#or only subsist on “reason” and advancement

[rangerdew]

its so hard not to despair at the way the illustration community treats the conversation about "ai art"

[grox-empire]

A quick, Non-exhaustive Spec Bio post about Grox

I haven't finished their fully species sheet yet, But I figured I would share some info on Daybreak's Grox based on bits and pieces I have drawn overtime!!

The Grox are a species of sophont aliens who appear within the Daybreak universe, My own original hard sci-fi project derived heavily from the game Spore, In which the Grox originally come from. This is simply my own take on them for use in my own project, Although inspiration is more than welcome!!

They have colonized almost the entire area around the Galactic Core. They would be roughly a type II civilization on the kardshev scale.

In spite of being one of the most advanced species within the galaxy, Grox are rather physically frail, Being only around 3-4 feet tall on average. Although the individual here lacks them, Nearly every grox has some form of cybernetic modification. This is for a variety of reasons, Mainly due to the fact Grox rely on cloning for reproduction and the fact that they need them in order to survive extreme environments. They have reached a point of no return when it comes to technological advancement, And a cyberneticless grox simply cannot survive.

The planets they do best on are barren, highly radioactive and hot. They will often terraform colonized planets to meet these conditions.

Grox have a unique tooth configuration, Similar to earth carnivorans, With the addition of a pair of incisors designed for cutting into prey. However, Grox in the modern day subsist almost entirely off of radiation. If there isn't enough radiation available, A grox will go back to needing to eat food. They are Hypercarnivores, Mostly eating meat but supplementing their diet with plant matter as well.

Near their eye is a special radiosensory organ, Capable of sensing certain types of radiation similar to the heat pits on various earth animals.

Their eyes are very large and sensitive, Having color vision fairly similar to humans with slightly better sensitivity to UV. Their pupils have a very wide range of motion, Being able to go from very large, to slits, to pinpricks.

Their blood and flesh are purple.

Grox have three fingers and two toes, Each with retractable claws. The soles of their paws are padded.

Epsilon is an example of a fairly typical Grox created from stock fodder soldier DNA, Not really deviating too far from the base aside from having an overall darker fur color, A longer mane, A distinct dorsal stripe marking and an overall slimmer build.

The cybernetics being primarily on the left side of his body are a product of clone rot.

I think i'll leave the post off here for now, But please feel free to send asks!! I'll make more posts about Grox culture and biology eventually, And potentially some for the Other sophonts within the daybreak universe as well!

[opheliashur]

its before 10am and i got maybe five hours of sleep so im porting my unhinged worm take here to keep it from being lost in the discord sauce [i dont actually think this is a sensible interpretation it just forced itself out of my brain one day]

The entities in Worm can function as a counterpoint to Posadist views on alien life. In Les Soucoupes Volantes, le processus de la matiere et de l'energie, la science et le socialisme, Posadas argues interstellar travel requires a society which, if not explicitly human-defined communist, surpassed self-centered capitalist systems. Posadas implores us to view their passivity in our plight not as apathy, but an enlightened belief in self-determination; With the people's assent, these strangers among us would surely be willing to help us crawl out of the muck of poverty and despair.

In Worm, the entities take this logic and turn it on its head. Zion's ancestor remembers their homeworld as peak survival-of-the-fittest excess, a hellish loop of boom and bust cycles which leaves less left to consume every time.

"The ancestor knows this, and it isn’t satisfied.  It knows its kin aren’t satisfied either.  They are quiet, because there is nothing to say.  They are trapped by their nature, by the need to subsist.  They are rendered feral, made to be sly and petty and cruel by circumstance.  They are made base, lowly."

Through a leftist lens, this becomes a mirror for the circumstances of modern society. People are forced to scrounge and suffer and harm each other for survival's sake, ligating their emotional capacity and cauterising their descendants' livelihoods. The ancestor responds in a capitalist fashion; Rather than call on cooperation and efficiency, it proposes to its fellows that the advancement of a species depends on the necessity of constant growth and constant conflict. The conclusion they reach is to, quite literally, eat each other alive; Not simply to live, but to find new frontiers, obliterating their homeworld in the process. I find this neatly matches up with how capitalism naturally leads itself to colonialism (not to imply imperialism is solely the domain of capitalism) as the rich and powerful grow ever hungrier for new toys to hoard, new people to enslave, leaving nothing in their wake.

