noolman

[citizenhullabaloo]

dude your icon is so sick, I love it!

Thank you! I took the album cover of Origin of Symmetry, lowered the opacity and placed it on top of Hullabaloo Soundtrack (after removing the icons), and traced the forks with my (bad) drawing skills. It looks great far away! Hahaha

[rapidhighway]

bitch tumblr wont let me upload the audio files for space dementia and megalomania DAMN YOU COPYRIGHT

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 12: Name me Dragon

I filled out my forms, I submitted them along with the administration fees. I did that over a week ago.

Today is my court date.

I find it fascinating as I enter the building and cue up to the metal detector that this is the first time since dracomorphosis that it occurs to me that I’m naked. I’m going to court naked, except for my purse.

The purse goes in a basket on the conveyor, to be examined more closely by the little boxy x-ray machine. Rhoda helps take it off for me, before dealing with her own stuff, because she’s accompanying me.

Today she’s my emotional support human. That’s what she told me. And I appreciate it.

But then she says that she just really wants to be there to see me get my new name.

She seems more proud of me than I am.

And I appreciate that, too.

It’s really nice.

The guards are cordial and usher me through, and I set off the metal detector.

There are sighs all around, and I’m directed to step aside while one of the officers examines me with a wand. And the wand doesn’t stop humming. There is not an inch of me that doesn’t set it off. I’m wondering if this isn’t telling me something about my physiology I didn’t know. But I’m also getting nervous about it.

Another wand is used to the same effect. Then both wands are tested on Rhoda, who rolls her eyes, and they don’t buzz.

The guard lowers his chin and looks at me through furrowed brows and says very straight faced and sternly, “Do you swear not to breathe fire or eat anyone while you are in this building?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay. That’s going to have to do. Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Courtroom A,” Rhoda supplies, reaching over to put my purse around my neck again. “Judge Nguyen.”

“Excellent. That’s name changes today, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations, I hope it goes well for you,” the guard says.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Rhoda adds.

“The elevator’s that way,” the guard gestures.

And we go.

For some reason, I half expected a recreation of the Matrix lobby scene. I don’t know what makes me more rattled. That there was the one glitch that caused the extra hullabaloo, or that it went so smoothly anyway.

When we get to the courtroom, we’re early. But it’s open, and people are filtering in from the thin traffic of court goers, lawyers, and petitioners headed to other places. Most people in this building are regular citizens taking care of unfortunate or hopeful business, dressed in everything from a yellow windbreaker and a hoodie to a Men’s Warehouse suit. The people with more expensive clothing, if they are here, are already in the rooms they want to be in, few and far between.

In this courtroom, there are a handful of women of different ethnicities and ages in either their Sunday best or professional work clothes befitting a restaurant hostess, and a couple men accompanying their teenage children. And one couple that look like they’re feeling all newlywed. Presumably. For some reason, besides the children, I’m gendering everyone based on how they look, and I’ve been trying to avoid that.

I can’t sit in any particular chair, but we find a space that’s usually set aside for wheelchairs and I use that. I’m not exactly mobility impaired, but I am disabled in other ways, and I’m certainly space impaired. I’ve definitely gotten bigger.

I’ve been hoping I might be the Artist of transformation, just so that I could change my own size and shape, to avoid the day I wouldn’t be able to enter a building like this. But, Chapman’s agreed to work on another piece of jewelry for me, to reduce my size back down to where I started when I wear it. It just won’t be ready for a couple years, is all.

And as I sit in that spot, I feel my tablet buzzing in my purse while I wait for the Judge to join us. I resolve to ignore it through the whole process. Nothing is as important to me right now as getting through this court hearing.

And then the bailiff announces Judge Nguyen’s entrance and tells everyone to stand, which I do along with everyone else who is capable of it. By the time this happens, a few more people have joined us, including someone in a wheelchair who is across the aisle from me.

Nguyen enters looking slightly less like a judge than I expected. She’s dressed very professionally, but for some reason I expected a robe. But, maybe that’s for fancier courtes. Or just for photos? I’m going to have to look that up. 

But she carries herself like a judge, and pushes her glasses up as she casually and cheerfully says, “Hello. Thank you for attending today. This is one of my favorite functions as a judge, and I hope to make this process as smooth as possible for all of you. You may be seated.” Then she sits down. “Now. When I call your name – your new name – I’d like you to come forward with your identification ready, and answer my questions. And when you and I are done, you may either be seated, or you may leave. If I award you your name, I will hand you your signed court order, which you should take to the clerk’s office to get it stamped and recorded. And the public list of name changes will be displayed in the hallway tomorrow morning. You won’t need to check that, because you’ll already have the paperwork you need verifying your new identity.”

She pauses to look around the room to see if everyone was listening.

“If you have further questions, the clerk can help you with them. Now, I’m going to go about this alphabetically by last name,” she says. “Can Corin Ascalia please come forward.”

I do pay a lot of attention to what is said, to make note of it and know what to expect, but my emotions and thoughts are occupied by how cool it is that I seem to be going through this procedure with other trans people.

Corin looks so happy, and they are bouncing a little bit throughout the whole interview, which is short.

And when Judge Ngunyen is done, she signs the court order, then hands it to Corin Ascalia with a hand shake, saying, “Congratulations. It is my honor to serve you with your new name, Corin Ascalia.” And she’s beaming with her own smile.

As Corin leaves looking pumped full of endorphins, Judge Nguyen calls forward the next person, who I guess is a single young woman who is probably changing her last name. I don’t know if it’s due to a marriage or a divorce, or to distance herself from her family. But she seems satisfied with her decision and pays extra attention to every direction.

With my new last name starting with a “D”, there are only two other people before I’m called up. I do my best to appreciate each of them in turn, to try to remember who they are. But I’m getting too nervous and dissociating a little.

Then Judge Nguyen says, “Can Meghan Estragon Draconis please come forward.” And she looks directly at me over her glasses, and everyone else follows her gaze. She smiles. It’s not her first smile today, but it’s directed at me and it looks genuine.

Rhoda pats me on my shoulder, then hands me my ID and birth certificate, which I take gingerly in my mouth.

And I get up and walk down the aisle to Judge Nguyen’s bench.

My tablet buzzes, and I continue to ignore it. It doesn’t seem Judge Nguyen heard it.

“May I see your identification?” she asks.

I place it on the bench, and she picks up my card and then my birth certificate and looks at them reverently and carefully, comparing them to my file, which she’s just opened in front of her. She nods, placing my items back on the bench in front of me. Then she speaks some more.

“Meghan, do you swear that you take this new name in good faith? That you are not using it to evade responsibility or debt? And that it represents who you feel that you are and want to be moving forward?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply, in my own voice. I gathered from all previous applicants that I wouldn’t need my tablet for this. I’m proud to use my own syrinx to speak these words.

“Very good,” she says. “Then it is my honor to sign this court order stating that you are, from this day forth, to be known as Meghan Estragon Draconis.” She doesn’t offer to shake my hand, but she does carefully bundle my identification with my newly signed court order, and files it in a folder with a paperclip, before holding it out to me. Her eyes are sparkling, as she adds, “I’m proud of you for this. It’s a good name. It suits you.”

She obviously saw my deadname. She knows I’m trans, not just a dragon taking on a new draconic name.

I’m a little overwhelmed.

“Thanks,” I say, wishing I’d learned a more formal version. I could add “you” now, but “thanks you” would sound even weirder.

Then, I smile as I take my paperwork.

I take a step back and bow low, lowering my shoulders and my head, rising quickly enough after a beat that she doesn’t have much chance to comment. Then I turn and walk proudly back up the aisle to Rhoda, my head held as high as possible.

My tablet is going mad with buzzing.

Dammit, what the fuck is happening?

I can’t deal with it. I need to go to the County Clerk’s office. That’s next.

—

The clerk’s office is just annoying simple bureaucracy with a line and more paperwork. But short paperwork. Mostly paperwork handled by the person behind the counter.

And then we’re done and making our way out of the courthouse.

It’s Thursday, September 19th, and I’ve received my new legal name on Talk Like a Pirate Day. I kind of want that to be special, but it really mostly feels kind of funny.

But the clouds coincidentally move just as I step out of the building to uncover the sun, which shines down on me with as much warmth as it can muster, and I’m struck.

It literally feels like the Earth, the mother of all dragons, is blessing me and my new name, and it’s like the blessing is warming my heart, gizzard, and fire sack directly. And for quite some time after that my very soul feels larger than my body and visibly radiant.

Rhoda lets me see her tears, crying about something happy.

She pats me on my shoulder again, and then manages to gasp out a question, barely able to talk from emotion, “Maybe you should check your messages? Or should I do that for you?”

I look at her, partially closing my eyes, and then I look down the street toward our coffee shop, which is just two blocks away.

“Yeah,” she says, more strongly. “Let’s go do that over some tea and cookies.”

