues that clouded around his bloodshot eyes. Her hold on him eased slightly, and her temper faltered.

“C'mon Harley, you know – I’ve only got eyes for you!”

How many times had she heard him say those words? And yet, every time, her heart skipped a beat. It skipped a beat now, no matter her anger, her hurt or embarrassment. She sniffled, and drew away from him. “Y–you really mean it?”

He ran a hand through the tangled matt of her hair, wiping a fallen tear with the soft pad of his thumb. “Harley, Harley, Harley,” he tutted, “what am I gonna do with you?” He spoke with a soft endearment no matter her behaviour. He seemed to have some idea on what to do, however, planting a firm kiss upon her cracked lips.

She melted, despite herself, despite all her doubts and displeasures. Harley could not resist his gentle eyes and gentle touch. When he was with her, like this, in a way he was with no one else, she could not fight her endless and insatiable love for him. Anything goes.

Harley’s wrath turned to wanting, and she flung herself into his arms, reciprocating his kiss with a fiery hunger. She was already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and he, his belt. Hell, maybe he could fuck the mania out of her. And could keep on, keep on, trying.

Neither of them bothered to get undressed, Harley’s nightgown ridden up to her belly, as J swung her around and onto the desk, a cold hand pressed against the liquid flesh between her thighs. She gasped, giggled, and guided his palm against her pussy. She twitched, involuntary, as he slipped away two fingers and she rode against the curve of his wrist, having known, enjoyed always, the uncomplicated manner of their love-making.

His lips were at her ear, at her neck, and sent tingling pleasure to the tips of her toes, and she turned her head aside to give him more skin to traverse. He took a nipple in his mouth and shocked her with a sharp nip of his teeth. Harley thighs tensed, and she pulled him closer with the wrap of her legs. And he left small, peppered apologetic kisses all along her throat.

His fingers curved inside of her, a slow and deliberate motion, both frustrating and fulfilling, as she teetered on nearness of an orgasm. But it didn’t come, she didn’t cum – and she grinded harder, pressing on his hand with her own and eager to reach that level of ecstasy. PLEASE –

J removed his hand then, to fuck her instead with his cock. The sudden change of rhythm, sensation, fulfillness, sent her reeling from her first climax. She took a fistful of his hair and tugging. And he winced, but he did not stop, hooking one of her legs up and over his shoulder. Harley gasped against his open mouth, urging him to kiss her as deep as he was fucking her. Please just love me.

His hands were careful with her, compliant, calm. Cupping her face and kissing with a practiced tenderness. Harley, however, was fervent beneath him, clawing at his shoulders, she savoured every slightest touch.

When he was mad, he fucked like a madman, left bruises and marks in his wake, but when he was placid, he fucked with a deliberate, conscious care that was far more torturous, more delightful, more dangerous. And he refused to quicken his pace, or match hers, no matter how much she squirmed and rocked against him. He drew her pleasure out and out, until she were about to explode. That her pussy would ache with want even though it had got. That she would ride on the edge of climax after climax, until the extent of her pleasure turned into delirium, and all her thoughts were of fucking, of how good it felt, and how it was never going to end.

She just wanted him to choke her, slap her, do somethin’ to wake her up from her haze of endless indulgence. And her body was shaken, shaking, from a countless string of orgasms. He muttered quiet nothings against her chest though she was too far gone to hear them. And Harley moaned in her many defeats beneath him.

His breath was ragged, rough, hot air against sore cheeks. His mouth lingered over hers, rewarding each of her long and lingering kisses with tiny pecks of his own. She was driven mad by the sparing contact, that only her pussy was being plowed, forcing her wave after wave, despite exhaustion, the agony, to cum.

Her thighs were slick with her own juices, and she clung to J as though her life depended on it. She wanted to stop – not to stop – to keep goin’ – for him to let her go – her back arched and she pulled him inward, felt his cock nudge the tender hilt of her cervix. Fuck.

