#monarch programming book

[officialurban]

🚨Armageddon Programming | An Analysis of 'The Catcher in The Rye'

Spells are very important in Luciferianism. In our last episode we illustrated how spells are used in society to build our inner mythologies. If you are one of those who can't help but wonder what in the world is happening to our communities right now, you should know that in part it is due to decades of spell casting that is starting to "come true” worldwide, including in the Middle East. While we support the Jewish right to gather in the land of Israel, we do not support ramping up for war on either side. One of the major spells that has been cast on American Christians is the spell that they must be true to Jewish plans and plots at any cost in order to be true to the Bible. Anything less is anti-shemitism. This is a spell, so you had better wake up because Christianity’s God has declared, “Blessed are the peace makers for they will be called the true children of God.” The rest are but dogs and sinners at the gate. To better illuminate how all these spells were, and are being, cast on you, we will use Jerome David Salinger's one hit book, "The Catcher in Rye" over two episodes. It is hoped that the lessons learned here will aid you in seeing how occultists continue to use spells on you today. Hold On, Star Child, here we go! Quack, Quack, Bang, Bang!

🪄Spell Casting - An Introduction

🌾The Catcher in The Lie: Spell Casting Expounded

🚨Armageddon Programming (1/2): Click

While most modern bimbos and numb nuts don’t realize it, we have actually reached the final stages of pastiche from which nothing but a dangerous douse of reality can free us.

💥Armageddon Programming (2/2): The Big Bang

We have spent an inordinate amount of time studying J.D. Salinger’s one hit worldwide best selling book, “The Catcher in the Rye”, using it as an example to explain how media, in all forms, has been used for more than half a century to control the way we think in order to  push a willing slavery agenda on us. The anti-christs, the Jewish Mafia, and pseudo-Christians among us today always broadcast their goals early. We would be smart to hear them now while we can still change course. We don't have much time to change course... Also check out the great research of Urban here. (Dude, keep it up!)

Rumble Playlist (Censored on YouTube)

[unwelcome-ozian]

MKULTRA book list

[deadpresidents]

"Vocabor Franciscus. "I will be called Francis." It was a breathtaking choice. Because no pope had ever taken the name, it needed no Roman numerals but stood stark and simple...No one ever thought a pope could be called Francis; it would be like taking the name Peter, or Jesus. They were one of a kind.

"I was astonished at the boldness of it, because the name Francis is a whole program of governance in miniature," the Vatican commentator John Allen told Boston Radio. "He is this iconic figure in the Catholic imagination that awakens images of the antithesis of the institutional church...That's an awful lot of weight to put on your shoulders right out of the gate. If you're not prepared to walk that talk, then you're going to be in real trouble."

Bergoglio had walked that talk over a lifetime. Right now it mostly meant saying no, like keeping his old black shoes, his silver pectoral cross (a pope's is normally gold), and his faithful black plastic watch, or refusing the limousine waiting to take him back to the guesthouse for dinner ("May God forgive you for what you have done," he joked with the cardinals [who had just elected him]). After Mass with the cardinals the next day, he left the Vatican in a Ford Focus -- the security guards had better cars than the pope -- to pray at the shrine of Saint Mary Major, returning via the priests' hostel where he had stayed before the conclave. There he collected his bag, paid his bill to a shocked clerk ("I checked in under another name" was the caption on a widely tweeted photo), and chatted and joked with staff. There wasn't much to collect. He had been washing his clothes at night, letting them dry on the radiator...

...It was lots of those little things. They weren't mere gestures, nor were they calculated messages. They flowed from his identification with the Christ of the Gospels..."We must learn to be normal!" he told his Jesuit interviewer, Father Antonio Spadaro, in August that year, and he put it into practice, collecting his tray of food in the Santa Marta dining room like anyone else, making his own phone calls and many of his appointments, keeping his own diary, and making visits -- always in the blue Ford Focus, without any kind of entourage -- to parishes and charities around Rome, to spend time with the old and the homeless and the foreign-born.

Stories of Francis's personal kindness, impossible to verify, began to make their rounds, like the time he left his room to find a Swiss Guard standing outside his door and brought him a chair. "But Holy Father, I cannot sit down. My boss does not allow it," the guard told him. "Well, I'm the boss of your boss, and I say it's fine," Francis told him, before going back inside to fetch him the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie...

...Francis has become the most accessible of modern popes, almost always to be found at lunchtime in the Santa Marta restaurant, where he has his own table set aside, but stands in the queue with his tray like everyone else. Visitors report that he comes out of the Santa Marta to greet them personally, while hostel guests are often shocked to find that when elevator doors open the pope steps in ("I don't bite," he reassures them)."

-- Austen Ivereigh, on how different Pope Francis was from his monarchical predecessors and how shocking it was at the Vatican immediately following his election at the 2013 Conclave when Francis decided to live in a simple room at the Vatican's guesthouse instead of the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, in the 2014 book, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[creature-wizard]

Is the spiritual person a conspiracy theorist? A list of red flags

They talk about a shadowy group of people supposedly manipulating everything behind the scenes. They might refer to them by terms such as globalists, bankers, international bankers, secret rulers of the world, the elite, the cabal, Kabbalists, Talmudists, satanists, satanic pedophiles, pedophiles, generational satanists, satanic bloodlines, the Illuminati, the Babylonian Brotherhood, lizard people, Reptilians, Orions, regressives, regressive entities, Khazarians, Marxists, cultural Marxists, or leftists. Sometimes, very rarely, they'll just come right out and say "Jews."

They claim that the conspiracy has been working to conceal historical and spiritual truths from humanity.

They claim that the conspiracy uses stuff like food, entertainment, and medicine to control the masses. For example, "additives in food suppress our psychic abilities" or "Hollywood films contain subliminal messages" or "COVID vaccines were actually created to alter your DNA to make you more docile."

Also, claims that the conspiracy controls people via spiritual or technological implants, 5G, or alter programming, with or without explicit mention of Project Monarch (a conspiracy theory promoted by far right cranks such as Mark Philips and Fritz Springmeier, who used hypnosis to respectively convince Cathy O'Brien and Cisco Wheeler that they'd been put under mind control by a global satanic conspiracy).

They claim that this conspiracy is controlling the media, has fingers in every institution they disagree with, and is generally behind everything they disagree with. (EG, the conspiracy created the Catholic Church; that other New Ager they disagree with is actually controlled opposition, etc.)

They claim that the conspiracy is trying to keep people in fear.

They claim that the conspiracy harvests something from people. Blood and adrenochrome are common ones. Loosh is somewhat less common. Expect to see something else pop up eventually.

They claim that the conspiracy practices genetic engineering; EG, creating animal/human hybrids, using vaccines to genetically sever people's connection to God, etc.

They claim that true spiritual wisdom can be traced back to places like Atlantis, Lemuria, or Mu.

They claim that world governments have secretly been in contact with extraterrestrials for years.

They appeal to known frauds and cranks, including but not limited to Erich Von Daniken, Zechariah Sitchin, David Icke, David Wilcock, Graham Hancock, Jaime Maussan, Bob Lazar, Steven Greer, Richard C. Hoagland, Fritz Springmeier, and Drunvalo Melchizedek.

Appeals to forged documents, including but not limited to the alleged diary of Admiral Richard Byrd, The Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean, and The Urantia Book.

Appeals to channeled information, such as that provided by Edgar Cayce, Carla Rueckert, or George Van Tassel.

"But all of this has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?"

Oh, it all comes from somewhere, all right, but the where isn't what most people imagine.

A lot of the stuff above is just a modern spin on the content of The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, a Russian hoax created to justify violence against Russian Jews. The Protocols itself was plagiarized from a political satire and incorporated a lot of the post-French Revolution conspiracy theories about Freemasons and Jews being behind the French Revolution. I wrote a summary of the conspiracy tropes found in The Protocols over here.

The stuff about Satanic sacrifices and the consumption of blood, adrenochrome, loosh, or whatever are simply just variations on blood libel, an antisemitic conspiracy theory that claims Jews practice ritual cannibalism. Blood libel can be traced back to ancient Greece. (With the Greek version, I really can't help but notice the similarity to modern urban legends of gangsters kidnapping random people for initiation rituals.)

Many of these tropes can also be linked back to the early modern witch hunts. It was believed that witches sacrificed babies to Satan, practiced cannibalism, and put people under mind control by way of diabolical magic. It was also believed that some witches didn't even know they were witches; they'd go off to attend the Devil's Sabbath at night and come back in the morning without remembering a thing. In the late 20th century, this witch hunter's canard would be reinvented as the alter programming conspiracy theory when media such as the 1973 book Sibyl and its 1976 television adaptation put DID (note: the woman who inspired Sibyl did not have DID) into the public consciousness. For a more complete list of witch panic and blood libel tropes, I wrote a list over here.

Lemuria was a hypothetical landmass proposed to explain the presence of lemur fossils in Madagascar and India while being absent in continental Africa and the rest of Asia, because if lemurs evolved naturally, they wouldn't be in two separate places with no connection to each other. The discovery that India and Madagascar were once connected not only made the hypothesis obsolete, it precludes the existence of Lemuria.

The whole notion of Mu began with a horrendous mistranslation of the Troano manuscript. A man named Augustus Le Plongeon would link the mistranslation with the story of Atlantis, and use it to claim that Atlantis actually existed in the Americas. (For Plongeon, Mu and Atlantis were one and the same.) And then other people (like James Churchward) got their hands on the whole Mu thing, and put their own spins on it, and the rest is history.

Le Plongeon's ideas influence modern Atlantis mythology today; EG, the idea that it was in the Americas. Another guy who helped shape the modern Atlantis myth was Ignatius L. Donnelly, an American politician. Dude claimed that Atlanteans spread their oh-so-superior culture far and wide. He also claimed that Atlantis was the home of the Aryan people, because of course he did.