—

There are a bunch of things I do not think about as we walk to our actual home, our coffee shop. But it’s probably a good idea to review them here anyway. Things that might matter.

They are certain to occur to me fairly soon, in any case.

I’ve not been particularly attendant to my groups of people, humans or dragons. I set them up. I pushed them in directions I wanted them to go. Or, rather, I stated clearly what I hoped they would become. And then I found myself forgetting about them.

I’ve only delved into Discord, for instance, to deal with the things I’ve wanted to deal with, and I’ve found it hard to look at or review many of the notifications. I’ve been pretty good at private direct messages, but there haven’t been very many of those directed specifically at me.

I’ve treated my group SMS chat fairly similarly, though I’m more engaged with that. Until today, obviously. I was busy today.

I did post that document of advice for direct action and group security that Rhoda gave me to my discord and to our group chat. But then, I didn’t really do anything more than that. I’m not sure what I expected of myself or others there. I just did what I felt I could, and then I got distracted by other things. And then I didn’t hear from the Arboretum Klatch, as I’ve continued to call them, since.

Everything seems to have been fine and operating smoothly.

And I also haven’t really been paying a lot of attention to the local news, even though my situation seriously depends on it. I guess I’ve been relying on Rhoda and Chapman to keep tabs on that and alert me to any issues. But it means I don’t immediately know what’s going on in the government or what’s about to come down. I don’t know who has said what, and I’m not as familiar with the local politicians and their stances as I really should be.

I’ve been scared about Daniel Säure, and his influence over the local law enforcement and his demonstrated ability to kidnap me in my sleep. And so I’ve been focusing on addressing that directly by searching for that big gun I can use against him. My innate, inherent power that I’m maybe supposed to have, having been the center of the dracomorphosis.

I’ve maybe been a little too focused on that, but I still don’t know what I could have done differently, except maybe take time to write more letters with the help of the other dragons? It seems silly, though. I don’t know if our letters are even read.

Except the Mayor had been impressed with the one I sent her.

And this is saying nothing about national or even global politics, because fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. The tidbits of news I get about that from other people’s conversations and memes on the internet are terrifying and too much to handle.

Really cool things are happening with dragons around the globe. Really surprising and wonderful things. Individual people are praising and lauding the dragons in their lives. And dragons are reporting how surprisingly wonderful their humans are. 

But then there’s the violence. The legislative violence and the physical violence. The words that people in power say on occasion.

Before August 24, the global focus seemed to me to be on trans people, and that was bad enough, and it was one reason I was still in the closet.

Now, it’s all about us dragons.

And I’ve been doing my best to ignore all that and focus on me, my people, my territory, my block, my building, my coffee shop, my two Artists and their weird stories and theories, Rhoda, and my name. And mostly on the latter three, because that’s where I seem to have the most strength, potential impact, support, and joy. The most agency.

I think I’ve been following the common old advice to do the easier things, the small things, to make sure the fundamentals are taken care of first, and work outward from there as possible.

But I’ve definitely been avoidant, too, and I should fix that.

I have also been feeling like I’m forgetting things, losing track of little details. But since I’ve forgotten them, I can’t do anything about them, and so I brush the thought aside and move on.

And since I’ve gotten my name changed to what it feels like it has always been, for those two blocks of walking with Rhoda in the late Summer sun, I’m simply blissful.

If I’m thinking of anything else, I’m maybe wondering if my soul is as old as Wentin’s.

—

As Rhoda opens the door for me, and I strut into the coffee shop all ready to utter my full name with my own syrinx, which I spent the last week and a half teaching myself how to do, I see the look in Jill’s eyes.

They are wide with alarm and eager to get my attention. She’s shaking behind the counter, and Cerce is carrying that nervousness too as she tries to work the espresso machine to fulfill orders.

The rest of the shop is very quiet, despite how many customers are in it. They’ve all been looking at their phones, tablets, or laptops. But now they’re looking at me.

[captainstarcruiser]

Vanguard Guardian OC Description

Name: Crimson-9

Nicknames: Crimson, Crim, Red, 9, or (Gambit title) Red Dot.

Pronouns: He/Him

Class: Exo Hunter

Subclass: Solar/Golden Gun and Stasis/Silence and Squall

Ghost: Bun.3 (pronounced Bunny) her shell is the Year of the Rabbit Shell.

Revival spot: EDZ Forest

Age: 25 (29 after revival)

Personal Trinket: MP4 made with salvaged Golden Age technology and these enemies: Fallen, Cabal, Vex.

Preferred Tools of Trade:

Häkke Brand

Suros Brand

Heliocentric QSc

Ammit AR2

Breakneck

Come to Pass

Coronach-22

IKELOS_HC_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SR_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SMG_v1.0.3

Herod-C

Albruna-D

Crux Termination IV

Tarnation

Hullabaloo

Half-Truth

The Other Half.

Exotic Favorites:

Sunshot

Borealis

Suros Regime

Forerunner

Monte Carlo

Ace of Spades

Hardlight

Polaris Lance

Quicksilver Storm.

Bio: Known as the Exo Hunter Crimson-9, he spent time with Cayde-6 on and off the field in order to learn his tricks and skills for the field. He usually sticks to the Hunter groups due to sharing more in common with them. From time to time he works with other classes when he's looking to make quick glimmer or resources for his purchases.

He enjoys music and food more than any exotic he's gathered.

Especially from a hole in the wall diner in the city run by an Exo and Awoken couple, known popularly as The Grease Bucket. They make the thickest, greasiest, and tastiest burgers and chili-cheese fries in the whole city.

As for Crim's taste in music, he has a collection that spreads down to the oldest traces of music, before the Traveler and Golden Age. He loves old school jazz, death metal, dubstep, and for his usual meditation sessions: Japanese Hot Spring Music.

Crimson-9 has a troubled past, involving the Red War and his time being lightless. Eventually his team ended up leaving him behind during a raid on the moon in the Hive sector. His only way to cope with the memory is his music, and meditation.

He hates Hive, with a seething passion. Anything that resembles the Hive, causes his mood to sour. Once he leapt onto a giant Hive Knight Boss and stabbed it in the head over and over till it fell, just because his team took too long to kill it.

The time he spent wandering the Hive zones after his fireteam abandoned him caused him to have nightmares of his time down there. Some nights it's just him being chased by cursed thrall, but the worst is when a curse of Hive decay slowly overtakes his body. He picks at and cracks off all the growing decay till he sees his face fall apart into a hideous ugly screaming thrall.

His likes:

The Grease Bucket

Modded MP4

Music

Pet Ginger Cat named Amber

Dancing

Meditation

Side Arms

Hand Cannons

Spending time with people

Drawing citizens of the Last City

Video Games

His Ship: Mayfly

Collecting every shader he can find

Collecting Gemstones

Collecting Sparrows and Skimmers.

His dislikes:

Hive

Bugs

Spicy and Bitter Stuff

Screams of Pain

Wasting Resources

Arc attacks

Raw Tomatoes

He had a strong silent type of demeanor, usually because he is listening to his music or focused on the battle. He'll open up if you offer food, a clone of your music for his collection, and his favorite drink at the Glimmer Glint Bar, which is a Sweet Wish Stasis, named after a famous Hunter who used Ahamkara-Stasis based weapons on their battles.

He had a secret nerdy when he's happy and philosophical side when he feels melancholy about the entire situation of the Earth.

If you talk to him about cats, music, food, weapons, or animals then he's ready to talk your ear off.

He's Pansexual, and a very tender lover. He knows which buttons to press, and loves seeing his partners reactions. From a cute moan to a squeal, it makes him feel warm when he hears his partner is being satisfied. If you treat him well, show some interest, and try to keep in contact often he'll stay loyal regardless of class or rank.

The only challenge you'll have when around him, is not dying from how critical Bun.3 gets when he's being himself.

[cherrylng]

Muse Disc Guide - Hullabaloo [STYLE Series #004 - Muse (August 2010)]

Hullabaloo

IN MUSIC A DVD of 21 selected songs from the Paris shows on 28th and 29th October 2001 from the ‘Origin of Symmetry’ tour, and a CD consisting of a collection of sound recordings (Disc-1) and rare tracks (Disc-2). The venue, Le Zenith, has a capacity of around 7,000, which is far less than the number of people who attend their current shows, but the enthusiasm and response is fantastic. What is most surprising is that their playing ability is overwhelming at this point. Matthew moves around freely over the solid backbone of Chris and Dom.

The DVD opens with Tom Waits' “What He's Building?” and starts with “Dead Star”, which showcases the Muse as a loud, tight, Rage Against The Machine-esque guitar band. The tension-filled performance is so intense that you can feel it even through the video, such as the noisy intro of ‘Citizen Erased’ and the exciting ‘Space Dementia’ with Matthew's fluid piano and Chris's bass. The screen occasionally splits so that the audience can closely observe each performance. The climax of ‘Plug in Baby’ to ‘Bliss’ is a crucible of excitement for the audience. The last song saw Matthew break a giant balloon with the neck of his guitar amidst a flurry of confetti, and he jumped on Chris with his guitar in his arms, and when he thought he had collapsed, he jumped on Dom as well. The sight of these guys in their early twenties is still funny even after all these years. The documentary film by Tom Kirk, who is well known as an extra on the album, also shows them as they were at the time.