If the entities simply went around acting like generic alien invaders (which is 99% of the time just white people persecution fantasies and you cant prove me wrong) afterward, this interpretation wouldn't exist. Posadas wasn't concerned about the possibility of alien invasion for the same reason nobody worries about car bombs, unless they're Margaret Thatcher or a sex symbol in a Wildbow sequel. It just isn't relevant.

However, the entities aren't just machines of consumption. Their modus operandi, at least with Eden and Zion, is far more subversive. They upend the status quo with powers, or innovations, often placed in a way to cause the most possible disruption and thus the most possible conflict, or profit, with an end goal seemingly to ensure they can eat and reproduce forever no matter the cost. The destruction they wreak seems to be almost tangential to their main goals, borne not of cruelty but of apathy.

This is in direct counter to Posadas' perception of extraterrestrial life as benevolent. Despite granting great power to the oppressed, they're not a clarion call of ascendance, but instead harbingers of the end. In essence, the entities represent a form of bad-faith leftism— They take advantage of existing injustice with cloying language (their avatars) and grand yet poisoned gestures (powers), with a move-fast-and-break-things mindset utilising their generational wealth (also powers) from eons of exploitation to avoid consequence.

Unfortunately, this interpretation doesn't end with Posadas.

I found myself realising as I wrote this that the entities aren't just representative of bad-faith actors in leftism. In another sense, they are the revolution as perceived in many online circles. A nebulous rapture-like event, upending the status quo by giving power to the marginalised and downtrodden, creating people who are not only possessed of the agency to change things, but a resolve to do so as well. Agency is suddenly given to those who'd otherwise be trapped in their own cycles, subject to hunger and rent and all the little things that the complacent at the top have long since forgotten happens to other people.

And it only results in more suffering. (at this point im talking more conceptually than what happens in worm but bear with me im almost done lmfao)

Parahumans finally have the ability to speak the right things and be heard, to hurt the right people, and it doesn't help solve anything. It's all just senseless violence directed outward.

The ending, then, takes a different note from Posadas, and from the paradigm of finding the right people to kill or the right things to say. Taylor kills Zion not through sheer power, but through communication and cooperation— By forcing him to look inward, at the one void that no amount of conflict and data and profit could fill ever again. There was no magic bullet, no force from outside to save the day. Only the emotions that everyone carries within them.

A revolution from the inside. (okay that was abrupt but my brain is fried now lmao hope you enjoyed it bye)

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 252

Qast and ‘Azm (Decision and Resolution)

Qast means confidence, determination, choosing, and advancing straight toward a destination, thinking and reasoning moderately and deliberately, and living a moderate and balanced life. For Sufis, this term represents an initiate’s pursuit of love and the pleasure of God, the Truly Beloved One, and the intent to realize this goal:

The heart is the home of God, clean it of others than Him, So that the All-Merciful may descend into His home at night.

The couplet above, recorded by Ibrahim Haqqi of Erzurum in his Ma’rifetname (Book of Knowledge), expresses the intention of obtaining true love and His pleasure, and tells how to realize it. It concisely describes the way between decision and resolution and from resolution to destination. The only way to obtain peace of mind and be at rest without going to extremes and being exposed to spiritual trouble and pain is to seek the love and pleasure of God, and then order one’s life around this aim. Rumi says:

A heart devoid of the Friend and seeking Him cannot be freed from trouble and pain. [As for] a head in which there is no love of the Friend, do not attempt to find any meaning and value in it, for it consists of bones and skin.

Those who have set their hearts on Him and have decided to reach Him never neglect to follow a way toward Him and to meet the necessities of traveling on it. [1] Even if they turn their eyes from Him for a single moment to look to others, they sigh for a whole lifetime. How unfortunate is the one who lives unaware of a way leading to Him. What a great loss, impossible to compensate, it is to fall and get stuck on the way after taking it.