The idea that all of the world's wisdom can be traced back to Thoth/Hermes goes back to Hermeticism, a product of Greco-Egyptian syncretism. Hermeticism produced a fascinating body of mythology and an interesting way to consider the divine and its role in shaping human history, but that doesn't mean it was right. And the Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean is a modern text that has fuck-all to do with ancient Hermeticism and more to do with HP Lovecraft.

This idea that the conspiracy uses pharmaceutical drugs and vaccines for evil also has roots in Nazi Germany. The Nazi government, wanting to reserve real medicine for their soldiers, told the general populace that said medicine was the product of evil Jewish science and prescribed alternative healing modalities instead. (Said alternative healing modalities did not particularly work.) It also echoes the old conspiracy theories about Jews spreading the Black Death by poisoning wells.

The idea that the conspiracy uses genetic manipulation to create subhuman beings or sever humanity from the divine is a permutation of the Nazi conspiracy theory that Jews are trying to destroy the white race through race mixing. The idea of evil reptilian DNA goes back to the ancient serpent seed doctrine, which is indeed old, but no less pure hateful nonsense for it.

"But there's got to be somebody up to something rotten out there!"

Oh sure. But these people aren't skulking around in the shadows. They're acting pretty openly.

The Heritage Foundation has been working to push this country into Christofascism since the early 1970's. They're the ones responsible for the rise of the Moral Majority and the election of Ronald Reagan. They're also the ones behind Project 2025, which intends to bring us deeper into Christofascism. (Among many other horrible things, they intend to outlaw trans people as "pornographic.")

The Seven Mountains Mandate is another movement pushing for Christofascism. They intend to seize the "seven spheres" of society, which include education, religion, family, business, government/military, arts/entertainment, and media.

There's also the ghoulish American Evangelicals who support Israel because they think that current events are going to bring about the Second Coming of Jesus and cement the formation of a global Christofascist empire. Don't let their apparent support of Jews fool you - they believe that the good Jews will become Christians and the bad ones will go to hell.

All of these people are working toward monstrously horrific goals, but none of them are part of an ancient megaconspiracy. In fact, these are the kinds of people pushing the myth of the ancient megaconspiracy. From the witch hunts to Nazi Germany to the American Evangelical movement, if history has taught us anything, the people pushing the conspiracy theories are always the bad guys.

[goldenraeofsun]

A Tale of Two Memoirs, Part I

Publishers Marketplace

Category: Humor: Debut

THE WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE By Batman

Imprint: Monarch Press

Batman’s THE WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE chronicles the life of Gotham’s brooding superhero, from his traumatic origins as an orphan to his rise as the greatest genius the world has ever seen. In this tell-all memoir, Batman uncovers it all – except his secret identity, of course – to Scott Lobdell at Monarch Press, in a nice deal, by Judd Winick at Diamond Literary Agency.

Translation: gconway@diamondliterary.com

Bruce reads the book blurb twice before it sinks in. Rolling his eyes, he reaches for his phone. “I just got your email. Very funny,” he deadpans as the call connects. But Dick doesn’t laugh, and as the silence stretches on, Bruce straightens in his chair, all his senses on high alert. “Dick?”

Dick sighs. “You didn’t read the attachment.”

Bruce frowns but opens the PDF, labeled BATMAN_MEMOIR_SAMPLE. He doesn’t say a word, refusing to give Dick the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

“Babs picked it up,” Dick says as Bruce starts to read, his horror growing with every paragraph. “And at first she thought it was a joke too. You know, there’s dozens of unauthorized Batman books out there –”

“Hundreds,” Bruce corrects distractedly as he scans, “And has the Geneva Convention actually outlawed child soldiers? And what if said child soldier struck a hard bargain, like he refused to eat his sprouts unless I allowed him to kick rapists in the nuts? Underneath the Bat cowl, emo greasepaint, and kevlar-weave cape, I am still only a man. And a man knows children must eat their sprouts.”

Alfred still hasn’t forgiven him for losing that particular argument with Jason, nearly three years ago now.

“– but this one, underneath all the sarcasm and exaggeration, has a concerning amount of truth,” Dick continues, like Bruce can’t read the words in front of his own face.

Bruce clears his throat. “Who is the author?”

“That’s just it,” Dick says grimly. “The pseudonym has been,” he inhales a sharp breath, “difficult to crack.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunts, dissatisfied.

“We’ve been working on tracking down the first advance payment for a week,” Dick says, and Bruce is only a little gratified to hear the current of frustration running through Dick’s voice. “But it was wired from Gotham through the Caymans to a Swiss Bank account.”

“Have you gone through the agent’s email?” Bruce asks as he opens the Batcomputer’s most powerful hacking program.

“Give us some credit,” Dick says, and Bruce can almost hear his eye-roll. “Whoever’s on the other end uses a burner email and a damn good VPN, unless you really think they’re spending their time writing this thing from Nantes, Cologne, Prague, Somalia, London, and Novosibirsk.”

“Probably not,” Bruce acknowledges as he searches for every email between Conway and the author, who Conway just refers to as “JP”. “Have you read the entire manuscript?”

“I’m about three quarters of the way through it,” Dick says. “Babs has read a few chapters here and there. Whoever they are, they know way too much about us.”

“Our identities?” Bruce asks, his voice curt.

“Not mentioned by name in the manuscript,” Dick says, and, for the first time, he sounds genuinely worried. “But anyone who reads this critically will be able to put the pieces together, assuming they don’t take it as a complete fiction.”

“We can’t bet on that.”

“Absolutely not,” Dick agrees.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just us and Babs,” Dick says. “Tim’s in the dark for now, but he was my next call after you. You know the kid, if he thought he could provide any help at all, he wouldn’t be sleeping for a week and stalking that agent from here to Shanghai.”

“You say that as if that’s not my next step,” Bruce says as he lumbers to his feet. He has a stakeout to plan.

“Already on it,” Dick says. “You just got back from patrol. Sleep. I’m not due at the gym until 3pm tomorrow, so you can take it over in the morning from the office. Who knows,” he continues wryly, “maybe Bruce Wayne can do more than Batman.”

“That is foolish. I don’t want any increased attention on the connection between Batman and Bruce Wayne.”

Dick hums. “But isn’t it already widely speculated that Bruce Wayne funds the Justice League? You could spin it like you’re just looking out for your good friend, Batman. And, of course, slap the publisher and the agent with about a hundred NDAs.”

“NDAs aren’t watertight,” Bruce says tightly. “At the end of the day, they’re just paper. It’s much better if they never find anything out in the first place than try to clean up the mess after the fact.”

“Fine,” Dick groans. “Don’t listen to me. Look, Winick is stepping out for a smoke. I got this. If I see your face when you could be sleeping –”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Dick sighs obnoxiously loudly over the poom of his grapple firing. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, resigned. “And you’d better bring the good protein bars,” he says, his tone lightening. “Not the ones that taste like ass.”

Despite himself, Bruce smiles at the old argument with his first Robin. “Wheat germ is an excellent source of nutrit–���

“Bye, Bruce!”

Bruce purses his lips as his comm goes completely silent. Dick put him on mute, save for emergencies. Still, he grabs several peanut butter bars (Dick’s favorite) on his way out.

* * *

Between the four of them, most frustratingly, they cannot find the author’s identity. They set up every bug in their arsenal in Winick’s home and office, and Conway’s too for good measure. They clone all their correspondence and plant GPS trackers in their phones.

Eventually, back-to-back Arkham breakouts and an intergalactic incident force them to put the matter on hold, that is, until the mysterious JP hires a literary PR firm seven months before publication.

Bruce buys the PR firm.

JP hires another one.

Bruce buys that one too.

After the third PR buyout, Dick puts his foot down as Tim snorts with laughter. 

“Look,” Tim says once he recovers enough to shovel a small mountain of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “You know the best way to stop a scandal from going viral.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Create a bigger scandal.”

Tim nods as he passes Dick the cereal without asking. “But, this time getting drunk at a party and breaking a tower of Cristal won’t cut it.” As Bruce nods along, Tim adds, “You have to fight fire with fire.”

Bruce sighs. “You’re saying I should put out my own memoir.” He’d been mulling it over himself, but since Tim came to the same conclusion, that tips the hypothetical solution into a real answer.

“Bingo,” Tim says as Dick chokes on his Frosted Mini Wheats. Tim gives him a few half-hearted whacks on the back, not really powerful enough to hurt (or help) Dick at all.

“But you’ve always said you’d never write a book,” Dick says, red faced, as he sets his spoon down. “Half of it would have to be lies, and you know the entire Justice League would read it cover to cover and give you such shit. Clark would definitely pull every string he had at The Daily Planet to review even though he’s not a book critic –”

“Desperate times,” Bruce says grimly as he drains his third coffee of the morning. 

“Bruce,” Dick says, his tone reproachful. “You don’t need to write a whole goddamn book. Just buy the publisher and kill it. You know as well as I do, it works –”

Bruce already thought of that. “There would be questions.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “By the publisher and editor, maybe. Three, maybe four people max would think it was weird and move on in, like, a week.”

“I don’t want any suspicions, Dick.”

Tim sagely nods along as he takes an enormous bite of eggs.

Dick just sighs and mutters something completely unflattering about Bruce’s flair for drama and tendency for paranoia. Bruce ignores him. He has a book agent to find.

Bruce’s Wayne’s book deal indeed rocks the publishing world. Nobody can believe Bruce Wayne’s first memoir goes to Monarch Press, an indie publishing house. HarperCollins offers him a five million dollar advance and promises the most extravagant launch party and book tour. Simon & Schuster throw their hat into the ring with a seven million dollar advance. Penguin Random House opens with eight million dollars and sends him a custom fruit basket with every celebrity & lifestyle book they published last year.

But, as Bruce tells the media, he doesn’t need the money. And he’d much rather work with a Gotham-based small business like Monarch Press than one of the Big Five. He donates his paltry one million dollar advance to the Wayne Foundation to redistribute to the needier sectors of Gotham.

The only stipulation to his publishing contract? His book must be published in six months (coincidentally the same month as The World’s Greatest Detective). 