The Japanese CD includes ‘Jimmy Kane’ from ‘Uno’ on Disc-1 and ‘Sunburn’ from the live show on Disc-2. —Yamashita Shiho

[silentcartoonist2018]

CU Epilogue AU Chapter 6

Chapter 6-The Rain

Rain had come to Piqua. Mr. Krupp had spent all weekend repairing his broken window before finally settling on covering up the whole thing with blue tarp.

The following Monday, still raining, Mr. Krupp was on a mission to find the Hypno-Ring as discreetly as possible. That meant he had to get to school as early as possible before anybody could see him. He set his phone alarm to wake him up at 5 AM and get ready in time to leave. 

“This ring better be easy to find.” Mr. Krupp muttered to himself. “Maybe it’s still on my desk.”

After he parked in the parking lot, with no time to waste, he headed straight for the school entrance and unlocked the front doors and promptly locked them again. So far, he was the only person in the building. Well, almost.

“Morning, Chief,” greeted Mr. Ree, the Janitor. But Mr. Krupp just zoomed down the hallway without a word.

In no time, he went up to the second floor, unlocked the door to his secretary's office and then unlocked the door to his office. But when he looked at his desk…

…there was nothing.

Nothing but his usual stationary, calendar, nameplate, and a few scratches on his desk.

“No…No! No, no, no, no!” The principal started to panic. He checked under his desk. Nothing. He checked in his confiscation drawer. Nothing. He looked in every nook and cranny of his office. Every box, every shelf, under each shelf….

Nothing. 

“Where is it??” He cried.

Just as quickly as he zoomed to his office, he zoomed back down the stairs to find. Mr. Ree.

“Mr. Ree!” Mr. Krupp called out.

“What’s up?” Answered Mr. Ree.

Mr. Krupp hesitated a little bit. “Did you, uh…see a plastic toy…r-ring anywhere in my office, about yea big? Red colored?”

Mr. Ree stroked his chin. “Oh yeah, about that…”

Mr. Krupp’s eyes widened.

“I did see something red on your desk.” Said Mr. Ree. “It was a melted mess, actually, but I guess it could have been a toy.”

Mr. Krupp’s jaw dropped. “Melted??”

“Yeah, something melted on your desk while you were passed out on Friday.”

…………………………………………………………………

On Friday, just past 1:30 PM. Mr. Ree was on toilet duty when he got a call to clean up something putrid off of Mr. Krupp’s desk. It was interfering with the staff’s efforts to wake up the principal for a rumored pay raise. 

…………………………………………………………………

“Wait, who said anything about a pay raise?” Asked Mr. Krupp. 

“It’s irrelevant, let me finish.” Said Mr. Ree. 

…………………………………………………………………

It was such a big hullabaloo that every classroom in the building had unsupervised Independent Study Time for the whole day. All the teachers were lined up outside the secretary’s office waiting for their turn, like they were waiting to pull a legendary sword in the stone or something.

Frankly, Mr. Ree thought it was wiser to just call the paramedics, only to be met with a unanimous “NO” from the teachers in line.

The janitor had himself positioned so as to not get in the way of the teachers and carefully scraped the plastic mess off the desk. It took him a while because he was distracted by all the teachers yelling, screaming, poking, and attempting to kick Mr. Krupp awake as well as having difficulty removing the melted plastic without damaging the desk.

He was about a few minutes into his task when the Spanish Teacher, Señor Citizen, let him know that all the toilets were clogged and there were some teachers who REALLY needed to use them ASAP. It would take him a while longer just to unclog a single stall. 

…………………………………………………………………

“So, did you at least recover it?” Asked Mr. Krupp.

“Well,” Replied Mr. Ree. “By the time I got back to your office, school was long over and the plastic was already cleaned up by somebody else.”

Mr. Krupp dropped to his knees and covered his face, seemingly on the verge of tears..

“But, what I salvage,” Mr. Ree continued, “were the electrical components inside the melted plastic.”

Mr. Krupp looked up in desperation. “Electrical components? Like microchips and wires?”

“Yep.”

Mr. Krupp could already hear a choir of angels singing. “Can it be repaired?”

“I can’t exactly restore the outer body. But I’ll give it a shot”

“How fast can you fix it?”

“Give me till noon and I’ll have it on your desk on a piece of cardboard.”

Mr. Krupp eagerly shook Mr. Ree’s hands. “Thank you! You’re a lifesaver!! Also, keep it between the two of us, okay?”

“Okay…??”

Just as Mr. Krupp was skipping gleefully back to his office, Mr. Ree called out. “What exactly is so special about this toy?”

“Absolutely none of your business!” The principal shouted back happily.

…………………………………………………………………

Mr. Krupp had been pacing for hours, eagerly awaiting for Mr. Ree to finish fixing the ring…or what’s left of it. No matter. Tonight, he was going back to normal and all his problems were going to be solved.

But his pessimism kicked in and a thought crossed his mind: What if it doesn’t work? What then? He’d have to buy a new one, easy as that. But what if there isn’t any on the market? 

He had to double-check.

Quickly he sat at his desk and picked up his phone, and searched for “Hypno-Ring” online. Sadly, there were too many hits for scalper websites selling overpriced alternatives. So he tried typing in “Hypno-Ring” on a search engine. Lots of the hits showed him regular plastic rings that didn’t even look close to what he was looking for. As he scrolled down the page, one item caught his attention.

The Lil’ Wiseguy’s Novelty Company.

The company did exist after all. 

He tapped on the link for more information, but was met with an unfortunate “Article Not Found” message.

Several pages of search queries later, he found another link: the Lil’ Wiseguy Archival Project.

After bypassing the content blocker by switching his phone to cellular, he discovered that this website was a forum for fans of the company, various theorists, and ex-employees who shared second-hand company secrets. 

Almost all of the topics on the website led to threads pertaining to the company’s most popular and most notorious product: The 3-D Hypno-Ring.

Members claiming to be former employees say that due to a manufacturing faux paux, about half an entire shipment were models that actually worked as advertised.

One theorist speculated that the rings could very well have been part of an ongoing mind control project conducted by the government dating all the way back to the Cold War, though a majority of the comments didn’t buy this story.

Another member claiming to be a therapist said one of their patients who ended up being a ring victim developed a morbid fear of fingers snapping. Commenters who were also claiming to be victims recounted that that was what triggered their trances. 

Fingers snapping.

Is that what triggers mine, too? He thought but dared not try. 

Just after he bookmarked the website to read for later, he was about to close his web app when an accidental swipe led him to an image of a farting clown. It was black and white but he unmistakably recognized it. This is the first time he’s ever seen him outside of his mind. 

It was Wiseguy. 

Mr. Krupp clenched his phone and his blood began to boil. 

“THAT STUPID CLOWN!!!”

He proceeded to chuck his phone across the room only to realize too late what he had done. 

“NOOO! MY PHONE!!!”

Suddenly the door opened, and Reid came in with a coffee mug and a carafe in one hand and flawlessly caught the phone with the other. 

“Oh goodness, thank you!” Said Mr. Krupp, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

“Of course, Principal.” Replied Reid, returning the phone to its owner. “You clownin’ around in here?”

“N-no!” Exclaimed Mr. Krupp. 

Darn it, she heard me! He thought.

“So…decaf again?” Mr. Krupp asked, still on edge. 

“Not this time,” said Reid, pouring the coffee. “The coffee machine’s fixed, so now everybody can have their regular coffee again.”

“R-Really?? I-I mean…that’s a shame, what with all that variety of instant decaf.”

“Not really. More for me.” Reid passed a cup of coffee to Mr. Krupp, who eagerly took his first sip of caffeine in a long time.

“Mmmm! Great coffee!” Mr. Krupp said while trying too hard to enjoy his coffee, which still had too much coffee grinds. 

Then Mr. Krupp noticed that one of Reid’s hands was empty. He started to sweat and started adjusting his tie.

“So about that potato clock….” Reid said. 

“The wha…? Oh yeah, the clock! Did you fix it?” Asked Mr. Krupp as he drummed his fingers on his desk. 

Reid started adjusting her glasses. “I did, but I couldn’t carry it and an umbrella at the same time, so you’ll have to wait for clearer skies.”

“Ok. Ok. That’s understandable.”

Reid put her free hand on her hip. 

“Also, it looks like the potato might start rotting soon, so you‘ll have to get it replaced at some point.”

Mr. Krupp just blankly stared at Reid’s hand while sipping on his coffee. 

