#false promise

[arinewman7]

False Promise

Monika Marchewka

oil on canvas, 2023

[eaglesnick]

“Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.”― Wallace Stegner,

In May this year (2023) Rishi Sunak claimed that the economy was looking up and that family incomes were "hugely outperforming" expectations. Phew! That’s a relief!

Except, of course they aren’t!

According to the governments own figures, (which Sunak either doesn’t read or chooses to ignore) between January to March 2023:

83,240 households were assessed as homeless or threatened with homelessness, an increase of 5.7% compared to the same period 2022.

And

On 31 March 2023, 104,510 households were in temporary accommodation, an increase of 10% from the same time last year. Households with children in temporary accommodation increased by 10.3% to 64,940 families for the same period in 2022

Sunak, who together with his wife owns at least 4 properties, may feel secure that HIS children will never face homelessness, but that isn’t the experience of thousands of decent English families.  

It is time Sunak lived up to the promise he made when he was Chancellor:

“Budget 2021: Rishi Sunak promises ‘we will help families get by’ Evening Standard: 28/10/21)

Driving them onto the streets through welfare cuts, pay restraint and a massive hike in interest rates isn’t the way to go about it.

[howifeltabouthim]

Internally she did a double take. Something alerted her that this was perhaps his first lie, his first false promise.

Susan Minot, from Don't Be a Stranger

[testormblog]

False Promise

It was the end of 1959.  I was sixteen years old and needed to fund my existence.  There was no question, or choice depending on one’s opinion, about the job opportunities available to me.  Pop had and Dad still did work for the Railway; thus, I should too.  My only other option was casual labour on the local farms.

Dad asked George, his drinking mate, how I should apply for a proper job with the Railway.  George, being the Assistant Secretary to the Commissioner of Queensland Railways, was an important man.  He was Reggie’s father too and had a bit of a shine towards me.  He also knew I had buckled down when I had covered Reggie’s holiday leave as Beenleigh Station’s porter.  I had swept the trains and the platforms with super efficiency.  The Station Master had been astounded that I had wanted more jobs and handed over his paperwork to do.

George said I had two options: apply for a porter’s position at a station or sit the annual exam and hope to secure a trade apprenticeship.  Back then, the Railway was an organisation built on longevity where one started at the bottom.  My stint as a relief porter was enough time at the bottom for me!  So, I decided to sit the Railway exam.  Any apprenticeship would do; just a chance to jam my toe through the metaphoric doorway.  My situation was dire!  Otherwise, I’d be shovelling animal crap for a living.

I sat down amongst hundreds of young men in the Brisbane Central Technical College’ massive gymnasium.  Like me, most sweated with nervousness.  The morning, a hot Saturday in December, didn’t help.  Air conditioning was yet to be invented; the reek of body odour was putrid.  I noted the written exam was split evenly between Mathematics and English questions.  Whilst the Mathematics component wasn’t a worry; I had the willies about the English section.  If I had to write an essay, I was doomed!  Thankfully, it comprised of a dictation test and another for reading and comprehension.  I wasn’t a wordsmith but I could listen, recall what was said and read well.  I scribbled my answers quickly and prayed that my legibility and spelling were sufficient.  Afterwards, I put the wretched exam out of my mind and went birding to earn a few pounds.

Early in January, George strolled up to home smiling.  He told Dad my results and that I had placed fourth in Queensland, out of all the state’s testing centres.  My father was flabbergasted!  He didn’t know I had achieved an excellent Junior pass from high school.  Fourth meant I was fourth in line to choose from approximately one hundred apprenticeships on offer.  I was elated!  This was a huge step towards a solid future.  Better yet, I moved up to second position when the two top applicants chose options elsewhere.  I chose the second highest paid apprenticeship, that of an electrical fitter; the first being already taken.  I figuratively kissed those cows’ arses goodbye!  The four year indenture meant a meagre yet steady wage if I watched my own arse.

I started work at the Ipswich Railway Workshops.  I also took a room at a men’s boarding house in Ipswich and ate slop and potato during the week.  This rundown establishment was little more than a half way house for reprobates, who slept with their rum bottles.

Each morning, I caught the Workshops train with a thousand other men.  Unlike me, many didn’t pay their fares.  They jumped aboard from a disused platform when the train reversed to change points onto the Workshop Line.  Sometimes, they played ‘cat and mouse’ with the ticket snappers and risked penalty fares and fines.  To me, this exercise seemed counterproductive to the Railway as it delayed the train and the jobs scheduled that day.  Yet everybody still received full wages.

Upon walking through the Workshops gate, I discovered a place beyond my imagination.  The Workshops were a large sprawling complex of buildings.  Some were tall and long.  These accommodated massive steam engines, carriages, good wagons and overhead gantry cranes.  Many were built during the prior century although the machinery housed inside them was now powered with electricity.  Every trade had their designated workshop.  There were smithies, electricians, carpenters, upholsters and mechanical engineers to name some of the trades.  Here, steam engines and rail motors were serviced whilst carriages and goods wagons were constructed and repaired.  I was bedazzled by the locomotives, I’d see there: the Beyer Garett, PB15, C16, C17, C19 and tank engines.