The publishers hem and haw but eventually give in. They can’t afford to piss him off, not the author of their guaranteed best seller in the history of the imprint. 

* * *

The Monday after his book deal hit the news, Bruce finishes reading The World’s Greatest Detective during a late-night stakeout. At 2:18 in the morning, he puts the manuscript down and beats Maroni’s chief enforcer to a bloody pulp.

“Batman!”

Batman slams the enforcer into the metal side of a heat vent bellowing ashy steam into the windy winter air.

He groans and spits out two teeth. 

Batman raises his fists. 

“Batman!”  

A hand with an iron grip lands on his bicep and yanks him forcibly backwards.

“Batman, you’ve got to stop,” Nightwing hisses in his ear.

Bruce falters. He looks back at his first Robin’s face, his alarm clear as day, despite the domino mask covering Dick’s eyes. 

“I’ve got him,” Nightwing says as he lets go to grab a pair of zip ties. “Go take a breath.”

Bruce exhales harshly. His breath plumes in front of his face. “I –”

“Go,” Nightwing repeats, a little louder. “Robin is on comms. He called me in.”

Bruce swallows. Tim should be studying pre-calc, not monitoring comms on what should’ve been a quiet night. Guilt stirs in the pit of his stomach, but he shoves it down. “Robin?”

On the other end, Tim coughs. “Er, yeah, Batman?”

“Thank you for sending in Nightwing.”

“Oh!” The weight of Bruce’s guilt doubles at the relief in Tim’s voice. “Yeah, of course. He was just hanging around here, and I knew you told me to stay put because of my test tomorrow, but Nightwing was free so…”

“B,” Nightwing jogs over, “you good to call it a night?”

Bruce just grunts.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Nightwing says grimly as he steers Bruce to where the Batmobile is waiting. “What the hell happened?”

Bruce doesn’t have the words to answer, so he just gets in the car, slams the door shut behind him, and starts the engine. 

Dick, well used to his moods, doesn’t prompt him again, but he doesn’t start a new conversation either. He just waits, waits until –

“I finished the Batman memoir.”

“Ah,” Dick says carefully as he thinks through his next words. “The Jason chapter?”

Bruce’s fingers tighten to a stranglehold on the steering wheel. In a low voice, he confirms, “The Jason chapter.” 

Dick scrubs his face with the heel of his hand. “Yeah, that one’s a doozy.”

“The way it implies – ” Bruce breaks off as all the rage, frustration, and grief he couldn’t punch out crawls up his throat. It chokes him instead.

“You know,” Dick starts gently before correcting, “ I know it wasn’t like that. I may not have been around for all of it, but I could tell, even in the brief glimpses I saw, that you loved him. He knew it too; he would have never settled in at the Manor, trusted you, or put on the colors otherwise.”

Bruce stares straight ahead, jaw clenched.

“And, hey,” Dick says as he moves to stare out the windshield too, “If you want to set the record straight, you’ve already got an editor lined up whose exact job is helping you say what you want to say.”

“I don’t know what to say about him,” Bruce mutters, and he knows as he is saying them out loud that the words are wrong, but he can’t find the right ones. How can he possibly do Jason justice? 

Jason was his son. He was his Robin. He loved literature and hated tomatoes. He was loyal to a fault but refused to listen to orders he didn’t believe in. He would never let an innocent suffer, but god help any rapist, murderer, or abuser that strayed into his path.

Anyway, Bruce trusts Dick to hear what he’s really saying. And sure enough, Dick responds, his voice almost cheerful, “Well, you can’t ever go wrong with spite. You can start by pointing out exactly where the Batman memoir got it wrong.”

Bruce steals a glance at Dick. “You know, you wouldn’t make a bad editor, yourself.”

Dick grins. “You know that first summer I led the Teen Titans full-time?”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. 

“I lied. I got a part time internship at The Planet.”

Bruce valiantly resists the urge to facepalm. “That was before we trusted Superman.”

“That was before you trusted Clark,” Dick corrects. “I apologized on your behalf for that time you stabbed him with kryptonite, by the way. My first day. After that, he personally took me on as his editorial assistant.”

Bruce sighs. “Of course he did.”

* * *

His editor is deadly serious; Bruce’s memoir must be written yesterday to make their scheduled publication date. Or, in other words, his manuscript better be in publishable shape in exactly one month. 

Bruce assures her that he has the best ghostwriter in the business on it. He quickly sets up a fake email, bank account, and business with a tax history going back seven years, and gets to work. He gives himself one week to research, one week to write the thing, one week for Alfred and Lois to review it (Bruce would never give Clark the satisfaction), and one week to incorporate Alfred and Lois’s changes.

In theory, that was what was supposed to happen. 

In reality, Bruce spends four and a half days reading through old tabloids to remember the exact lies he told them, three days rereading his old journals to remember what he was actually doing, and three more days poring over his old case files to fill in the remaining blanks. He then spends two days typing up his notes, desperately trying to convince himself that he is not procrastinating writing the damn thing. And, finally, he spends almost a full day staring at his blank document helpfully labelled “Chapter 01” and tries not to map the fastest route to the deepest trench in Atlantis where his editor’s emails would never find him.

He groans and buries his head in his hands. This was moronic. He has never written a book before for one reason, and not the one reason he gave Dick all the years ago. 

In truth, Bruce has never been a “creative” type. Rather, he’s always prided himself on his logical mind. He’s a realist, not an artist. He’s a billionaire who pays designers and curators to furnish his multiple homes and assemble his art collection. For god’s sake, the first time Bruce gave himself “creative license” he donned a cowl, cape, and dressed up as a bat.

History isn’t exactly working with him here.

In the deadly silence of his study, his phone blares, “Carry on, my wayward son! There’ll be peace –”

Bruce accepts the call without looking at the screen, grateful for the distraction, even if it comes from one of the last people he wants to speak to right now. “Clark.”

“Bruce,” Clark greets in kind, and Bruce can practically hear the knowing smile in Clark’s voice. It does not help his mood.

After a beat, he says reluctantly, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“A little birdie told me you’ve been struggling with writer’s block.”

Bruce scowls. “Dick.”

“Alfred, actually,” Clarks says lightly, and Bruce swears under his breath. “He said you’ve taken all your meals for the past two days in your study and have only left to relieve yourself and go out on patrol.” Clark pauses, clearly trying to hold in a laugh. “Seriously, Bruce?”

“Hn.”

Clark chuckles. “Don’t worry, writer’s block happens to the best of us.”

“To the best, really?” Bruce gripes. “So how does Lois handle it?”

Clark doesn’t comment on Bruce’s petty jab. Instead, he says, “She has her ways. I don’t recommend them.”

“Why not?” Bruce asks, intrigued despite himself.

“She’s an adrenaline junkie,” Clark says, his voice flat as his home state. “She says she does her best writing in the field. According to her, she composed her most Pulitzer-winning lede falling thirty stories off Siegel Memorial.” He inhales a sharp breath. “Please don’t follow her example. I am not above begging, Bruce. I can’t catch you every time you get stuck on a transition sentence too.”

Bruce smiles. “And here I thought all Lois’s midair saves were all part of a bizarre Kryptonian courtship technique.”

“You’re hilarious.”

Bruce’s smile widens to a grin. “How are you doing, Clark?”

Clark makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “You’re normally much smoother at changing the subject.” He whistles. “You really must be struggling with that book.”

Bruce’s smile drops off his face. “I’m offended. Is it that outlandish that I would ask about the wellbeing of my best friend?”

“It’s super outlandish because you’ve been avoiding me for the past two weeks,” Clark volleys back without missing a beat. “And also, you only admit I’m your best friend when you’re actively dying. I have to assume you’re suffering through the emotional equivalent right now.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunts.

“But, to answer your question anyway because I am a good friend in addition to being your best friend,” Clark starts pointedly. “I’m doing well enough.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark might be internally telling himself he’s indulging Bruce, but Bruce knows Clark’s Midwestern impulses are practically doing the conga at the opportunity to engage in smalltalk with Bruce, a practice Bruce notoriously loathes but one that Clark can’t get enough of.

The last time they flew to Maltus, Clark spoke for twenty-three minutes about Smallville’s bid to host the Kansas State Fair. 

Clark continues, ��Perry’s been trying to wring us for feel-good holiday stories, and, since Lois would rather eat her digital recorder than write a puff piece, I’ve been listening to her rants about the moral decline in journalism for the past week.”

Bruce grimaces in sympathy. “Has Lois just told Perry she won’t write one?”

“Loudly and explicitly,” Clark sighs. “I don’t think Perry can physically do that with a candy cane and Steve Lombard’s second-hand toboggan, but Lois has always had a way with words.”

Bruce chuckles quietly.

“You do too, you know,” Clark adds, the joking tone of his voice slipping into something more genuine.

“This better not be one of your Superman pep talks, Kal.”

“It’s not!” Clark protests, and Bruce shakes his head in disbelief. “But you are incredibly persuasive when you put your mind to it, and, of course, your head for tactics and strategy is unparalleled, even in the League. The challenge now is to translate those skills to the written word.”

“This has pep talk written all over it,” Bruce warns darkly.

“Fine,” Clark says, and Bruce can just picture him throwing up his hands. “All I’m saying is that you can do this. You know how to manipulate language and how to structure an argument.”

Bruce exhales a long, slow breath. Damn it, Clark. He does feel a little better. 

“Where exactly are you stuck? Are you struggling with a particular subject? A specific chapter?”

Bruce scowls. 

Clark waits.

Bruce scowls harder.

“I can see the call hasn’t dropped, and you’re just frowning at your computer,” Clark says calmly. “But look at it this way, the faster you tell me what’s going on, the faster we can wrap this up, and the faster you can pretend this never happened.”

“I need to invest in lead sheeting for the Manor walls,” he grumbles.

“I can do this all night, Bruce.”

He exhales a slow sigh. Eventually, he forces out, “I can’t start writing.”