“Principal?”

“O-oh! Right! Right, uh…Th-that’s a shame to hear.”

“You look distracted.”

“What? Who, me? No! No, I’m, uh, super focused today! J-just busy with other stuff!”

“I see.” Reid put her hand back into her pocket and Mr. Krupp sighed in relief. “I have a free period ahead of me, so I’ll be in the library.”

“Ok.” Mr. Krupp said with a slight tinge of terror in his voice. 

Reid flashed a suspicious glare at the principal and then proceeded to leave the office. 

Mr. Krupp let out a heavy sigh and wiped the sweat off his brow. He survived an entire conversation without hearing a single finger snap.

But how long can he keep this up?

After telling Ms. Anthrope to clear his schedule for the day, Mr. Krupp braced himself for a long morning. He put on a pair of earbuds to block out all noises and prepared himself to wait out the entire morning. There were about 230 songs on his phone to last him and a few games to keep him busy. 

He should be safe for now. 

In fact he stayed safe for 20 songs straight. 

But the 21st song in his playlist was more upbeat.

You could say it was more than just “catchy”.

Needless to say, he didn’t turn up the volume loud enough to block out the sound of his own fingers snapping. 

*SNAP*

It almost felt like time stopped and a trap door just opened below him. 

Before he knew it, he was tumbling through space, passing the mysterious figure again, and flew out the EGO door, back into his Mindscape. 

“Gahh! I forgot about my fingers!!” Cried Krupp.

“Sounds like you did your homework,” remarked Wiseguy. 

“And right in the middle of school!!”

“That’s usually a student’s job.”

“Listen, you! I—-AAAUUUGGHH!!

All of a sudden Mr. Krupp was yanked back through the EGO door. Tumbling up space, past the mysterious figure, yet again, and back into his own body where he was not only half-naked with his face wet again, but precariously hanging out of the window sill by his waist. 

Frantically, he clamored to pull himself back inside his office, and immediately shut the window and closed the curtains (well curtain). He then leaned himself against the wall with his face plastered with the stark realization of how his unfortunate “dilemma” just got even more dangerous than he realized. 

“I’m going insane. I’m going insane, I’m going insane,” He muttered shakily to himself with his face buried in his hands.

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Mr. Krupp’s eyes widened and started running straight for the door, bumping into the chairs in front of his desk and slipping on his strewn out clothes and the wet puddles he was leaving behind. “DON’T COME IN!!!”

Just as the door was about to open, he immediately pushed himself against the door with all his might.

“Sir, what was that scream—“

“NOTHING!!” He finally locked the door. His whole body was shaking.

“Mr. Rected just called and said he was going to come in a little late. There are no other substitute teachers available. You’ll have to sub for him.”

“G-g-g-give me a second!”

Mr. Krupp rushed to get his clothes back on and hid his ripped curtain under his desk. Overall, his appearance ended up disheveled, and his face was still soaking wet, but it was a hundred times better than being seen half-naked.

The bell for First Period had rung. Students were clamoring about the halls, and Mr. Krupp nervously poked his head into the hallway with his fingers in his ears. Mr. Rected’s classroom was four doors down the hall, in the corner. But to him, it looked like a mile away. Once he stepped out into the hallway, almost all the students were looking at him, then quickly averted their gaze. 

Mr. Krupp cautiously made his way through the terrified crowd, trying not to trip over anyone. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything. Apprehensively, his eyes darted left and right at any student who dared to look at him. 

Then his eyes fell on a student who was wearing earphones and was listening to music. They looked like both their hands were occupied with putting their things in their locker, but the principal quickened his pace and started humming loudly to himself as he passed them. 

Finally, he reached the classroom, but his nightmare wasn’t over yet. 

Students were chatting amongst each other up until the moment Mr. Krupp stepped into the classroom. Then everybody fell silent as they clamored to their seats.

Mr. Krupp cautiously removed his fingers from his ears and made another step into the classroom. 

*SLAM!*

“AAHH!!” He exclaimed and covered his ears. But he realized it was just the door closing behind him. He looked back at the class, and everybody was reeling.

He finally made it to the center of the front of the classroom.

*RRRIIIIINNNNNGGG*

“AAAHH!!!” He screamed a little louder, before realizing it was just the school bell. The students reeled further.

Tensions. Were. High.

Mr. Krupp looked like he was about to scream at someone. He looked about as furious as a steamed beet, though it seemed like nobody could see the sheer terror in his twitching eyes.

He turned to the chalkboard, and picked up a piece of chalk, and started writing.

*COUGH*

Mr. Krupp quickly looked back and saw a student covering his mouth. Slowly, he turned his head back to the chalkboard.

He finished writing what he wanted and underlined it about three times before turning around. He took a deep breath to announce the class’s agenda.

“SILENT! STUDY!” He roared.

A student raised her hand and met eyes with Mr. Krupp. “B-but today we were supposed to have a pop quiz.” She said in a small voice.

Mr. Krupp slammed his palm against the chalkboard and flared his nostrils.

“SILENT! STUDY!” He seethed through his teeth.

Everyone decided not to question this sudden change of plans, and just pulled out their textbooks as quietly as possible.

Mr. Krupp then made his way to the teacher’s desk, glaring at the class like a hawk. Everybody had their noses in their books. Some were taking notes. At least one seemed to be goofing off by repeatedly flipping the pages of a book concealed by their textbook, but at least it wasn’t a finger snap.

It was about 15 minutes into class when Mr. Rected finally arrived. 

“Sorry I’m late, class. I was—“ All of a sudden, Mr. Rected stopped midway as Mr. Krupp stood up from the desk. His unhinged glare was pointed at the teacher like a pair of daggers. “Uh…Thanks for….taking…over?” 

Mr. Krupp stomped over with a warning to Mr. Rected. “Never. Be. Late.” Then the disheveled principal proceeded to the door and reached for the door handle.

“Okay, class.” Announced Mr. Rected. “Let’s thank Mr. Krupp for taking over.”

Nobody said anything. Not even Mr. Krupp who was turning the handle and opening the door.

“Alrighty. What’s on today’s docket again? Uhhh…Oh, that’s right!”

*SNAP*

“NOOO!!” Mr. Krupp shrieked as he shut his eyes, crouched down, and covered his ears, but it was too late. He heard the snap. 

He was back in the Mindscape. His body was moving on its own doing who-knows-what. For all he knew, his body was undressing in front of the whole classroom as he’s cowering in a fetal position, stuck in his head, unable to control his own actions. 

But when he opened an eye, he saw a door. But it wasn’t the EGO door.

It was a regular classroom door. 

Mr. Krupp opened both eyes and turned around to see a classroom full of students and its teacher staring at him. 

He pinched himself on the cheek and realized that he was wide awake.

Then Mr. Rected spoke up, addressing the classroom while still staring at Mr. Krupp. “Ummm….we have a pop quiz today…?”

Mr. Krupp adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. “Right. Carry on.” He promptly left the classroom and closed the door. 

Then he proceeded to run towards the nearest restroom, leaned against one of the sinks, and stared intently at himself in the mirror, panting.

He shakily raised his right hand, and pressed his thumb and middle finger together. 

*SNAP*

*SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP*

He was still wide awake. 

Was he cured? Did his nightmare end by itself?

He wiped his hand over his face and realized it was still soaking wet.

Water, he thought. Come to think of it, I always woke up with a wet face. So maybe….?

Mr. Krupp grabbed a paper towel and dried his face, pressed his thumb and middle finger together, and braced himself for what’s to come. 

*SNAP*

After experiencing a quick sensation of falling with his stomach dropping, he was, of course, back in the Mindscape.

“Whoa, are you experimenting?” Exclaimed Wiseguy.

“SHHH!!” Shushed Mr. Krupp.

A few seconds of silence transpired. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…!” 

Suddenly, he felt a yank behind him. 

“YEEEEAHHHHH!!” Krupp screamed on the way back to his body.

Finally awake, he was half-naked and wedged into the window of his office, with raindrops dripping across his face.

Just as he expected. 

“Water! Ha ha ha!! It’s water!! WATER ON THE FACE!!!” He cried like a madman.

This was the “temporary fix” Wiseguy talked about!

After he pulled himself back into his office, Mr. Krupp was throwing up his strewn-about clothes, his toupee, and his curtain in the air like it was confetti. He spun himself on his chair about 20 times, he was skipping about, laughing maniacally. He hasn’t felt this excited or this happy since he thought he was going to blindly propose to Edith.

After several minutes of celebrating, he was lying face up on the floor, panting. 

“I can control this now!” He sighed in relief. “Sort of, but it’s a start!”

After getting himself dressed, he immediately sped downstairs and barged into the school gym, where Mr. Meaner was teaching P.E. Mr. Krupp took a huge breath. “ANYBODY GOT A SPARE WET TOWEL?!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm going to be going on vacation for the next two weeks. Plus writing the next chapter might take me a while.