The Workshops were regimented by Railway rules.  However, an underlying culture existed amongst the workers where nobody dobbed anybody in for breaking these.  The supervisors were incompetent; ignorant of their responsibilities to their jobs and their employees.  Given the Workshops enormity, men easily and purposefully lost themselves from 7 am to 4 pm.  Nobody looked for them.  On payday, they appeared.

The workshops were hot, noisy, dirty places and often smoky.  The foul smell of sulphur fumes intermingled with other noxious odours from metals and humans.  Men crafted by hand all the parts and tools their specific workshops required.  Safe work methods weren’t practiced.  The tasks were monotonous.  Men plodded along with the same task all day.  That was unless a foreign order arrived.  A foreign was somebody’s personal job like to rebuild their truck’s engine block.  I did what I was tasked to do; that being to manufacture small metal parts.  I was bored!

Accordingly, employees avoided constructive work wherever possible.  They pulled pranks in abundance.  Every new worker was initiated by a dunking in the water trough.  This was a frequent occurrence.  If the rookie resisted, he earnt a worse dunking and would be almost drowned.  I suffered my turn and miserably slogged around in my heavy wet overalls for the whole day.  However, far worse for us rookies were the unexpected dowses by the senior apprentices with their illegally manufactured water cannon device that they connected to the water fountain.

One day, when I was melting lead in a crucible, such an idiot appeared with the water cannon ready to dowse me.  His intention was exceedingly dangerous, potentially deadly.  I knew if water touched molten lead, the lead would explode!  Without any thought (I didn’t have time to think!), I threw a lead ingot round, about ten centimetres in diameter and a kilogram in weight, at him to divert his attention.  He didn’t catch it!  Yet, my throw, me being a cricket bowler, to my dismay was too accurate.  The ingot hit his arm and cut a deep gash.  Blood streamed from this.  He collapsed!  I was horrified and certain I’d be sacked.  His mates, who had looked on, carted him off to First Aid.  Later that day, he and his gang returned.  His arm was in a sling with the wound stitched up.  He commented that everybody should watch out for ingots falling off the bench.  The incident was buried!  Nobody targeted me with the water cannon again.

I thought Dad’s lot out on the train track was better than mine.  He worked in the fresh air and sunshine.  This fallacious promise of a decent future was really the shackle to lifelong drudgery in disguise.

[redgillan]

belinda went from badass exhausted nurse who reads people red flags like they’re written on their face to a doctor devotee forced into motherhood… okay thanks for nothing

[azaleastobloom]

Style experiment with efalse

[kawareo]

Out of context, new chapter of Godsbound! :)

[sodaneko]

˚₊·͟͟͞͞➳❥ +18 ; dilf!kuroo ; f!reader

two decades and a handful of promotions later and kuroo is still the heartthrob of the office. there was something so irresistible about him; with his tailored white shirt, the sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, his iconic cowlick (now streaked with some grey hair in between) and the small wrinkles from smiling too much. an office siren except he was an overworked man in his forties, surviving on conbini meals and a minimum of seven coffees throughout the day. he couldn’t count how many times he shaved his stubble at the office bathroom under bright neon light because he pulled an all-nighter, or how often he dabbed out coffee stains from his shirt when going home and changing between meetings wasn’t an option. it’s the life he chose, the dream he chased and he doesn’t regret a thing, really–it just gets lonely sometimes.

kuroo almost swore off ever falling in love again, especially with a co-worker. too risky, too complicated. almost. until you, the newest addition to his team, came around: smart, hardworking, cheeky. it’s not love, he tells himself, but infatuation or whatever the word was for wanting to bury his cock inside of you, making you mewl and pant and watching you come undone. kuroo couldn’t help but feel drawn to you, the fresh air a young and sweet thing like you brought into this place, like you lifted a veil that dulled his senses for too long. 

it started off harmless, with coffee breaks in the office kitchen where you always laughed the loudest at his jokes, soon followed by midnight conbini runs through the rain when you had a deadline to meet, kuroo’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders because your wet shirt got so damn see-through. he didn’t mean to stare but you seemed almost offended that he didn’t and so he let his gaze wander over the outlines of lace (or more, the absence of it from how flimsy this was), his adam’s apple bobbing from how hard he swallowed. his cock strained against his pants under his desk for the rest of the night. 

you were trouble and kuroo loved every second of it.