“Oh, I’ve been there,” Clark says sympathetically. A microwave beeps in the background as he continues, “Do you know the key to creativity?”

“A multimillion dollar expense account and an inside man at Sotheby’s.”

Clark sighs. “Of course you have an inside man at Sotheby’s.”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees affably. “I’m not a peasant.”

Clark snorts over the sound of the microwave door slamming shut. “You realize you just called me a peasant, right?”

“You literally grew up on a farm. You went to an internet cafe until you were sixteen.”

“The Talon was an institution!”

“It was a relic.”

Clark tuts, and he sounds horrifically like Alfred for half a second. “As I was saying, the key to creativity is passion.”

“Are you eating Chinese food for dinner?”

“No?” A pause. “Mac and cheese, actually. Ma’s special recipe.”

“Because you sound like a fortune cookie.”

“See, this is why I’m your best friend,” Clark says in a long-suffering voice. “Because I know you’re just being testy because you’re feeling insecure, so I’m not going to let you scare me off.”

“You’re not backing off because you’re more stubborn than a mule. Friendship has nothing to do with it.”

Clark lets out a hearty laugh. “There you go, proving my point for me.”

“Hn.”

“I may sound like a fortune cookie, but I’m right,” Clark says evenly. “Don’t start with chapter one. Start wherever you have the strongest feelings, wherever you have the most to say.”

Bruce grimaces. After a long moment, he admits, “That’s basically what Dick said too.”

Clark hums. “Smart kid you got there. I’ve always thought so.”

“He has his moments.”

“Anyway, that’s my advice for writer’s block. I’ll let you get back to it and stop butting my nose in, but, B,” Clark says, “if you have any more trouble, just let me know, okay?”

“I will.” After a beat, he adds, “Thanks for the call, Clark.”

* * *

As rain starts to patter against the window panes of his study, Bruce digs out his printed copy of the manuscript for The World’s Greatest Detective. The most egregious parts, the stories that make his blood boil with rage, are already seared into his brain, but there are dozens of smaller anecdotes that ring so blatantly false he can’t help grinding his teeth as he rereads them.

Robin II wasn’t like Robin I. He was from the streets and already fourteen, almost too old to mold into what I needed. But his background made him resourceful and vigilant, two essential qualities for someone in my line of work. When I met him, he was stealing the tires off the Batmobile™. So, in addition to his resourcefulness and vigilance, he was bold. In other words, he was practically the perfect successor to Robin I. 

Or so I thought at the time.

Bruce closes his eyes as the injustice, the insult , to Jason’s memory courses through him. He writes:

I met Jason when he was fourteen. He’d been on the streets for a year. If you asked him, it made him tough, resourceful, and wary of well-meaning billionaires. And that is all true, but if you asked me, I would say it made him grow up too quickly.

I never really told anyone the real story of our first meeting. It didn’t paint Jason in the best light, and I didn’t want to invite undue criticism of a child. But, now, after everything, what Jason’s memory deserves is the truth. And the truth is, I ran into Jason when he was in the middle of stealing the tires off my car. 

I had come back from my errand. I stood behind him and coughed to get his attention. “You do realize that’s not yours, right?”

Jason spun around, his expression of shock morphing into something much more determined. “Duh,” he said, his tone deliberately light. “You realize you parked your car in Crime Alley, right?” and then he swung a tire iron at me. 

I luckily dodged, but I wasn’t about to let him get away with my property. I struck a deal with him: my tires in exchange for a warm meal. Over burgers, fries, and milkshakes, I asked him why he thought it was acceptable to steal from people.

He stared at me before he burst out laughing. “Not real people. Rich people. They think they’re kings of the world. Pfft.”

“Sometimes,” I told him, “you just have to give people a chance, Jason. They’ll usually surprise you.”

What I didn’t know at the time was how true those words were. I gave Jason a chance, and he surprised me beyond my wildest dreams. He became my son.

Bruce presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. Bright spots of color burst in front of his vision, and he breathes slowly in and out. Blindly, he reaches for the half-empty glass of scotch and drains the rest of it. The smokey flavor coats his tongue and the back of his throat, and he tries to concentrate on that, tries to ground himself in the real, physical world and not in his own bittersweet memories.

It doesn’t quite work.

What is most frustrating and infuriating about The World’s Greatest Detective is how close to the truth it is. Almost every moment described in the fake memoir happened, but it’s like the author experienced everything through a funhouse mirror. Bruce’s values are warped. Details are missing. Timelines are vague.

After we returned to the Batcave™, I benched Robin immediately. His screams had distracted me at a crucial moment, and during our escape, his reaction times were compromised. He couldn’t stop shaking. 

Later, once we synthesized an antidote for Dr. Crane’s toxin, Robin returned to fighting shape, physically if not mentally. Once he proved he could fight through the fear even after repeated exposure, I let him rejoin the mission – after a probationary period, of course. 

In reality, Batman and Robin first encountered Scarecrow at the tail end of their first year as partners. They had been getting reports of otherwise healthy people dropping dead of heart attacks. Their faces were rictuses of fear. 

Batman and Robin set out with rebreathers in their most armored suits, in case the toxin was injectable. Midway through the fight with Crane’s muscle, after an unlucky kick to the face, Robin’s rebreather cracked open.

Robin screamed, and time stood still. 

As the flood of terror coursed through Bruce’s veins, he would’ve sworn he was the one to inhale a lungful of fear toxin. He appeared at Dick’s side with no memory of dispatching Crane. 

Nothing mattered but Dick. 

As he approached, Dick was shaking uncontrollably, whimpering, “No, no, not them! Mama! Papa!” He was crawling across the floor, one trembling hand reaching out to his falling parents.

Bruce’s heart clenched, but ignored it as he grabbed Dick around the middle. 

Dick wailed as Bruce lifted him into the air, crying out, “I can’t leave them! No!”  

Crane had to wait. Bruce would sooner sell his mother’s pearls to the highest bidder than let Dick stay in this state one second longer. 

Dick finally quieted in the Batmobile, curling in on himself to be as small as possible. Above his folded arms, his dilated eyes looked nearly black as they flitted from one object to another for no longer than a fraction of a second.

The strain filtered out of his system after about 12 hours – Bruce didn’t develop an antidote for another month – but by the tail end, Dick was rearing to get back in the field. He needed to prove himself. He wasn’t going to stay behind. 

Bruce wasn’t having any of it. But after Dick spent a solid week begging, bargaining, and making himself a general nuisance, Bruce offered him a deal. They would both voluntarily expose themselves again, and if Dick still wanted to put on the boots and cape afterwards, Robin could one again patrol with Batman.

Bruce needed to build up a tolerance to the toxin, in the event he got caught without a rebreather or he needed to give his away to someone who needed it more.

Dick needed no such thing. Instead, Bruce hoped a repeat experience would be enough to scare him out of being Robin for good, and he could be a normal eleven year old instead.

Needless to say, Bruce’s plan failed rather spectacularly.

Bruce types, Many people asked in my first few years with Dick why I waited so long to formally adopt him.

My lawyers were actually in the middle of drafting adoption papers when I called them off. Scarecrow had just made his fearsome entrance in Gotham, and Dick was one of his first victims. I kept it out of the press for obvious reasons.

But, seeing my son like that – no parent can escape that experience unchanged. Dick’s greatest fear was seeing his loved ones in danger while he stood by as a helpless bystander; the role he was forced into at eight-years-old when the Flying Graysons fell to their deaths. 

I thought that the last thing Dick needed was another person that would fill that same place in his life. The chance of manipulation was too great. So, I kept him as my ward and not my son.

I know now that the distinction is meaningless. Dick was my son the moment he swung from the chandelier in the ballroom, giggling madly, as he shouted, “Watch this, Bruce!” and promptly sent it crashing to the ground. But, that day after his encounter with Scarecrow, Dick wasn’t the only one operating from a place of fear. I can admit it now; I was terrified for him. A Gothamite’s life expectancy is 4.1 years below the national average. If something happened to me, could my memory be twisted into a source of fear for him too?

Bruce lets his hands rest on the keyboard as he rereads what he wrote with a critical eye. It doesn’t sound much like his public persona, but hopefully Lois and Alfred (and maybe Clark) can take out the most out-of-character turns of phrase.

He lumbers to his feet and pours himself another drink. It’s going to be a long night. He glances out the window out of habit, but the lashing, freezing rain doesn’t offer much of a reprieve. Sighing, he sits back down at his desk.

Lightning flashes, and Bruce’s gaze catches on the reflection from his phone screen.

Before he can overthink it, he unlocks it and taps the first number on speed dial.

“Hey, Bruce!” 

Instinctively, Bruce feels himself unwind at the sound of Dick’s voice. He relaxes down in his seat and sets down his glass to pick up the phone properly. 

“How’s the writing going? Please tell me you’re not including the chandelier story.”

* * *

Publication week is a nightmare. Bruce goes on a mini book tour in Gotham, Metropolis, and New York, and has to endure Clark and Dick whispering and giggling in the back of the crowd while he reads out loud the most insipid drivel he has ever written to an otherwise rapt audience. 

Of course, Bruce pays for it all himself because his negligible (to Bruce Wayne) advance nearly bankrupted his indie publisher. But it wouldn’t do for Brucie Wayne to put on zero press for his most public-facing stunt since launching the Wayne Foundation, so he has to throw himself to the wolves on his own dime. 

Grinning broadly, Clark buys five copies at the Metropolis speaking event and gets a scowling Bruce to autograph them all. Clark ships two to his parents, gives one to Jimmy, keeps one for himself, and donates the last to the Watchtower library.

Bruce wastes no time in ejecting the Watchtower copy into space. When another one appears three days later, he burns that one in his private quarters. And when two more take its place, Bruce tucks them under his cape and hurls them into Gotham Bay with great prejudice. 

At the next Justice League meeting, a smirking Hal asks him to sign his own copy. Bruce throws it at Hal’s head without looking and moves to the next point in his presentation on the most effective evacuation techniques in the event of a water-based catastrophe.