[ploffskinpluffskin]

i have about 30 minutes or so before i'll head to bed but i wanted to share some snippets, as per usual. i've been writing more on the natori/muta fic since it's been on my mind more lately. in particular, i added more to this conversation between haru and baron. i'm realizing i do really enjoy writing for baron tbh

Haru breaks their eye contact for him, there, feeling suddenly rather bare in a way she doesn’t truly recall Baron ever managing before. He’s quite intuitive, she thinks, when he wants to be. When she peeks back up at him, she finds that he has given into temptation, eyes downcast and lightly lidded as he takes a small drink. Her own gaze drifts back to the tea cup he had provided her with; she wonders if maybe it’s the same set he had offered when they first met.

“I’ll be fine, Baron,” she says with a shrug and a brief cant of her head so that she looks rather winsome.  (She thinks perhaps she might have learned it from him.)

“Then I have said my piece,” Baron responds, nodding once in brief approval. “In truth, I have the intuition that everything will ultimately be quite well.”

Here the unnamed discomfort that had been lingering between them dissipates; Haru smiles again.

“It’s hard for me to imagine you’d ever feel differently.”

Baron returns her smile. “To live without hope is to cease to live.”

“And who said that?”

“I did, just now,” Baron replies readily, and with such matter-of-fact ease she almost can’t tell if he’s being stoically facetious or not. He’s raised his teacup to his lips. “But we all have Dostoevsky to thank for writing it.”

The rest of their visit passes in relative peaceable familiarity.

and then there is haru and natori interacting, bc Of Course

“He singlehandedly plunged our kingdom into chaos and destitution the likes of which we’ve yet to experience since. I do apologize for being short with you, Miss Haru, but I will not apologize for continuing to hold him accountable for his actions,” Natori explains primly without wasting a breath. “I do believe he has made his bed, and now he must lie in it. I feel that quite strongly.”

Here Haru pauses, trying to decide how best to crack this particular nut. There is something about all this hullabaloo which has become quite obvious to her, but it must be brought to light with care. Natori and Muta have some curious similarities— one of those is the tendency to become stubbornly uncommunicative upon being made vulnerable. But where Muta simply stops talking and starts glaring, Natori covers up his intransigence with circular language and polite topic changes.

Most likely it gets him quite far in his line of work, avoiding those tough conversations, and anyone less (stubborn) might indeed let it happen without realizing what was transpiring. But Haru just might have the both of them beat in this matter. She had sped out in front of an approaching truck to save a small life and do what was right to her; what obstacle was a pair of brick walls in comparison?

“I understand,” she starts thoughtfully, averting her eyes for just a moment so that she might appear less shrewd than she’s feeling right now. “It’s just… I’m only curious, after all, given His Majesty the king didn’t seem to have any recollection of the event at all.”

Haru spares a glance at Natori here, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to evaluate if he’s gathered already where she is going with this line of thought. He’s gazing upon her with the slightest squint to his eyes, tired lines etched beneath them she’d never noticed before, and with a telling brittleness to the thin, straight line he’s pursed his mouth in. 

Absolutely, he knows where she is leading, and she wonders if he will let her finish.

“Of course, maybe by virtue of being the king he didn’t suffer nearly to the same degree as the everyday citizen did,” Haru continues brazenly, but in a soft and nonchalant enough voice that she hopes he doesn’t catch on. “But even from just the short time I got to know him he’s seemed like the type to have a low threshold for hardship. It wouldn’t take much, would it..?”

Natori holds her gaze with a quite level one of his own for a good many moments more than she would have expected, but he does eventually look away. Still, his no doubt long-practiced professionalism remains, and there’s hardly a hint left of his initial anxiety over meeting with her when he finally does mechanically respond. “Please do forgive me— I do not see the value in continuing this particular line of questioning. I politely request that the matter is dropped. However, I shall be happy to indulge whatever other curiosities you may possess, provided they do not eclipse my responsibilities to the kingdom.”

Haru assumes that to mention his retirement shall not get her anywhere.

[mariacallous]

Pundits warn that civil war may be coming to Israel. In fact, civil war has already arrived. In just the first 10 weeks of this year, bloody violence in all parts of the country has resulted in nearly a hundred dead and thousands wounded, along with waves of mass civil disobedience and a looming constitutional crisis. All this follows an unprecedentedly tumultuous period in Israeli politics—five indecisive elections in just four years.

But what, exactly, is this war being fought over?

Ask hundreds of thousands of protesters opposing the government’s legislative blitz against the judiciary and they will say it is over whether Israel will remain a democracy or become a dictatorship run by ultranationalists, racists, and fundamentalists.

Ask government officials and they will say it is over whether Israel will be ruled democratically, by the will of the majority of voters, or whether an elite-controlled deep state, protected by weaponized courts, will ride roughshod over the people’s will.

Ask Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip and they will say it is over whether the nightmare they are living can be made to include Israeli Jews or whether masses of Arab non-citizens can be bludgeoned into political irrelevance.

Ask rampaging Jewish settlers and they will say it is over whether a Supreme Court of unbelievers can use foreign ideas to keep Jews from settling and redeeming their land.

What is most striking is that although both sides say they are fighting for democracy, no one will publicly acknowledge what this struggle is actually about. Much like white northern elites in the United States during the 1850s who didn’t see that the brewing conflict was fundamentally about equal citizenship rights, few in today’s Israel acknowledge what is at stake in the Israeli context: namely, whether Palestinians will someday be equal citizens of the state in which they live.

There is a good deal of hullabaloo about whether the Jewish state will remain, become, or stop being a genuine democracy, but virtually no discussion of the impossibility of it being both a Jewish state and a democracy when half the country’s inhabitants are Palestinian Arabs.

Approximately 6.8 million Palestinian Arabs live under the actual if not formally declared rule of the government of Israel. If half a million non-Jewish immigrants from the former Soviet Union are taken into account, this means there are more Arabs living in Israel than there are Jews.

So what is at stake is not just whether Israel is or will be a democracy (or can get away with calling itself a democracy even if it is not). What is at stake, really, is whether a regime of Jewish supremacy will be established so that the full weight of the state’s laws can be explicitly used to enforce the disenfranchisement and subjugation of half the population.

Indeed, to sustain itself and protect against Jewish-Arab alliances that could end the racist regime it aims to create, the government will need to not only outlaw Arab participation in politics but also ban activity by Jews that might lead to Arab emancipation. That is why, if the Supreme Court of Israel is successfully neutered, the present government will move to outlaw anti-Zionist (i.e., Arab) parties as just another step toward the eventual exclusion of all Palestinians from political life.

Of course, some Israelis know very well what they are fighting for, however reluctant they may be to say so out loud. Among them are Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich (who is also, within the Defense Ministry, in charge of civilian affairs in Judea and Samaria) and the settlers, fundamentalist ideologues, and ultranationalist activists he represents. With one another they are candid about their aims, but occasionally they let the cat out of the bag in public, as Smotrich did with his comment about needing to “erase” the Palestinian town of Hawara.

A slice of the Israeli Jewish left also knows what is really at stake, having come to understand that the rights of secular liberal Jews, and their hope to live in a country they can experience as sane, are increasingly dependent on Arab political mobilization and Arab votes. The intellectual elite among West Bank and Gaza Palestinians also know that, in the long run, political equality is the fundamental question that will determine their future.

But none of these groups will speak the truth. Smotrich and his followers prefer not to contradict their claim to be democrats by talking about their plans for the permanent political enslavement of Israel’s Palestinians. Leftists fear that speaking of Arab rights, or including Arabs and Palestinian flags in demonstrations, will damage prospects for a protest movement that currently presents itself as a carnival of blue-and-white patriotic Zionists. And Palestinians who aspire to eventually live in a state that represents all its citizens, whether named Israel or Israel-Palestine, cannot admit to this for fear of retribution from either the Palestinian Authority (committed officially to the now-defunct vision of a separate Palestinian state) or the “resistance”-oriented street, which is intolerant of programs requiring decades of political mobilization.

Most Israelis, however, do not feel the reality of what this struggle is about. On the right, they are focused on specific opportunities the government’s judicial “reforms” open for expanding settlements, ending protections for Arab citizens, increasing ultra-Orthodox subsidies, guaranteeing freedom of ultra-Orthodox men from military service, and expanding religious authority over both personal and public life. Accustomed to viewing Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip as outside their state, even while living within the domain of its power, they view the Arab problem “through the gunsights” (as the Hebrew expression goes) and see the regime they live in, which privileges Jews over non-Jews, as an unchangeable given in their lives.

In the center and center-left, things are more complex. In Israel, 20 percent of the population, mostly secular Jewish Israelis, pay 80 percent of the taxes. They dominate the high-tech industry and the most sophisticated domains of the Israeli military. By contrast, 150,000 ultra-Orthodox men receive stipends for full-time study of Jewish texts. Less than half of all ultra-Orthodox men ever enter the workforce, and many of those who do hold state-funded, economically unproductive positions as religious functionaries. This will not change anytime soon.