not long and you both established a little game, one where he sent you a photo of his tie in the morning and you sent him back a photo of yourself wearing panties in a matching color, always with a damp spot visible in them already. when you asked sweetly he’d record a voice message of him moaning out your name while he milks himself to the last drop, wishing he could stuff you full instead of being forced to look at your tight skirt (barely long enough to be workplace appropriate) all day long and knowing exactly what you’re wearing underneath. or not wearing underneath, because at one point you started slipping your worn panties into the pockets of his jacket or his briefcase, making him lose his mind from your scent alone. he’d stroke himself for hours at home, his nose buried deep in the tiny bits of lace and pearls of yours. 

maybe you were the siren after all and he was just the pussy drunk sailor who got caught in your affair. 

kuroo knows he should put an end to this soon, be responsible, be wise, but fuck��he’s just a weak man when you sit in front of him on his desk, your legs spread and resting on his thighs, your dripping heat on full display and making a mess out of his monthly reports. you were as infuriating as you were alluring and he’ll be damned to fall any harder for you; but first he’ll allow himself a taste, or maybe two, or he’ll just keep you bouncing on his cock until you learn some manners–he has a feeling that you’ll have him completely at your mercy before that ever happens though.

[formulanni]

Yuki Tsunoda as The Moon Tarot:

The Moon is a card of illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself. Night is the time when dreams and fantasies rule.

The moon also represents instincts that we have buried in our own unconscious - they come out to play in the moonlight. But the reflections that we see springing forth can also be illusions, it is easy to lose your way in the dark.

Embracing the Moon tarot card meaning allows us to face our fears and uncertainties, trusting our instincts to guide us towards the right path.

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls

[goodnightsasuke]

One of my favorite moments from Naruto is when Naruto’s in the approximate area of Sasuke in that forest and sends out clones to find him and Sasuke runs into one and chidoris him right in the chest without missing a beat but as the clone poofs you can tell Sasuke is shaken (Was it seeing Naruto? Was it the way he attacked him without second thought, arm through his chest just like VOTE1?) and then it changes to Naruto’s perspective where he’s getting the memories of the clone Sasuke just merc’d and Naruto is clearly shaken as well and he touches his chest right where Sasuke’s arm went through it… then his expression hardens and he immediately runs off after Sasuke again! Naruto is actually so fucking crazy I love him. People love to act like Sasuke is so irrationally insane and unjustified in his actions but there is something so fundamentally wrong with Naruto.

[clarkgriffon]

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 7x01 | “Lessons” 

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

me when the meljayvik fic has Mel admitting Jayce loves Viktor more:

[dailyfalsesymmetry]

if you’ve read hermit archives you could do something inspired by that?

day 55 (@hermithorrorweek day 3: chase)

Golden Eagle.

[krsnaradhika]

Finding Him Again ❤︎

something something about the peace in his eyes. the wisdom in them. the calm of his temples. the stillness of his visage. something about the way he's ever ready to lead. he holds her hand and walks ahead. she follows as she loves to. a bow on his shoulders, and a flute tucked safely in his waistband. the swarthy skin of his glinting beautifully against her pale one. he is more full of life, she is a ghostly shadow of it.

“and what if it doesn't work out? what if i fail? what if i disappoint you and them again? lord, what if this is a dead end?” she implores and shivers in terror, wincing as she tries to hide behind his back. a cold gust of wind goes by and raises the hackles on her. a wickedly restless heart thumps wildly in her chest. he smiles and holds her hand tighter, the gleam of his dark irises multiplying manifolds.

“and what if you just trust me and let them talk? how about you do your best, and let go of everything else? what then, sakhi? you know what karmayoga is, now, don’t you?”

they stop at the frothing ocean lapping at their feet, sand slipping away like an illusive trap. fishes and conch shells line before them, the moonlight dancing on the waves. the nightfall has never been darker, except for the one when he had arrived. the distraction is fascinating but her fingers tighten around him unnecessarily, some part of her knowing that she might be lost.

she heaves a breath and blinks away her tears— no, you must not leave me to myself again. you must not take away this assurance of your touch, lord— “then i find you again?”

his eyes crinkle in crescents— naive sakhi, always forgets the same thing and always comforts herself the same way. cries and cries but never quite drifts away. never too gone to not be saved— “then i find you again. beyond the ties of right and wrong, uncaring of how tainted your soul maybe from your past lives and actions. i find you, and we walk through the shores again— as forever companions.”

“promise?” her drenched eyelashes look up to his looming handsome face and she sniffles, ridiculous to every bit as a few last stray tears of hers are brushed away by a lotus palm.

a soft sort of longing is in his heart too. “oh i haven't been surer of anything else.”

[sophistired18]

rip this old kryk week wip i never touched again

maybe one day ill actually finish it bc it looks better than i remember

[selamat-linting]

> looking for a new novel with imperialism as one of its themes

> ask book review if the novel is about imperialism in the marxist sense or in the general expansionist sense

> she doesnt understand

> pull out illustrated diagram and imf policy book explaining how imperialism functions and how it benefits imperial core citizens in real life

> she laughs and say "its a good book sir"

> its general expansionist imperialism