The next time Bruce stops by the Watchtower library, no fewer than five copies of The Prince of Gotham: The Bruce Wayne Story are propped up on the bookshelf, mocking him. One even has a dented jacket where it tore on Hal’s smug face. 

After that, Bruce gives up on removing them from the Watchtower. They keep springing up like weeds, and he has much better uses of his time – like saving the world.

The only bright side is that The World’s Greatest Detective fails to make its first year budget. Between Bruce Wayne’s memoir sucking up all the air at Monarch Press and Barbara’s online work scrambling its metadata on Amazon, it barely turns up in online search results and receives only a handful of PR slots.

And then his second son returns home and cuts a bloody, violent swathe through Gotham’s criminal underbelly, and all thoughts of memoirs are driven from Bruce’s mind. 

Read Part II here!

[presbierue]

This is a head canon I have held for so long I have to frequently have to remind myself it’s not real but here we go.

I think Armitage Huxes mother was half Alderaanian, half Arkanian.

Hear me out.

So this head canon was born in the year 2016. I had just watched my 3rd Star Wars movie (TFA) and was desperate to know what would happen next. I had watched Phantom Menace and most of the Clone Wars growing up, so I trusted the consistency of lore across tie-in media (I am the only sci fi fan in my family and relied heavily on what was available on television). And very quickly after TFA I read Bloodline by Claudia Grey and it remains one of my fav Star Wars books. I trusted everything in Bloodline would be used to help define the prequels as it was one of the only canonical post-original trilogy media pieces at the time (it was an optimistic time where I thought they 100% knew exactly where they were going with the sequels).

There are a few short sequences in Bloodline that justify this line of thinking, but they all reinforced the idea that Arkanis and Alderaan have been allied for hundreds of years. It’s like a D plot, but Leia Organa was in line to potentially take over as the figurehead monarch of Birren but turned it down and it went to an Arkanian. This was because Birren was settled by both Arkanis and Alderaan, so either planet could put forward a noble when the current monarch died without children and Leia just happened to be the closest living relative (and Alderaan was gone). But that’s kind of weird, right? Like, Canada and Denmark technically share jurisdiction of Hans Island but no one lives there so there isn’t a division of national allegiances. But either way, it implied Alderaan and Arkanis were on good terms; they didn’t war over control of Birren and shared it to the point that which monarchy takes priority is a matter of who married in last (it is somehow not a conflict of interests in terms of an independent world being influenced by other monarchs). Dual citizenship might have been a thing (loyalty to two or more monarchs). Like yeah, Leia not being eligible for her own throne was a thing but it does imply that if the Organas adopted Luke as well and they never fought the Empire, Luke would be king of Birren.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Arkanis. Armitage Hux’s home world.

So these two worlds functionally had split custody of Birren in terms of who could be constitutional monarch. So both Arkanians and Alderaanians would have probably intermarried and shared cultural knowledge with each other on Birren for hundreds of years. They likely still visit their extended relatives on their progenitor worlds and have good tourism opportunities with each other and have exchange programs for children and stay engaged with each other via things similar to the commonwealth games (all the British Colonies meet up every few years and have their own separate Olympics). Like these worlds probably have a high degree of influence on each other and would ally with the other under duress because their citizens needs are kind of interlinked in this relationship. And when Alderaan is destroyed, the largest remaining communities of Alderaanians would be on Birren and potentially Arkanis. The Empire probably intensified their presence on Birren and Arkanis immediately after Alderaan to prevent the Rebellion from getting a foothold there (too many sympathetic relatives), and may have contributed to why it was so late to leave Arkanis afterwards (they had a stockpile of resources to help suppress any public uprisings so they could fight there longer).

Arkanians also look incredibly human (just super pale skin and hair if you squint at Dagan Gera you can’t even really tell he isn’t human and he is in the canon so Arkanians as a species do exist). So it could be hard to distinguish who is descended from who on these worlds after a few generations.

This isn’t really enough to tell me what Armitage Huxs mother looks like, but it does tell me a little about the kind of worlds she might have grown up in and why a very human looking maid was on Arkanis. Because yeah, Armitage Hux is definitely very human looking (Star Wars genetics are unclear and trait expression is really varied in our world but they don’t have the actor in any makeup for the role so I’m leaning on that). But Arkanis has its own species, so why is a human woman on Arkanis as working as a maid (a role in literature that is usually used to indicate a character is low class/impoverished). Either she didn’t have better options (no access to Alderaan or other wealthy human worlds) or took the position in order to spy on imperial inhabitants of the house (likely for the rebellion or Saw Gerrera). Either way, she probably would have looked like she belonged on Arkanis. She fit the environment she was in enough that it didn’t warrant analysis or note. But also she probably didn’t look alien enough to gross out the Imperials living there.

So Hux’s Mum might be an Arkanian who largely appears Alderaanian. Her parents may be a first or second generation Alderaanian and Arkanian or entirely from Birren. It wouldn’t likely be super apparent based on her appearance alone. The Empire probably wouldn’t super care about the differences either after the destruction of Alderaan. She’d be the worst of both worlds: an alien (the Empire doesn’t like them) and a human traitor (any Alderaanian is likely going to be a rebellion sympathizer by the time Armitage is conscious). If this theory is true, she was probably executed as a traitor, regardless of whether she was a spy or not. It would have been easy for Brendol or Maratelle to have her killed at any time and both of them have reasons to hate her (mistress/mother of a child they see as embarrassing).

I just like the angst it add to Armitage Hux’s character. Because a part of why he builds Starkiller becomes an affirmation of his Imperial/First Order identity: that he IS human, he ISN’T Alderaanian or Arkanian, and that he IS as good if not better than the original Imperials. He DESERVES to lead, to hold power. He isn’t a traitor like his mother who he would have been compared against for his entire childhood. Hell, he probably never met an Alderaanian or Arkanian who wasn’t in objectively horrifying conditions and he would probably would be at least a little terrified of ending up like them (my guess is he would have seen them as prisoners of war towards the end of the Empire). So he aligns extra hard with the Empire.

On a deeper, more subconscious level he’d lack the insight to get into, he probably hate Leia Organa for her role in Alderaans destruction. For her being strong enough to stop the Empire but not save her people (his people, to an extent). For her not being able to stop whatever suffering his mother was (or maybe worse, is still being) subjected to. Hux wants Leia and the New Republic to suffer as much as he’s seen others in his boat suffer. Because Leia is a Nobel who escaped the worst of the war but is the visible link between the Death Star and Alderaan. Yet she escaped starvation. Years of abuse. Losing absolutely everyone (the originals do end on a happy note). And it isn’t fair. Any suffering Armitage Hux causes would be justified in his own mind as an equalization of the horrors he and others have been through.

Also, betraying the First Order because you see an opportunity to reconcile your traumas and complex identity, and that others deserve that as well feels a bit more narratively fulfilling than spite.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Completely made up: Prince Harry allegedly watched The Crown to learn about his own family by u/Maleficent-Trifle940

Completely made up’: Prince Harry allegedly watched The Crown to learn about his own family ‘Completely made up’: Prince Harry allegedly watched The Crown to learn about his own family | Sky News AustraliaA biographer of Queen Elizabeth II has made bombshell new claims about the late monarch’s private outrage over her grandson Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle.The Sussexes stepped back from royal duties in January 2020 and later publicly slammed the monarchy in interviews, books and the couple’s Netflix series.Author Craig Brown believes Elizabeth II, who died in September 2022, would be mortified by Harry and Meghan’s efforts to continually undermine the royal family and cash in on their royal titles.“The Queen was quite disapproving of their drift towards celebrity,” he told SkyNews.com.au.“She gave Harry and Meghan sort of short thrift, Harry in his memoir was quite irritated by her, when he wanted to see his grandmother before leaving she would only see him with a lot of other people in the room.”Mr Brown is the author of the new book A Voyage Around the Queen, which combines biography, essays, cultural history, dream diaries, travelogue and satire to reveal a new side to the iconic monarch.While Elizabeth II remained diplomatic towards the Sussexes during her lifetime, Mr Brown believes the Queen left clues, including the famous “recollections may vary” statement after the Sussexes’ Oprah Winfrey interview.“That’s one where you could discern what she meant: ‘you’re lying really’,” he said.Earlier this week, the Sussexes’ released a new teaser for Harry’s Netflix series Polo the day after Princess Catherine confirmed she had completed chemotherapy treatment for cancer.The stunt was the latest in a mysterious pattern of announcements by the Sussexes which coincided with royal occasions.Mr Brown said he was wary not to “speak for” the late monarch but believes based on her lifelong commitment to duty that she would be displeased about Harry’s new celebrity lifestyle in California.“I guess the Queen would find that vulgar,” he said.“But she was good at ignoring what she didn’t want to think about.”The author also revealed a new theory that Harry may be relying on fictional programs like Netflix’s The Crown for “information” on his own family.“The Crown devoted a lot of time to the Queen being jealous of Princess Margaret, but that was completely made up,” he said.  “I’ve read everything and there’s no suggestion that the Queen was ever envious of her sister.”Mysteriously, Harry mentioned the debunked story of Elizabeth II’s supposed jealously towards Margaret in his best-selling memoir Spare."As I grew older, it struck me that Aunt Margo and I should've been friends,” he wrote.“Her relationship with Granny wasn't an exact analog of mine with Willy, but pretty close."The simmering rivalry, the intense competition (driven largely by the older sibling), it all looked familiar."Mr Brown suspects the Duke of Sussex, or Harry’s ghostwriter, lifted the story straight from The Crown and believes it is evidence Harry has watched the fictional series to learn about Elizabeth II.Meanwhile, the author claimed Prince William is looking to the smaller and less scandal-prone monarchies in Denmark, Norway and Sweden, and will likely use the Scandinavians as a model for his reign.“William is more like the Scandinavian royal families, they will scale down and place less emphasis on pomp,” he said.  post link: https://ift.tt/rnv9kY5 author: Maleficent-Trifle940 submitted: September 14, 2024 at 08:48AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[starrydaycare]

Can we have some CG! Earth headcanons please?