Sixty percent of ultra-Orthodox high school students are given no access to courses in math, science, or English. Only a tiny number serve in the army. Meanwhile, middle- and upper-middle-class secular Israeli Jews—living along the coast, in moshav and kibbutz gated communities, and in some posh Jerusalem neighborhoods—are outraged by their treatment as useful idiots and cannon fodder for corrupt right-wing politicians, wild-eyed settlers, and unreconstructed 17th-century rabbis.

That outrage brings them into the streets, but it is not enough to end the story they tell about themselves: the story of how good Jews can make Israel a cozy, liberal, and democratic country, without allying with Palestinians.

This story probably always was a fairy tale, and certainly is one now. The ultra-Orthodox community now represents 13 percent of all Israelis, including one-third of all Israeli primary school students. Families among the ultra-Orthodox and national religious settlers average seven children, compared to three children in the average Israeli family.

Within the Israeli electorate, as it is presently composed, urban and coastal plain liberals are vastly outnumbered. In the mid-1990s equal numbers of Israeli Jews identified themselves as right-wing and left-wing. In a typical 2022 poll, 62 percent of Israeli Jews identified themselves with the right, compared to just 11 percent who identified with the left. The nationalist, social-democratically oriented Labor Party has performed dismally in recent elections. Although it dominated Israeli politics for the state’s first three decades, it has been reduced to a mere 4 out of 120 seats in the present Knesset. The liberal-dovish Meretz party failed to win any seats at all.

In American parlance, Israel is now a deeply red state. From something like Ohio or Pennsylvania in the 1980s, Israel has become Oklahoma or Idaho. In the long run this can change, but only if Israel democratizes. For the last several elections, center and left Jewish parties have known that they could be partners in a governing coalition only if Arabs voted in large numbers. But even with the help of the almost 2 million Palestinian citizens of Israel, it has been nearly a quarter of a century since a center-left coalition has managed to form a government.

Given the spectacular rates of population increase in the communities that have given the present government its hold over parliament, the only way to achieve a firm majority in favor of a “state of all its citizens” is for liberal democratic Jews to ally with Palestinians.

A proper perspective on the crisis in Israel entails understanding it not as the climax of a process but as the beginning of a protracted political war. What is at stake, ultimately, is not only the character of the regime—liberal democratic versus ethnocratic authoritarian—but also the fundamental character of the state ruled by that regime.

Thinking about this crisis as one of identity as well as rights means considering a comparable historical case, in which a country faced civil war over laws that could not be tolerated by half its citizenry—an issue that could only be resolved by transforming fundamental beliefs about what the country was and who belonged in it.

In 1858, Abraham Lincoln—then a candidate for the Senate—spoke against the continuing insistence by slave states that slavery be extended to Kansas, Nebraska, and other western territories. Warning of a necessary crisis before the problem would be solved, Lincoln said: “A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free. … It will become all one thing, or all the other.”

Lincoln was speaking of a war he saw coming, a war over whether the United States would be a country in which slavery would eventually be extinguished or a country forever and everywhere marked by enslavement and policies of oppression—policies directed against freed Blacks, of course, but also, eventually, against abolitionist whites.

Instructively, it was the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in the Dred Scott case, that Congress had no authority to ban slavery in some parts of the country, that led to a civil war that ended with the banning of slavery in all parts of the country.

One in 10 Israeli Jews now lives across the 1949 armistice lines that used to demarcate the border of the state of Israel—a boundary no longer registered by official maps of the country. In the single state that now exists between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea, all inhabitants—whether they live in the Gaza Strip, Judea and Samaria, the Jordan Valley, the Golan Heights, expanded East Jerusalem, or within the 1949 armistice lines—are subject to the decisions of the same government.

In each of these areas, different groups suffer from or enjoy the protection of laws, the effects of policies, and the assistance or consequences of police actions passed, promulgated, and ordered by the same government. If these circumstances are understood for the one-state reality they represent, Lincoln’s analysis can be seen to illuminate Israel’s future today as clearly as it did the future of the United States in the late 1850s.

When civil war first erupted in the United States, few talked of the struggle as being about whether the vast population of stigmatized Black non-citizens would eventually enjoy the same political rights as the white population. Even Lincoln himself spoke of miscegenation as the great threat and of returning freed slaves to Africa as the solution to the nation’s racial problem. We therefore should not expect the real political stakes of a struggle as fundamental as that faced by the United States in the 1850s or by Israel now to be framed explicitly by the contending sides.

What we should expect, however, is that crises that shake and change and destroy regimes can also transform thinking about what a country is, who its rightful inhabitants are, and which identities will be privileged, stigmatized, or honored. The United States’ bloody 1860s were the beginning of generations of change that proved Lincoln correct.

Once U.S. slavery was ended, Jim Crow took its place; but vigilante violence, prejudice, and persecution could not keep democratic politics from eventually opening opportunities for political emancipation and the alliances enabled by it. The Democratic Party, raised on racism and anchored in segregation and southern exclusion of Black Americans from political life, ended up finding electoral salvation in an alliance with Black people and other minorities, uniting with a vision of the country that its political ancestors would have abhorred—had they even been capable of imagining it.

That is the magic of democratic politics, of the onetime arch-segregationist George Wallace winning his fourth term as governor of Alabama in 1982 by kissing Black babies. The result of this long process of struggle, value change, and political realignment was a multicultural, multiracial liberal democracy—flawed, but intact and a world away from what the regime was when Lincoln spoke.

Though unable to speak its own deepest truth, the current Israeli government is committed, above all, to Jewish supremacy and to the transformation of the very partially liberal, not wholly democratic regime that has existed for 75 years into one capable of permanently excluding half the state’s population from the exercise of political rights.

Jewish protesters against the Netanyahu government’s attempted legal putsch are committed, above all, to the protection of their property and prerogatives as Israeli citizens. Not being Arabs, they benefit from the facade of egalitarian liberalism associated with Israel’s self-presentation as a Jewish and democratic state.

The government and its allies are unwilling to declare that an apartheid-style regime, based on explicit, systematic discrimination in favor of Jews, is exactly what the country needs to manage the absorption of the West Bank and Gaza they desire.

Meanwhile, the anti-government demonstrators—still dangerously attached to the idea of a Jewish state and the two-state solution mirage that protects it—are unwilling to acknowledge that they cannot win a struggle to make Israel a liberal democracy without forming an alliance with a large, fully enfranchised, and highly mobilized Palestinian population.

Perhaps the most likely outcome of the current crisis is a reformulation of the judicial reforms sufficient to quiet the protests without bringing on the immediate fall of the government. Such an outcome may result in a temporary political cease-fire.

But as bloodshed, raids, pogroms, rocket attacks, and reprisals associated with Israeli domination of the West Bank and Gaza escalate, the deeper crisis will continue.

When, eventually, masses of Jewish protesters demand equal rights for Palestinians, partly because they will no longer be able to protect their own rights without Palestinian help, then we will know that the decisive battle has begun.

[indecentpause]

WIP Wednesday

here’s an excerpt from The Most Beautiful Puzzle!

cw: murder case mention

Nobody speaks for a while, until about ten minutes later when Josselin says, “Melissa? Could I ask you a couple questions about all that hullabaloo at the school a couple weeks back?”

Her shoulders tighten and she looks up from her sandwich to Josselin’s face. He holds his hands up, coffee in one and half eaten donut in the other, and says, “You don’t have to answer all of them. And we’re not cops. We’re just… citizens who are concerned about the case being dropped.”

Melissa’s eyes narrow and she looks carefully at you both. When Bear finishes another sausage, he nudges the back of Josselin’s hand with his nose, as if he now thinks that’s where food comes from. Josselin puts his drink down by his foot.

“Is it okay if I pet him?” he asks.

Melissa nods, but still watches you two warily.

Josselin ruffles Bear’s ears and gives his thick neck and shoulders a good scratch. He looks back up to Melissa and says, “I just noticed you were in this area when the campus was shut down. Not to give too much information, but it was a pretty clear murder case that was suddenly dropped last week with no explanation. We were just wondering if you saw anything weird around here in the past month and a half.”

Melissa’s brow furrows. “Like what?” she asks softly, anxiously.

Josselin takes out his phone again and pulls up the sports faculty page. “I know it’s been a while, but do you recognize any of these people?”

She gingerly takes his phone and scrolls through the page, shaking her head as she does. Then, she pauses and scrolls back up, and her eyes widen a little.

“Oh!” she says. “Yes, I’ve seen this guy around before.” She turns the phone back to Josselin, who is obviously expecting her to show him the photo of Kevin Housinge. But his back goes rigid.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly. He pulls at the screen to make the photo bigger and you look over his shoulder.

It’s the head football coach, James Harris.