With her free leg, Harley trapped him, tight as she could against her hips, so that each thrust, deep or shallow, hit the same sweet spot that had her pussy soaking. She desperately wanted him to kiss her further, flick a breast with his tongue, or suck on her neck but he deliberately ignored each and every one of her erogenous places, except for her neck, and obviously her pussy, and a thumb gently teased from her clit, another painful (perfect) orgasm. She groaned for him to cum – PLEASE – she couldn’t go on.

He fucked Harley harder, nudging her once to keep her from slipping away and into a state of total sensory overload. But she couldn’t keep focus – another orgasm had her lower body rigid – and it hurt, so good, she cried out for him, her voice cracking.

She wasn’t conscious when he came, and her limbs were limp and useless. Though J kissed her into rousing and helped to get her cleaned down and coherent. They both drank deep from a bottle of Jack, the only bottle she hadn’t yet smashed. And luckily, since her thirst was immense after their intense bout of sex.

“You’re the only one for me,” he hushed against her hair, and after some time for decompression and many a softly spoken reassurances, J sent her on her merry way again. Face flushed and vibrant having had the fury fucked out of her system.

And a month passed by, another honeymoon period, after another, after another. And Harley sat, clacking away at her keyboard, browsing the internet, online shopping, and quickly reading the news – just in case she’d got a mention or two – and there, illuminated on the screen of Gotham City Network, was another photo of her Mister J, suited and booted, with a gun pointed to an older woman outside a large and lavish jewellery store, a dashing smile etched across his face. And Harley pondered, for a moment, the image infront of her. And had to stop, think, and quell her instant jealousy. This time she knew – just knew it was harmless. But was there also any harm in making sure of that? She turned to the ball-hammer on her left, and his office keys beside them, pressed print on the article and prepared for another round.

#harley quinn #joker #joker x harley #my harley #eventually maybe my stories will show up in the tags #jarley #my writing

40 notes · View notes

xottzot · 7 years

Text

2017-11(NOV)-27th---Monday--a repeat of the criminal abos AGAIN.

The title above says it all.

Not that long ago a big truck came several times with all manner of goods and unlodaded and gave it to the main abo criminal household. THAT is documented in my blog. As is who the company was. They even had a young guy going aorund from the truck delivering unsolicited junk mail advertisimg into peoples leterboxes adverting their company and services. I documemted all that in my blog.

And in this blog I also have told of the criminal aboriginals comlpetely filling their street verge with a HUGE mass of household goods of ALL kinds. They did it LAST year and I think the YEAR BEFORE as well.

A mass of stuff that took 3 BIG council rubbish trucks to haul it away in the Swan Shire of Western Australia council yearly verge household rubbish collection.

Well now, NOT ONLY is teh main abo criminal household ONCE AGAIN ammasssing a HUGE pile of rubbish and junk on their street verge, so is the abo hosehold directly across the road from them. The two criminal households are absolutely twinned and are as one, they have been FOR EVER. Even when Fatguts was running his drug dealing empire business from there (and who knows if he still is, or his subordinate criminal abo's have taken the reigns of the criminal empire), bu the two households CONSTANTLY, DAILY, NIGHTLY interact with each other ALL THE TIME.

BOTH abo houses are amasing a mass of household goods onto their street verge. The main criminal abo household has a pile so large that it's equivalent in height to over halfway the height of a lightpole and it's spreading out across the entire front verge of that place....and STILL GROWING IN MASS.

If YOU think this is unlawful, then you are not worong, but the criminal aboriginals follow NO LAWS AND RULES WHATSOEVER.

Do NOT forget that MOSt if not ALL of this material being thrown out as garbage onto the street verge is NEW material that was trucked-in by a household goods rental company. As yourself how can this go on (YEARLY). Ask yourself why THEY can do it without any consequence and have no fear doing it whatsoever.

And then ask yourself when non-aborigials, non-criminals, will be penalised and accused of doing it and be fined, andor jailed? to try to cover the criminal aboriginals actions from the public ever knowing about it all.