CG!Earth headcanons!!

⭐Here you go!!

👑Earth was programmed to be good with kids, she does work at the daycare after all! So naturally she's a great CG. Not too strict, yet not too lenient. The perfect balance. She's especially good with kiddos that have disabilities, whether mental or physical, kids that're shy, and kids with mental health struggles!

🩷She's like a mom to her kiddo(s). She has rules, of course. Rules are very important! But she's not near strict. She doesn't often punish her kiddo. She doesn't like doing so, and prefers to talk things out and figure out why they're acting out and disobeying. Though if she feels that her kid needs a punishment for disobeying, then she'll most likely either ground them for the day, or put them in time out for ten minutes. Of course, if her kid isn't comfy with punishments then she won't punish them!

👑She doesn't fall for puppy dog eyes, nor kids crying to get their way. Will not hesitate to bring her kid back home if they start throwing a tantrum in Walmart or somewhere, though once they get home she'll hug them (with their consent) and help them calm down, then explain to them why they went home and why they didn't get what they wanted. Then, she'll set up an allowance system for them if they do chores.

🩷Despite this, they're still spoiled by her 😭. She'll come pick her kid up from daycare or something and be like "Oh, sweetheart! I got you a new pretty/handsome/nice outfit, in your favorite color! And-and I saw this toy, and it just reminded me so much of you, and I knew you'd love it! Oh! And-"

👑Nicknames! Nicknames, nicknames, nicknames! (techincally pet names? Ig?) She loves calling her kid (with their consent, of course. She's always sure to get her kids consent before doing anything like calling them names, setting rules, ect,.) things like Sweetie, sweetheart, honey, baby, little one, precious, princess/prince/monarch, and so on.

🩷She pays attention to literally everything her kiddo says. They say they like this one specific type of candy that's this one specific brand in passing? They wake up to one on their bedside table/beside their bed/wherever they sleep + a note that says "A little birdy told me you like these, sweetheart! I love you <3"

👑She's great to play all types of games with. Doctors? She'll be their doctor or patient, whichever her kid wants. Royalty? She'll put on a crown and a dress and they'll go have a picnic in a flower field, where they can run and play royalty together. Just want to color? She's already gotten the crayons, washable markers and coloring books out.

🩷She's always making sure that you have what you need, always giving you forehead kisses and hugs (because those are important, too), always checking in with you to make sure you:re feeling good. ⚠️TW! Depression, anxiety and eating disorders! If her kiddo has depression/depressive episodes and struggles to do daily tasks, then she'll be right there with them. Struggle to leave your house some days, or do daily things because of your anxiety? She's helping you through it all. Eating disorder? She'll be patient with you, won't force you to do anything you don't want to and'll check in with you to make sure you're doing okay, both physically and mentally.

👑Overall she's an amazing caregiver, and you can count yourself lucky if she's your cg!!

🩷👑⭐

[biblioflyer]

Bad Dune Takes are the Mind Killer

I'm going to type up some more robust thoughts on Dune part 2, but I've seen some subtle bad ideas circulating that are drawn from shallow readings of either the films or the books or both.

First off, anyone who swallows the Bene Gesserit propaganda about their eugenics program needs to be pushed back on. They are NOT sorting humans from animals. The function of the Gom Jabar test (I will look up the proper spelling later and edit it in), doesn't even really seem to have anything to do with the metaphysics of the setting so much as its testing for self discipline. This is something that is nature AND nurture.

The dirty truth of the matter is that no one is a true Tabula Rasa, we do inherit some tendencies genetically, but barring a serious developmental disorder, those are tendencies. Tendencies can be ameliorated, if not even outright disappear in the noise of lived experience and explicit education.

If Feyd Ruatha can pass the Gom Jabar, you know its not actually testing for merit, its testing for a specific set of traits that the Bene Gesserit find useful.

Those traits are part of the ingredients they are seeking for the Kwisatch Haderach (yes, I know, I'll edit it later) but here's the kicker!

Major book spoilers ahead

While this is probably not exclusively the Bene Gesserit's fault, all of these secret societies, all of this obsession with bloodlines, and perfection is a time bomb. Paul is not a white savior. Paul is a labradoodle. He is an incredible endgame of generations of effort but he's a symptom of a broader problem that he himself vaguely glimpses and his son, Leto II, sees in all its terrible truth: the Bene Gesserit and their ilk are reserving autonomy for themselves, perhaps even at the genetic level, and trying to breed complacency into "the commons." The ones they regard as "animals" unfit for and incapable of self direction. People who are only fit to be ruled.

Sound familiar?

Its feudalistic "divine right of kings" merged with eugenics.

AKA fascism.

Paul and Leto II become despicable tyrants and authorial fiat would seem to indicate they are trapped by a sort of accelerationist framing of the problem. The end result of the millennia of power brokering in the background by all of these secretive societies and open monarchism is a humanity that is doomed. One way or another, it will be snuffed out. Whether by a total war, plague, or collapse of civilization.

This is why I say that the Bene Gesserit endgame is labradoodles. Pretty? Yes. Companionable? Sure. But like many, many, many designer breeds very, very lacking in genetic diversity.

This is what selective breeding gets you. Its why Leto II foresees the need to provoke a "Great Scattering." To ensure humanity exists in so many places, in so many different genetic and cultural forms that it cannot be subjugated by even the most charismatic and supernaturally powerful tyrant - not even by himself - and incapable of being extinguished by any plague or natural disaster. Because consolidation into too narrow and tight of a socio-cultural-political footprint means when (not if) that civilization screws up epically, it brings everyone down with it.

So if Roddenberry believed in the end of history, as expressed by the Federation: a society that is not incapable of error but IS capable of introspection and correction in the wake of error such that it is extremely unlikely to collapse from its own errors and contradictions. Then Herbert seems to be positing that history has no end. It will be one damn thing after another for all time and his implicit solution is that we desperately need diversity: genetic diversity and cultural diversity otherwise a self anointed superior sect of schemers and intriguers will get us all killed in the end by making us docile and homogeneous in order to make us more useful: to them.

Herbert also is suggesting that events like the Fremen Jihad is a likely bit of blowback from such consolidation. That human beings (the very same the Bene Gesserit regard as animals) naturally crave autonomy, dignity, and the essentials of life and if you press these things, the result will be a socio-political nuclear explosion.

I don't know if Herbert was an accelerationist. But it doesn't really matter because this leads me to the second bad take:

The Jihad and the Golden Path are not good, actually. Authorial Fiat dictate that they are necessary because authorial fiat dictates that human civilization in Dune has become so consolidated and bent to the whims of shadowy schemers that any attempt to wrest control away and return it to "normal" people, if indeed that is even possible given the technologies and superhumans running around, will result in such disorder and chaos that it be, functionally, genocide even if it is not genocide in intent.

The Jihad itself is also a consequence of the Great Man relying on people who only see a sliver of the overall project and interpret it through their own prism. That prism being one of anger, resentment, and a desire to see others conform to their worldview in order to ensure they are never again under anyone's boot.

Authorial fiat dictates that by the time Paul is born, there's no way back. No way to unwind all of this mess. The systems and structures are too complex, too interdependent. The Bene Gesserit, the Face Dancers, and everyone else I'm forgetting have too many contingency plans to fall back on. Not even a psychic can pull the Jenga pieces of civilization out delicately enough to restack them without the whole thing coming apart, not if he has to rely on millions of people with an axe to grind against the civilization he's trying to reform, a civilization that spent millennia trying to subjugate the Fremen or drive them into extinction.

But I maintain accelerationism is bad. You're not psychic. I'm not psychic. There's no Kwisatch Haderach lurking in the background to see what comes next. If you burn it all down, there might be a flourishing of dignity and freedom on the other side or it might be extinction because some other "cabal" will just take over and do the same things only meaner and dumber.

So if not accelerationism then what?

Federationism.

Introspection always. Seeking reform and equity before the power structures get too entrenched that gambling on a Great Scattering following in the wake of genocidal messiahs start seems like a good idea.

I'm not dunking on Dune to build a motte and bailey around Star Trek. I love Dune, but people tend to fixate on icky parts and call them good, when the whole point was don't let society get so bad you need to cross your fingers and hope the God Emperor is secretly an enlightened genocidal tyrant who is waiting for you to get restive enough to strike him down as part of some harebrained scheme to generate so much historical trauma it inoculates humanity against tyranny for all time.

Which of course, is a false premise. Herbert may or may not have known this in the mid-20th century, but we live in a world where 5-6 generations later, everything we were supposed to learn from and never repeat about tyranny, fascism, eugenics, and being disinterested in how and why there came to be fighters in difficult to pronounce faraway lands who seem to be rather upset with us, is now a thing that has to be taught and can be disputed and debated.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Smith at The Guardian:

God save the king. Drunk on power, Donald Trump spent Saturday afternoon before adoring fans, boasting of his victories, taunting his enemies and casting himself as America’s absolute monarch, supreme leader and divine emperor rolled into one. Trump’s appearance at the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) at the National Harbor in Maryland began with country singer Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA and raucous cheers in a crowded ballroom that included January 6 insurrectionists. Seventy-five minutes later, it concluded with the US president standing between two stars-and-stripes flags, pumping his fists and swaying to the Village People’s anthem YMCA. What emerged in between was a man who has never felt so sure of himself, so contemptuous of his foes and so convinced of his righteous mission to make America great again, even if it means breaking china, cracking skulls and leaving global destruction in his wake. As the title of Michael Wolff’s new book puts it, last November’s election was All or Nothing. Defeat meant ruin, disgrace and prison. Victory meant what Trump’s cheerleaders like to call the greatest comeback in political history. It also meant vengeance against his perceived tormentors in the justice department, Democratic party and media. As the martyr of Mar-a-Lago put it at CPAC two years ago: “I am your retribution.” The message he took from that win over Kamala Harris was that he had broken his opponents, broken the checks and balances and broken reality itself. He was invincible.