Puzzle taglist: @ohsugarfoot @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @writtendevastation @viskafrer @thelaughingstag @athenswrites @kaiusvnoir @magic-is-something-we-create 

and, as always, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[byneddiedingo]

Heaven's Gate (Michael Cimino, 1980)

Cast: Kris Kristofferson, Christopher Walken, John Hurt, Sam Waterston, Isabelle Huppert, Brad Dourif, Joseph Cotten, Jeff Bridges. Screenplay: Michael Cimino. Cinematography: Vilmos Zsigmond. Production design: Tambi Larsen. Film editing: Lisa Fruchtman, Gerald B. Greenberg, William Reynolds, Tom Rolf. Music: David Mansfield. 

Heaven's Gate, for all its history as a calamitous flop, is not so much a bad movie as an inchoate one. You can see it go awry from the very beginning, when it tries to pass off the ornate architecture of Oxford University, where the scenes were filmed, for the spare red brick and granite of Harvard Yard. The film opens with a frenzied commencement for the Harvard class of 1870, which devolves into a swirling dance to the "Blue Danube" waltz. It's potentially an exhilarating opening, but it goes on and on and on, and serves almost no purpose in the rest of the film, except to introduce us to James Averill (Kris Kristofferson) and his friend William C. Irvine (John Hurt), members of the graduating class. Then the film jumps 20 years, to Wyoming, where Averill is marshal of Johnson County. We never learn why Averill, who is a wealthy man, winds up in this hard and thankless job, living in near-squalor and hooked up with Ella Watson (Isabelle Huppert), the madam of a brothel. As for Irvine, with whom Averill reunites during a stopover in Casper on his way back to Johnson County, he has somehow become involved with the Wyoming Stock Growers Association, a group of cattlemen led by the sinister Frank Canton (Sam Waterston) who are trying to keep immigrants from settling on the land they want to graze. It's clear that director-screenwriter Michael Cimino at some point wanted Irvine, who is presented as an effete intellectual, to serve as a kind of chorus, commenting on the action, and as a foil to the more robust Averill, but Irvine keeps getting lost in the turns of the narrative and the excesses of Cimino's ideas. (The shooting took so long that Hurt was able to film David Lynch's The Elephant Man during his down time from Heaven's Gate.) In Casper we also meet Nathan Champion (Christopher Walken), who works as a kind of hit man for the cattlemen. But Champion is also a friend of Averill's and a rival of his for the attentions of Ella. There is the core of a more conventional Western in the relationships among these characters, but Cimino isn't interested in being conventional. What he is interested in are the elaborate set pieces like the waltz scene, a later scene with dozens of couples on roller skates, enormous throngs of extras milling through the streets of Casper, crowds of immigrants making their way to Johnson County, and battle scenes in which the citizens of the Johnson County settlement retaliate against the troops led by Canton that are determined to exterminate them. There are pauses in the hullabaloo for quieter scenes designed to work out the triangle formed by Averill, Champion, and Ella, but their characters are so lightly sketched in that we don't have much sense of the motives behind their sometimes enigmatic actions. And yet, it's a somehow maddeningly watchable film, thanks in large part to the often breathtaking cinematography of Vilmos Zsigmond, a committed performance by Huppert, the Oscar-nominated sets of Tambi Larsen and James L. Berkey, and yes, the sheer extravagance of what Cimino throws onto the screen. Without a plausible screenplay it could never have been a good film, but occasionally you can see how it might have been a great one.

[epistolizer]

Hit & Run Commentary #142

In regards to medical professionals that question excessive Coronavirus response measures such as forced economic lock downs and compulsory countenance concealment, it is responded that the opinions of such physicians are invalid since their specialties are often not in pathology or epidemiology. Then why do those of Ezekiel Emanuel carry extra weight in justifying increased Plague Cult restrictions since he is an oncologist?

Of four Coronavirus tests taken by Elon Musk on the same day, two came back as positive and two came back a negative. If 50% of these were in error, why shouldn't we assume that the pandemic is half as bad as the Plague Cultists propagandize the nation into believing for the purposes of justifying the curtailment of a number of basic liberties?

That’s ironic that the CW commercial celebrating the becoming of one people again depicts that sentiment being expressed by this season’s primary villain on the network’s drama “The Outpost” who essentially uses black magic to impose that objective in a manner that is both cultic and occultic.

Citizen Obama lamented that questioning the election results undermines the foundations of American democracy. Does he intend to as unequivocally condemn the launching of fireworks into a crowd of diners for daring to express an opinion contrary to that preferred by technocratic elites?

Establishmentarian media is insinuating that physical attacks against Trump supporters at demonstrations is justifiable or at least understandable on the grounds that it is a provocative act not to remove a MAGA hat when ordered to do so by a riotous mob. Then on what grounds would it be an outrage to inflict a similar assault upon a Jew wearing a yarmulke, a Muslim wearing a hajib, or a Sikh wearing a turban?

My concerns are not assuaged by a commercial attesting to the integrity of the electoral process when it is narrated by the actor that portrayed gangster Don Falcone on “Gotham” and a Senator on “Person Of Interest” that supported the development of an Artificial Intelligence that was revered as a deity by its programmers and that was not above manipulating assorted social institutions in pursuit of its own agenda.

If a Plague is so deadly that an edict is promulgated that starting Friday evening restaurants must close by 10 PM, why is it healthy to eat at a restaurant the Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights after the pending designated hour prior to that?

Fauci (along with other hierarchs of the Plague Cult) needs to be re-asked if he still supports anonymous gay hookups during the pandemic. If so, that would mean all this hullabaloo about not getting together during the holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas is just part of a scam to fundamentally alter the American way of life.

Insisting that MAGA hats are to blame for provoking a violent response is akin to blaming a woman that was raped because she was wearing a miniskirt.

Regarding non-premium or non-streaming content on the digital cable menu. If you are paying over $100 per month for the service, the episodes might not be costing you extra but they certainly are not free as labeled.

If a virus has a 3% positivity rate, that might indeed be something to take note of. However, does it justify the upending of entire ways of life such as assorted civil liberties and holiday traditions?

If there are more in the hospital today as a result of the Coronavirus, wouldn't that most likely be the fault of Biden street celebrations participated in ironically by those the most jacked out of shape that Trump is not doing “enough” to curtail the Plague and the most eager to reimpose the police state tactics these partisans insist are necessary to forestall the spread of the pestilence?

If local governments are going to encourage (to be under understood as prefer) “houses of worship” to hold virtual services during the Coronavirus plague, isn’t it the responsibility of these municipal functionaries imposing this requirement to provide the high speed Internet access for those in these congregations?

Scripture admonishes the believer to pray for those in authority. However, nowhere does divine revelation forbid the petition from asking that incompetent leaders be removed from office.

So if this is a war against Covid as the rhetoric is formulated to justify the curtailments of basic liberties that would not be justified in less medically precarious times, will those mangled by the vaccination qualify for disabled veteran’s benefits?

In propaganda in support of the Coronavirus vaccine, the Surgeon General assured he won’t be submitting to this biochemical intervention simply for himself but also for the benefit of his COMMUNITY. So if the vaccination renders you a slobbering invalid, will the COMMUNITY provide for your disability care in a era of looming financial collapse with debt as every bit as devastating as the disease?

Apparently to question the outcome of an election is to undermine democracy. Yet to loot merchandise from retailers, pull down statues, and burn structures to the ground on behalf of approved agitated demographics now represents civic engagement at its finest.

Governor Larry Hogan proclaimed that one does not possess a constitutional right to walk down the sidewalk without a mask. Conversely, gubernatorial decrees disrupting in such a profound manner what it means to live as a free individual that have not been promulgated through the mechanics of the traditional legal process originating in a legislature are probably even more constitutionally dubious.

On The Five on Fox News, a pundit purporting to be a libertarian said that in regards to the vaccine that he was in favor of more professionals and less government. But in some ways, isn't that just as bad if not worse? In regards to government, you as a free citizen have at least a theoretical say. But in regards to those fields deemed to be professions, only a select few speak authoritatively on behalf of the discipline. Steep penalties are imposed upon those who attempt to do so that are not recognized members of the guild. What is needed from each of these forms of bureaucratic organization --- both the public and the private --- is a respect for individuality that will allow each person to decide for themselves their particular response to the profound pharmaceutical conundrum now facing each and every American.

Celebratory fuss has been made that the Biden communications team will be all female. What’s the big deal? Even Republican administrations have had female spokesmen such as press secretaries before Biden came along. If the Biden regime insists that its operations are to reflect America, shouldn’t nearly half of this team consist of men? If all White and/or men had been selected, isn’t that the sort of thing the mentally unstable rampage down streets over wearing hats of questionable taste representing the female reproductive tract while looting property and smashing windows?