And before you even think about that....bear the following in mind....the HUGE masses of material out on that street verge and the other one which is also growing, THAT WILL NOT STAY THAT WAY before the council rubbish trucks come in a week or two time bexcause roaming bands of people will come along and pick over the piles of rubbish and take what they want. And so the 'evidence' vanishes. The piles diminish a little in size (only a little), and all of it is thrown about on the streets.

Don't forget that the metarial was HIRED, not bought, and it is relatively new, only a few months old. Things like fridges, freezers, washing machines, lounge sofas, endless plastic ride-on kids toys (that the abo's ride ON the roads in trafic with), prams, cabinets, bookshelves, and the list go's on and on. A huge lot of that will VANISH by passing people scavenging it all up, driving around in cars and towing trailers to load it up into and taking it away. - THE EVIDENCE WILL VANISH.

It's so large that the abos start smashing it up to make room for more. And still they keep dragging out more from inside the abo houses.

And STILL the huge load of household stuff rises up and up and gets bigger and bigger......

--------------------------------

Already even before 8am, the abo toddlers in diapers were all about and roaming about on the streets.

Some were taken away across the roads to around the Koongamia school oval area by adult abo's, and they had a hard time controlling the criminals-in-training-in-diapers.

But they soon returned and once again roaming all about, and going on the roads.

The aborigials seem NEVER EVER to want to 'just' use theor backyards and be confined to there. Instead they treat their (unfenced) front yards and street verges and unfenced playgrounds depsite the traffic. THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR YEARS AND YEARS.....

On Sunday, it was hot and so from one abo criminal household (which as a low brick fence small enough to step over) they hauled across a plastic inflatable toddlers water pool, and they filled it with water and had the toddlers 'playing' on the concrete driveway in it. The place has NO FENCE AT ALL. And the pool was set up within a car-lengths distance of the road with traffic on it. And of course they were all about during the day. Sometimes only other abo small kid were tasked to 'keep an eye on' the roaming toddlers in diapers who can toddle and run about and who do that straight onto the road at any time which is only seconds away from the sliding glass front door of that abo criminal household that once was ruled by Fatguts the abo drug dealer, and may still be under his control.

Also on Sunday.......ANOTHER lot of abo's, walked along from other abo households in Koongamia and were heading towards going into the criminal pedestrian walkway into Bellevue. They looked NOT to be as feral and as criminal as the ones in Kalara Way street are, and they wore better clothing and footwear, not all-black clothing andor ersatz aboriginal 'heritage' crap clothing. -- It was an young boy, with 3-4 young girls, with one of them a toddler he struggled to hold and carry. They all moved closely together as one single group, not arguing, not screaming or yelling. One girl carried a netting bag holding two plastic balls (basketball sized). - They paused, looked at the abo criminals in the Kalara Way street then continued on into and through the criminal pedestrian walkway into Bellevue.

You see, there ARE degrees of the aboriginals about this hellhole. There does seem to be some (or at least a minor very few) that are normal and not outright criminals who prey upon anyone and anything such as they Kalara Way ones actively live.

But the Bellevue area they were going into ALSO has criminal aboriginal places, BAD ONES, and that area also has non-abo CRIMINAL PLACES.

I, and others, have long since tried to establish normality or reason with to try to understand ANYTHING about this entire hellhole area. I'm in good company. The West Australian Police can't explain or understand or do anything. And the feckless, numerous, nameless, anonymous departmentals, the slaves of abo's who run about like servants, observing but never doing anything, they probably have at least SOME information but of course do not publicly share any of it, just as the West Australian Police don't.

The observational servants obviously DO see a shitload of the utter shit that goes on about the abo criminal households and steeets. I see them driving about. They no longer seem to walk about, and in any case it's bloody HOT. Their 'work conditions rules' have probably been union-wrangled to keep them from having to step out of their air-conditioned cars. Or it's a condition of their employment a small company has demanded. Perhaps an aboriginal company who imagines that aboriginals and workers tending to them cannot exist in Australia without huge air-conditioning conditions lest they suffer or die or die-out or lose their MANY tribal aboriginality heritages which they have had for tens of thousands of air-contioning years in their trademarked history.