“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world/Like a Colossus,” Cassius tells Brutus in William Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar, “and we petty men/Walk under his huge legs and peep about/To find ourselves dishonorable graves.” This was the 15th time Trump has addressed CPAC, the biggest annual gathering of conservative activists. When he was out of power, his freewheeling speeches could be dismissed as the ravings – or “weavings” – of a madman. Even during his first term, his extremist rhetoric came with some expectation that the democratic guardrails would hold. But as America and the world have discovered during his first month back in the White House, Trump is unbound, unhinged and looking for blood. He took the stage at CPAC brimming with confidence and basking in chants of: “USA! USA!” The 78-year-old Florida resident describes his presidency as a game of golf in which he can match Arnold Palmer all the way: “If you golf, when you sink that first four-footer at the first hole, it gives you confidence, and then the next hole you sink another and now you go on to that third hole and by the time you get to the fifth hole you feel you can’t miss.”

To be here was to live in a world turned upside down. Trump said: “For years, Washington was controlled by a sinister group of radical-left Marxists, war-mongers and corrupt special interests,” which would have been news to Karl Marx. But then, on 5 November, “we stood up to all the corrupt forces that were destroying America. We took away their power. We took away their confidence … and we took back our country.” Trump should in fact have won by a bigger margin, he claimed without evidence, but Democrats “cheated like hell” only to find his victory was “too big to rig”. Later, he revisited his 2020 loss, too, assuring conspiracy theorist Mike Lindell that “now it’s OK” to say the election was “rigged”. The president bragged about pardoning hundreds convicted of crimes in the January 6 attack on the US Capitol, describing them as “political prisoners” and “J6 hostages”. Some of them were in the room, chanting “J6! J6!” and shouting “Thank you!”. They have gone from prison cells to being CPAC’s newest celebrities.

Trump also boasted about killing diversity, equity and inclusion programmes, denying the identity of transgender people, yanking the US out of the Paris climate agreement and sending undocumented immigrants (“monsters”) to Guantánamo Bay. He hailed Elon Musk’s evisceration of the federal government, including the international aid agency USAid. Each time, the crowd cheered. Up until then, CPAC had felt toned down this year, with few if any chants of “Lock her up!” or T-shirts portraying Joe Biden as Satan. After all, Republicans won and there is no obvious Democratic leader to target. Still, that did not prevent Trump unleashing the usual insults and lies at his opponents. “Kamala,” he said, eliciting boos. “I haven’t heard that name in a while. Nobody ever knows her last name ... But think of it, I was beating Joe badly and they changed him. Think of it, I’m the only one who had to beat two people.” The Biden presidency already feels like a millennium ago but Trump did not want his audience to forget, asking whether they preferred the nickname “Crooked Joe” or “Sleepy Joe”. For the record, “Crooked Joe” won. Trump mocked Biden’s golf handicap and bathing suit and offered a baseless opinion: “He was a sleepy, crooked guy. Terrible, terrible president. He was the worst president in the history of our country ... Every single thing he touched turned to shit.” Such magnanimity! He took aim at the Democratic senator Elizabeth Warren over her past claims of Native American ancestry, recycling the “Pocahontas” nickname he once gave her and jibing: “She does not like me. She’s a very angry person. You notice the way she is? She’s always screaming. She’s crazy.” And don’t get Trump started on liberal TV host Rachel Maddow: “I watch this MSNBC – which is a threat to democracy, actually – they’re stone-cold mean. But they’re stuttering. They’re all screwed up. They’re all mentally screwed up. They don’t know what – their ratings have gone down the tubes. I don’t even talk about CNN, CNN’s sort of like, I don’t know, they’re pathetic, actually. “This Rachel Maddow, what does she have? She’s got nothing. Nothing. She took a sabbatical where she worked one day a week. They paid her a lot of money. She gets no ratings. I should go against her in the ratings because, I’ll tell you, she gets no ratings. All she does is talk about Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump. All different subjects: Trump this, Trump, that. But these people are really, I mean, they lie. They shouldn’t be allowed to lie every night. They are really a vehicle of the Democrat party.” Trump loves the rightwing media that populates CPAC, however. He smugly quoted conservative host Bill O’Reilly as saying that after four weeks Trump had become “the greatest president ever in the history of our country”, beating George Washington.

Donald Trump’s speech at CPAC on Saturday was the greatest hits of lies and grievances like usual.

See Also:

The Guardian: Trump preaches to the Maga choir at CPAC in campaign-style performance

[somerunner]

I've never made my own game mods, and rarely install others' mods, but after I finish playing through the base game of Into the Breach I'm going to install some mods. It's rather popular to mod the game with new mech loadouts/teams, so there's plenty to choose from.

And then, if I ever get around to it, I want to make my own mod bringing in characters from the Cradle series. Vek would become dreadbeasts, and the mechs...well, there's only one mech-like attack in the books (Akura bloodline armor as a Monarch). So I'd have to think about that.

There's a lot of fusion potential with the plot of several Cradle books -- Skysworn, Wintersteel, Dreadgod, Waybound -- in fact...the four islands could be places attacked by each of the four Dreadgods (well, not them -- but the smaller monsters/followers they summon in their wake). And you'd hardly have to change a thing.

Island 1 - Archive, Inc - in base game, has you reuse old tech laying around. It's also the first island on your first play-through. I'll have to go with the Bleeding Phoenix, the first Dreadgod to attack in the books (during Skysworn).

Island 2 - RST Corporation - ibg, has you destroy mountains to deny the Vek. This one is perfect for the Wandering Titan -- destroying points of interest to deter advancement. And more appropriately, it's what happened in canon against Abyssal Palace (during Wintersteel), who follow the Titan around.

Island 3 - Pinnacle Robotics - ibg, has you fight robots betraying their programming. Clearly, this should be the place fighting the minions of the mind-controlling Silent King (during Dreadgod).

Island 4 - Detritus Disposal - ibg, you utilize active transport infrastructure to move Vek around. This one, I'll say you fight against the Weeping Dragon (also during Dreadgod, though fleeting). I'd imagine, given their techniques and the brief glimpse of the canon fight, that the Ninecloud Court is all about redirecting attacks.

Boss Island - Volcanic Hive - last island, where you destroy the very source of the Vek. I'll put this one as the labyrinth, fighting the hunger techniques of Subject One. Considering that the Psion Tyrant, which drains health over time, is only on this island, I think it's a perfect fit.

...and midway through writing this, I realized the order of islands 1-4 also fits the order of appearance of the Dreadgods and associated miniature attack-waves. So I didn't need to do any work fitting these together. Oh well.

Anyway Into the Breach is very fun and well-designed. Highly recommend. And Cradle is very fun to read and tightly written. Also highly recommend.

[officialurban]

The Vatican and the New World Order: Methods, Purpose and Overcoming Their Agenda

Written By Svali Speaks

Growing Up International

Written By Svali Speaks

[the-ancient-forlorn]

Please, I am begging the system community as a Schizoaffective DID system who is a trafficking and cult survivor to stop spreading the conspiracy of Alter Programming. It is often called TBMC or ITBC.

It is genuinely concerning how much support is given to the conspiracy of Alter Programming in the online system community. The very same people who pushed the conspiracy onto me while I was vulnerable and new to trying to figure out what it meant to have DID were the same to call me insane and stab me in the back for walking down the path that they put me on. These people are still given respect as if their ideas do not link back to abhorrent antisemitic conspiracy theories surrounding the Illuminati.

It started with Flora Rheta Schreiber, then Lawrence Pazder, a bit further down, and you get to Fritz Springmeier. Then you get to Svali. Then you go to the old members of the ISSTD, like Allison Miller, who also in her own book references the Illuminati. Yet her books are often recommended in the system community.

I am not okay with FMSF, I am not okay with the grey faction. Neither of them is my source. I have begun a series of debunking the supposed "programs" that people are convinced they experience, and what real struggles they use as a basis for their conspiracy.

Here are all my posts on the subject as of now:

Moving Away From RAMCOA

Deconstructing "Alter Programming"

Alpha, Beta, and Omega

ADDENDUM: Alpha, Beta & Omega

Delta, Epsilon, Eta, Zeta & Theta

Sigma, Gamma, Iota, Chi & Kappa

The trauma that is the basis for these things is often very real. Trafficking, cults, gang affiliations, genocides, organized abuse, and repetitive abuse that becomes ingrained in your psyche are very real. Conditioning is also very real, but it is nothing like what the RAMCOA/OEA community makes you believe it is. You are not in danger, most likely. You will not die if you research it. You will not suffer if you talk to a therapist about your trauma.

I believed I was a sleeper agent for the government, and everyone in the online DID community encouraged this delusion because it was "Monarch Programming". This is not healthy. Please stop endangering trafficking, cult, and extreme abuse survivors by supporting this. I used to be part of the problem; I was a relatively big blog in the community. I was CultishHellVent and TheForlorn. I have so much shame and regret for what I furthered, and I am doing all I can to fix things.

[the-monarch-effect-official]

Hello, everyone, I have a some thoughts and questions for those who have been through RAMCOA, more towards Monarch-type experiences, but anyone who has gone through similar experiences will help me understand more.

Last week, I went to the mall with my family, it was a neat time, but I went into a store (Miss A, an ultra-cheap cosmetics store) with a checkerboard floor as our last stop. Now, if I wasn't developing a book around the subject, I wouldn't have paid any mind to it. But, as we were leaving, innocent things, like the playground being decorated with a fox and a rabbit had a dark hue (context: for my project specially, rabbits and wolves are prevalent in Samuel's life, both in system and events).

Watching movies is tricky now. All the time, you hear about celebrities and politicians being part of "The Illuminati" and such, with many of the conspiracy theorists having flat-earther levels of "out there." They speak some truth, but they are stereotypically way off. But, once you see the sings for the first time (like checks), it's impossible to not see it. As an artist, I only wonder, "We creatives have all this talent and drive, but to use it for this?"