The British Minister of Vaccines is suggesting bars, restaurants, and cinemas might require proof of vaccination before being allowed admission. So what is to prevent protesters from blocking access to such establishments or even retaliating with acts of vandalism? Such is not an endorsement but simply an observation as to what is likely to happen.

If those that refuse the Coronavirus vaccines are forced to wear masks at work or in public, is that morally different than Jews forced to wear yellow stars or sodomites pink triangles in an unspecified totalitarian regime of the early middle 20th century?

Forty-one at a swingers convention (deviants that swap spouses for carnal indulgence) attended by 2500 people who by definition were less than 6 feet a part while they romped in the sack contracted the Coronavirus. That is an infection rate of 1.64%. And this is the disease we are committing civilizational suicide over in terms of eliminating livelihoods and civil liberties? More than that probably walked away from the debauched event with crabs and clap.

Biden ranted that it is patriotic to wear a mask and to even analytically scrutinize the imposition is somehow not. Yet the contemporary Democrats were the ones that went out of their way to badmouth America and loyalty to it. And wasn’t Hillary the one that tossed a hissy fit screaming how patriotic dissent was? Does Biden intend to release an additional statement how it’s also not patriotic to burn businesses to the ground and loot retailers either?

If you believe the Biden mask mandate will only be for 100 days as the old coot promised, you are special kind of stupid that there is not much hope for. Need you be reminded we are heading into month nine of a ghenna that was promised to initially be for only 2 to 3 weeks?

Doesn’t suggesting that plague vaccination opponents ought to be denied basic rights of speech and public accommodations such as employment or travel and that they are likely bound for damnation in eternal hellfire pretty much confirm the suspicion that this invasion of our very biological ontology pretty much verify the concern that this could be the Mark of the Beast?

By Frederick Meekins

[citizenhullabaloo]

July 19th 2024 - Sleepwalk

Keep reading for all pictures I took of the bands!

Statik Vision #1-30

More pictures through reblogs!

[writer59january13]

Severe surge regarding thou shalt not kill violations

Fifth commandment breached regularly epidemic of gun violence in America bullets fly, scream and tear into flesh senseless rampant mass killings rip across fabric of society buzzfeeding, jump/kickstarting,

paradigm of mortality. Since January first two thousand and twenty three countless innocent people lost lives deliberately, yet randomly targeted shot dead at point blank range merely going about their ordinary business. No clear cut motive nor profile delineates active shooter(s), who could be either (or any) gender and range in age from grade school to septuagenarian.

The latest homicides woo,

and appease the grim reaper, where gunman(men)/women slew

dirty deeds done dirt cheap many baker's dozen innocent people

unknowingly and unwittingly drew (rather gurgled) their last breath

choking on splintered blood vessels

beckoning, issuing, and twittering minimal horrific animal primal gasps and groans.

Adversarial criminal minds

finds yours truly to interject

reasonable parenthetical rhyme without reason, thus I temporarily tack tangentially offtrack

with cogent concise contemplation to extemporize, lyricize, and soliloquize brutal nasty senselessness perpetrated courtesy fearsome

half cocked pistol packing maniacs,

whereby evils unrelentingly replaying nightmare (exceeding cruelty by magnitudes administered

courtesy rocky horror picture show) of gruesome carnage broadcast across

social media platforms

of killing fields anew,

in the minds of those unfortunate souls

who bear witness to deadly crime, where odd stark juxtaposition

elicit skeletal goldenrods yellowed stalks adrip with morning mountain dew encompassing fresh footprints, where berserk humans

prowling in the tall grass

(them of naked ape infamous

zoological niche) lately trod

in search of human prey welcomed unsuspecting killer(s) true colors transformed into hideous monsters

predictably soothing savage beasts undertakers grisly task patching shredded bodies after homicidal maniac

fired bullet(s) setting corpse

recalibrating counting queue.

As month one of new year (according to Chinese tradition water rabbit constitutes animal de jure) allows, enables, and provides brisk business for crematoriums or funeral parlors. Whether native American citizen or foreigner (perchance student) slain survivors bereave and issue final adieu, whether gentile nor Jew, perhaps including child named Caillou instantaneously slain, who knew not what felled them engrossed amidst social ballyhoo ex post facto registering grievous hue pallbearers accentuating somber view eclipsing most recent prior massacres similar to previous you ululations yesterday's sorrows without handy dandy blue's clue lame motive explaining cold blooded slaughter vis a vis unsurprising discover re: firearms Jane/ John Q. Public kept stashed loaded, deployed... guns up the kazoo cocked, gauged, primed... for unleaded opportunity to unleash barrage invariable generating hullabaloo to curb bloody violence trumpeting predictable brew ha ha alloyed against National Rifle Association almighty Republican supported lobbyist's motley crew versus increased uproar protesters chorus nearly few tile opposition pitted grand Poobah despite alarming statistics shew plus increasing fresh gravesites dug amidst freshly mowed fescue attesting to wanton shell shocked headlines indiscriminate brew tilly assaulting sensibilities without rhyme nor reason yet, yours truly doth boo leave rampant hatred directly linkedin to former "FAKE" commander in chief, (biden his time as patient hunter) whose acrid, horrid, rabid vitriol still darkly colors political hue man gushing bloody fountainhead few ming and appreciable frothing lathers up right wing supremacists greenlighting smoldering new bile radicals hot headed volatile mindset whereby self anointed anarchistic Guru possibly fuels global warming evidenced by displaced Inuits flooding courtesy melting igloo.

[uno-whatimean]

What's your favourite performance of Citizen Erased?

I fucking adore the Hullabaloo CE 💙 but was wondering if there's a better one out there

[pwopaganda]

< Citizen Erased Solo ; Hullabaloo >

[chromosome23hq]

Things have been relatively calm in the city. There haven't been fights between factions, and most of the hullabaloo against the Essex House has died as the months passed. Things are looking better for the New Yorkers; life is easy and normal again.

And what happens when life starts to look normal like before? Simple, the citizens decide to throw a party! Halloween is right around the corner, and who doesn't love a good costume party? Various individuals and organizations have been planning, shopping, and inviting those to their Halloween parties.

MONSTER MASH

HOSTED BY: Laurel Cunningham & Yazmín Navarro Montes LOCATION: Abandoned Warehouse TIME: 7 PM to 12 AM

One thing about the X-Men and Omegas? Oh, they're going to host an absolutely amazing party. But instead of the old heads planning it, Laurel Cunningham and Yazmín Navarro Montes have decided to handle the festivities themselves.

With the abandoned warehouse as the location, the two (and the help of friends) spruced up the place. Tables are set up, a few strobe lights in the corners, a DJ in the corner with huge speakers, and food and drinks from local restaurants: a party that you would see in a horror movie! Oh… maybe I shouldn't have said that—sorry. But seriously, the gang turned this lifeless and spooky building into the raddest spot in the city. 

Come down and dance to the Monster Mash, bob for some apples, and have a professional photographer take you and your friends' pictures in the corner. I promise that you won't regret it one bit! 

SATANIC SOIREE

HOSTED BY: Club Nyx LOCATION: Club Nyx TIME: 9 PM to 3 AM

You know, Halloween isn't just for kids. It's also for the adults who need to make their inner child happy. To appeal to those adults and drunkards, Club Nyx is hosting a Halloween party! Fake cobwebs are strung around, a smoke machine blows out fake smoke the entire time, and the employees are all dressed up as zombies, ready to cater to their patrons. 

Anyone can attend; however, you must wear a costume to get inside. And no, the zombie bouncer won't let you in if your costume is lame and a simple shirt that says, "this is my costume." Sorry, buddy, that's not gonna work here. Have fun and be creative! Make your inner child happy while also pleasing your adult self.

BOO'ED UP

HOSTED BY: Rollerama LOCATION: Rollerama TIME: 9 PM to 12 AM 

Who said you can't find your soulmate on Halloween?

Yes, we know it sounds crazy, but at Rollerama, we believe in love at first sight. That's why they're holding a speed dating event on October 31st—appropriately titled Boo'ed Up. Open to those who are 21 and older, the event will be held in the roller skating rink's private party space.

If you're looking for love, this is the chance for you to see what's out there—and there's no better place to meet someone who will change your life forever than a roller skating rink.

You never know who might be waiting for you at Rollerama, and if nothing else, it'll be a fun way to spend Halloween for all you sexy singles out there!

OOC INFORMATION: 

The IC date for the events is Saturday, October 31st, 1998.

The OOC duration will be from October 1st @ 12 AM to October 31st @ 11:59 PM PHT.

Please only focus on your Halloween threads during the entire month. All other threads should be put on pause during October.

Event participation isn't mandatory! However, if you're going to bench a muse (or multiple) for the month, let the admins know through the 💬｜admin-hotline channel so you can freeze your muse for the month. Muse freezing rules apply.

Please list which muses will attend which event in the 🔄｜muse-updates channel—along with their costumes—and use the tag #c23halloween! Have fun and be creative!