QED.

--------------------------------

Today on Monday, early in the morning, just after the abo toddelrs-in-diapers were unleashed out of Fatguts house sliding glass front door to go roaming all about, a large 'people bus' vehicle pulled up there, somewhat 'scattering' the diaper toddlers directly in front of it on the driveway, but they barely moved away and instead were milling about there like blowflies. The rear of the vehicle stuck out onto the road because of all that. The toddlrs milled about the thing. Unfortunately none ended up under the wheels of the vehicle.

A solitary male? youth got into the vehicle (ersatz, literally door-to-door high school bus?), and he got into the front passenger seat, and it reversed out and drove away. The toddlers stil milled about, were squawking, and were joined briefly by an unrestrained black dog or two before the unleashed dogs were called back inside the household.

An adult abo man came out and 'took charge' of a toddler and also went looking for the others that had walked away to the busy Clayton Street just at the end of the Kalara Way street. This is how the utterly feral shits get run over but nobody gets blamed for it other than innocent drivers. And the adult abos don't care. They just spawn even more like rats.

The disbaled abo adult man who wobbles walkig about, he came out of the abo criminal household and literally began shooing with his hands the abo toddlers who once again had come out and were about to roam onto the road surfaces. But the diapar toddlers soon again were all about and roaming freely about.

Later in the morning, a young abo woman (or kid) was seen attending and clumped with the feral abo diaper-toddlers in the empty Koongamia School carpark next to the oval, one in a pram, and two others barely controlled by her. She crossed the Clayton Street road with them but stopped ON Kalara Way street (in the intersection with Clayton Street), and LOUDLY yelled out over and over again until a woman from the Fatguts place came out and met her ON THE ROAD in the intersection with Clayton Street. Then they filed into the Fatguts abo criminal household by walking off the road and into there.

--------------------------------

The YELLING.......by criminal abo adults is VERY LOUD. -- The YELLING, THE OUTRIGHT SCREAMING......by the crimnals toddlers in diapers.......all THAT goes on ALL THE TIME and was once again this morning.

The criminals toddlers ALWAYS SCREAM. It's how they are taught to act by the criminal abo's who 'take care of them'. And they SCREAM at ANYTHING, and NOTHING. They SCREAM to each other. and the SCREAMING goes on and on until they get hit and then the SCREAMING becomes extremely loud CRYING AND BAWLING AND SCREAMING. -- This is just one aspect of how the abo crimnals toddlers are 'brought up' and become criminals. It's carried into them being criminal youths, and into being criminal adults. And all along the way they try to spawn even more criminals. -- With any luck, they're killed by involvements with Police or through criminal misadventures such as car crashes, and a lot worse. Even internecine abo conflicts.

Amongst the 'people mover' van this morning was a 'token' young female abo girl from the main criminal abo household where she 'lives'. She had a backpack on and wore school clothing and looked to be going to the Koongamia School literally just across Clayton Street from where these criminal abo's 'live'. -- Where the token boy abo school kid is unknown this morning.

She went to walk away after the van left, and the feral toddlers in diapers began following her. She LOUDLY yelled (just short of screaming) at them to get away from her. She would take a few steps, they would follow, she would turn around and LOUDLY YELL again and again, and again they would follow. - Treated worse than dogs, trained worse than dogs, by any and all fellow abos' of the criminal households but always claimed as their property that they can do anything with. If anyone or any department tries to get involved, the criminals decry and cry out that they are only following their sacred 'traditonal heritage' (ie. even with wacking the toddlers with broom handles) so fuck off!

It was after this had been going on (but NOT immediately) that the adult make came out of Fatguts place and walked to Clayton Street and began hauling the utterly feral abo toddlers-in-diapers back into Fatguts abo criminal household.

All this is considered a 'calm' 'normal' day! - Fuck off.

Anywhere else it would not be considered 'calm'. - But NOBODY takes any control of the criminal abo's actions & behaviours & criminality, especially themselves doing it all.