I know not everyone in the industry knows all the signs and symbols, but I've learned that you can make anything mean anything under the right context. For example, some of Samuel's alters stay away from a Wolfsangle, while others are drawn to it, as they mean different things to different alters. (Wolves, keep away; humans, come fourth.)

I also had a dream a while back about a group of sisters who seemed to be well-off, with a mansion and outdoor garden. However, they didn't know that they were victims of "Monarch," to simply the terms. "I thought I was just normal," one said.

This situation is similar to that of the testimony of a woman who had gone through what you may know as Satanic Abuse, which, for those who are unaware, is not necessarily ritual abuse, but can be if it's done ritually (on a holiday like Halloween or Christmas, for example). She had gone to a sleepover (like a "normal" teen) and someone had microwaved some leftover pizza, which reminded her of the smell of death, which is a very distinct smell that I have had the fortune of not knowing. However, she did not know why it smelled in such a way until she recovered those memories.

So, my question sort of boils down to this: before realizing that you were a system, or recovered any significant memories of abuse, would you have considered your life "normal?" Do or did you have an alter/part that had a very different "normal?" I have heard that, with DID proper (with amnesia), some alters have very different lives. Though I have parts myself, I don’t black out on a regular basis and I suppose it wasn't necessary.

Another topic of curiosity that's been on my mind, probably since the start of this journey, was how one relates to art and entertainment (movies, music, TV, video games, ect) when such things are used as anchors to programs. For example, the Wizard of Oz movie is considered a household movie for its introduction to technicolor, but is also one of the hallmarks of Monarch Programming. I have been told that Pokémon Emerald had been used or tied to this, which saddens me as a fan of the series, especially of the Hoenn region where Emerald is set (one of my other blogs is an oc fan thing, it's very dear to me). I think, to keep it succinct, my question is: if someone were to watch The Wizard of Oz or a similar movie, could they possibly get to a point where they could watch it all the way through and form an opinion on it despite the trauma?

I ask this because I am an artist who likes movies, games, TV shows, etc. However, I also want to be mindful of what I create. My current storyline with The Monarch Effect isn't as overt with the common symbolism, but the concepts are still there (my current question is whether Samuel's family are actually Nazis or is Aryanism a better descriptor of their beliefs, and how that follows). I've even found a Nazi-era red riding hood film that employs a similar black & white to color and back technique before The Wizard of Oz did, though not as impressive. The Little Red Ridinghood story, as well as plenty of other German tales are stand-ins for the more commonplace stories used in programming scripts.

I'll end it here before I veer off topic, so I hope that

[creature-wizard]

Found some stories from people who realized their SRA/repressed memory therapists were a bunch of quacks. Lots of CWs for talk of severe abuse and some occasional disturbing activities. If you can stomach it, it's worth a read because it shows just how bad these therapists could get with malpractice and quackery. If you don't want to read the whole thing, here's some key takeaways:

Many therapists just decided their patients had repressed memories. The patients were not allowed to question or disagree with this. The therapists basically flexed their professional authority and told them they were just in denial. Former patient Deborah David described her own experience as being like constantly told that she had once seen a bear climbing a candy cane, told that other people had seen bears on candy canes, and constantly being asked leading questions about her experiences with bears on candy canes, and told that she was in denial if she said she'd never seen one.

Not all patients appear to have been put under hypnosis, but the therapists' insistence that terrible things must have happened to them and their insistence that the only way to heal was to "remember" all of it basically had a number of patients just imagining up all the horrible scenarios they could think of. Former patient Laura Pasley realized after getting out that a number of her "memories" actually came from the book Sybil, the movie Deranged, and from a story she'd written when she was seventeen.

(Worth noting here that a study showed that people who believe they have past lives are more likely to forget where they learned information. It would make a lot of sense if many people who "remembered" SRA under therapists like these have the same issue.)

Many patients were told that their bodies stored memory of this alleged repressed trauma, and any physical sensation they felt was a "body memory" surfacing. So for a hypothetical example, someone who experienced an aching ankle might be told that this is their body "remembering" parental abuse. A patient might imagine a scenario where a parent broke their ankle, and the therapist would treat this as a "recovered" memory.

A number of patients were diagnosed with MPD (as it was called at the time) regardless of whether they initially showed any symptoms. Patients were pushed into "uncovering" these alters that allegedly remembered all the abuse. One patient (Robert Wilson) actually began acting out the alters his therapist told him he had outside of the therapist's office, in some very harmful and destructive ways. (CW for prostitution and animal death if you want to read his story.)

Another patient (Nell Charette) said that while her therapy was ongoing, she had "eight different people telling [her] what to do."

Another patient (Susan) reports:

I mapped an elaborate system, virtually every emotional state or conflicting world view was an alter, plus the male protector and little girl and little boy that went with it. There were sets of 12 for every ego state, complete with names. In the end, I had about 200 "alters." ... Now along with all these alters is the question of how did they get here? Now, we've all heard the story that you can't be this way without severe, repeated, sexual or physical trauma from before you were 5. I'm really pissed about this part, because look how they did this: 1. Your symptoms mean you have MPD, the first step to getting better is to admit this. There is no other thing this could be; if it walks like a duck it's a duck. 2. Since you have MPD, you had to have been sexually/physically/ritually abused. There is no other way you could have this, so you need to admit it to get better. 3. You have to bring these "memories" forward to get better.

This confirms exactly what I've been saying for months: that the mythology of SRA and Project Monarch-type alter programming permits any uncomfortable feeling, any unwanted impulse, and any conflicting beliefs to be attributed to an alter, and therefore to trauma-based mind control, extreme abuse, or whatever you want to call it.

Robert's unfortunate case also confirms that if you go telling a sufficiently unstable person that they have certain alters that do certain things, they will effectively develop them. (This is why convincing a child that they might have a prostitute alter is not only unethical, but also incredibly dangerous!)

If you try and make yourself uncover certain alters, or if someone convinces you that you have them, you will almost certainly "find" them. The simple act of imagining an alter can be enough to make your brain start generating one, or at least something that resembles one close enough to convince people like these therapists.

Many of these former patients describe their mental health deteriorating as their "therapy" progressed. Many who came in without severe issues were completely dysfunctional by the time they left, and if they did have issues when they started, they were exacerbated. This was treated as a part of the healing process, with patients being told that "you have to get worse before you get better" and "the only way out is through."

As retractor Stephanie Krauss put it:

They get hold of this impressive-sounding theory and it goes through some metamorphosis in their minds and is transformed into fact. Then they go treat patients with this new information that only causes more havoc in the lives of persons with normal problems. They have this zeal to treat a disorder that doesn't even exist-at least, not until after treatment starts, and that's when the suffering really begins.

I know brainwashing techniques, and what these people experienced was 100% brainwashing. Each patient had their very sense of self torn apart and each was led to believe that they couldn't trust their own minds. They were led to believe that they had a serious problem that only the therapist - the one with all the power - could fix. They were only "healing" when they complied with the therapist's desires. They were told to cut off anyone who challenged the therapist's narrative.

In other words, the real programmers, the real practitioners of mind control, were the therapists.

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 29th Of July In 1976.

Elvis Presley The Civic Center, Springfield, Mass July 29, 1976

By Sam Hoffman Springfield Daily News July 29th, 1976

Elvis Presley is still the entertainer of the century. The singing monarch strode into Springfield Civic Center tonight and spent better than am hour on stage, entertaining his subjects and making just about everyone there happy with a bag of his oldies, goodies and Goldies, as well as his latest hit single I'm Hurt, which ought to net the King a few more riches... and deservingly so. It was a paunchy looking Elvis Presley this year and even a large belt failed to hide the fact that even the King probably can't say 'No' to a second helping at the dinner table. Musically, The Elvis Presley Show was a smasheroo. The one disappointment - a big one in our books - was his failure to include that beautiful ballad Love Me Tender on the program. Aside from that note, Elvis Presley did his thing and the audience showed its pleasure with screams and cries of 'Elvis Presley's hand-clapping, foot-stomping, and those who could whistle, did. There aren't many performers today who can hold audience attention from start to finish. Elvis Presley is one who does it every time and anywhere he appears. Last the audience was under their King's spell of song, charm, chatter and a toss of a scarf. The latter is a fixture in a Elvis Presley performance and some of the lucky persons who grabbed off scarves had to pay with a kiss. The Civic Center may have been in semi-darkness but the moment Elvis Presley stepped on stage, an endless barrage of camera flashes made night look like day.

Elvis may have slowed down his pelvis gyrations some but his program of song was right on target. From opener C.C. Rider the singing monarch moved quickly into Is It All Right? and Amen, a couple of hand-clappers. The bag of songs included Please Love Me, If You Love Me, Give Me a Mountain and Help Me. There were also some older Goldies such as I'm All Shook Up, Don't Be Cruel, Jailhouse Rock, You Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog and Only Fools Rush In. Unlike most Presley concerts this one was minus a religious flavor. There were several religious songs on the program but they were delivered by a gospel group which preceded the King.

Elvis Presley usually sings them himself. He did offer up a neat version of America the Beautiful, a big vocal and musical sound. There was no question the audience showed their affection to the man. They did it in so many ways - with flowers and a variety of gifts which somehow made their way on stage.

There were sings hoisted aloft telling Elvis Presley he was loved and some parents who brought their youngsters edged close to the stage and held their offspring up high to get a closer look at the singing monarch. We asked a few people in the audience if they felt it was worth plunking down the price of a ticket to see Elvis Presley and the chorus was unanimously 'Yes'. Our sentiments exactly.

Rare Live Candid Elvis Presley Photo's Wearing Here The Two Piece White And Blue Egyptian Bird Jumpsuit And The Matching Belt Captured Here By Reporter Journalist Springfield News Sam Hoffman. Who Attendd This Show Performance Concert.