--------------------------------

After 9am, an abo woman (affiliated with the others but seems to at least appear not so criminal and feral), she walked out of Bellevue through the criminals pedestrian walkway, and was going to the Koongamia shops. She had a female toddler with her.

The toddler, just like the criminals toddlers, was freely roaming about. The woman became sick of dealing with the toddler who was LOULDY beginning to yell and carry on, and so she scooped up the toddler in her arms and carried it where it began to LOUDLY object and yell.

ALL THE ABOS ARE LIKE THIS. THIS WOMAN JUST HAPPENS TO SEEM TO BE SLIGHLY MORE 'CIVIL' THAN THE CRIMINAL ONES OF KALARA WAY street. But they all associate with other to various degrees. They wander abut and visit each others houses and live in each others houses.

Many of the abos' that HAD been 'living' at the main criminal abo household of Kalara Way have long since moved into living at Fatguts brick abo criminal household. They are THERE but NO PLACE is permanent for them at all. - This is one aspect that is deliberate and serves another purpose, that of making certain that Police or authorities never being able to pin down where any of them live if they are trying apprehend them for anything.-- THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR YEARS AND YEARS.....

They went to the Koongamia shops. A short time later, they returned, and once AGAIN there was LOUD yelling.........the toddler had walked deeply into in innocent neighbours unfenced front yard and so the adult abo woman also went in and grabbed the toddler and bodily hauled it out by the hand.

They began walking towards the criminals pedestrian walkway opening, and a feral cat was following them by jumpimg over fences and into and across residents yards. Feral cats that do not 'live' anywhere but go around stealing food and shitting and pissing where they like. Carrying & spreading disease & forever hunting and killing birds, native Australian birds and animals, endangered animals....whatever they don't kill, the abos kill.

--------------------------------

As I've said........it's just a 'calm day' in the hellhole area.

Tomorrow is Swan Shire Council rubbish bin emptying day. And the abo toddlers-in-diapers will of course be out and roaming about as the truck moves about on the roads....the SAME roads the abo toddlers roam around on, and the same roads the other abos walk on, and the same roads the abo kids who never go to any school roam all about on.....

We all can only hope that one day there is a fatality. And in any case there's innumerous feral replacements to take their place.

------------------------------------------------------

NEWS:----- Camouflaged police with assault weapons to patrol NT streets at night to reduce youth crime

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-11-25/nt-police-with-assault-weapons-to-combat-youth-crime/9193520

(I wish they woudl patrol HERE.)

------------------------------------------------------

NEWS:----- Doctors, lawyers join call to raise age of criminal responsibility from 10 to 14

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-11-26/doctors-lawyers-call-to-raise-age-of-criminal-responsibility/9194322

(You know get it made law quickly they want.....so ones like that recent one in Western Ausralia late last year MURDERING a man with a knife can just go off free and be housed (free of rent) in a local neighborhood to frolic in the streets and never got to school and just be even more criminal and live his life as traditional and criminal as he wants.....because it's traditional........)

(As if there's not ENOUGH of them RIGHT NOW infesting and multiplying in all previously innocent neighborhoods......preying upon innocents who foolishly obey the law and expect everything to be okay for themselves doing so.)

------------------------------------------------------

I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you. - Poor Sam & poor Max have once again been crying in their sleep for you. And Max AGAIN got vicious today and AGAIN tried to attack me for no reason. - I love you dear Fliss and so very much want to be with you.

P.S. to Cath in Queensland, Australia, if you ever read this blog, you have NO IDEA AT ALL of this hellhole. Absolutely NO IDEA and no inkling, and no capacity to imagine at all any of it even in the slightest other to treat it all as 'fiction' so you can manipulate it in your mind to your liking. - Please, this is NOT mocking you, or demeaning you, or insulting you, it's simply stating fact. - Take care dear Cath. Try to not ever let your beloved children fall prey to the abo criminals such as the ones about this hellhole.

0 notes