Decision first appears and develops in the heart, grows firmer and stronger as a feeling, and then becomes a very powerful drive directing one toward his or her destination. In this context, decision signifies an intention and resembles a seed sown in the heart’s soil. If the one who has this intention or seed in his or her heart receives help from God Almighty, the seed germinates and grows into an elaborate, fruitful tree. After a few steps traveled in decision, one finds resolution, which is defined as being determined to do something, steadfast in one’s pursuit, and consciously fulfilling all responsibilities undertaken. Resolution is the first step toward the “heavens” of reliance and surrender. The Qur’an describes this step and the final point to be reached: When you are resolved, rely on (or put your trust in) God (3:159). If this first step can be taken through reliance on and submission to God, then the road becomes level and easy to walk on, and one travels it as if flying through the air.

Decision and resolution are two important dimensions or functions of willpower. Every traveler who intends to make a long journey must stop at the station of decision and resolution to receive the permit or visa, given by God, in order to progress to higher stations. Only after this does the journey truly begin. One who has taken the wings of decision and resolution feels attracted toward the goal and, no longer advancing by his or her own power, is taken to it. A friend of God says: Whoever overflows with the desire to meet with God, despite his inability to fulfill the requirements of the way leading to his goal, God Himself comes to him. God then becomes his or her eyes with which to see, ears with which to hear, and tongue with which to speak.

For the traveler who flies along on the wings of decision and resolution, meeting with God means finding subsistence in or through annihilation. For those with whom God wills and desires to meet, it means subsistence within subsistence, [2] and they suffer no trouble or pain in the “virtuous circle,” [3] where they encounter good after good. In this circle pain changes into pleasure, and wrath or chastisement are manifested as favors. One who has reached this point always utters in pleasure: Whatever comes from You, whether it be a favor or punishment, is good. With a cup of resignation in one’s hand, he or she sips whatever comes from God, the Truth, as if it were the water of Paradise.

[1] There is more than one way to God. It is said that there are as many ways or paths to God as there are breaths of people. Such a statement is said to express the differences in people’s temperaments and moods. In addition, spiritual orders use different rituals to help their initiates make progress on the spiritual path. [2] This phrase denotes the concept of compound subsistence, defined as a “firmer subsistence” and as “being well-versed or grounded in subsistence.”[3] This is the opposite of the “vicious circle” that so many people encounter in their daily lives.

[theowlgoesmoo]

Human AU for ABL/Silk and Stone

So, I recently realized that a lot of my human designs for my bugs... are kind of all over the place, outfit wise at least. So how do I make that work? Well, boredom at work is a beautiful thing, and so I've come up with a background to explain all that. (I'm definitely not going to turn this into a full-on Au because I've got my hands full already, but it's a fun experiment.) Anyways, here's what I got so far:

THE WORLD AT LARGE/ANT ISLAND

The world is set in a post-post apocalypse, a la “Nausicaa” or “Breath of the Wild.” There’s little in the way of advanced technology or large civilizations left, but people have done what people do, and have rebuilt. There are little pockets of humanity alive and well scattered throughout the healing world. 

Amber Isle is one such pocket. It is a small island nation ruled by a monarchy, and has been so ever since it was first settled centuries ago. The island kingdom consists of little more than a single city and a few scattered villages and farms, with a population barely topping ten-thousand people. It survived the apocalypse pretty much unscathed, as It was too tiny for anyone to notice or bother with.

Now it's doing quite well for itself, considering the state of the world, and is considered prosperous. It mostly subsists on farming, fishing, and mining, though its people have a flair for the artistic, and its capital (and only) city is a remarkably beautiful place.. Its culture is aggressively traditional, and even more so after the apocalypse. Anything new - especially in the way of technology -  is looked on with suspicion, seen as a waste of time or even a sign of arrogance. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” is the prevailing wisdom of many of the leaders, one they enforce.

Tech-wise, it’s hanging around the late 19th/early 20th century, and that’s being generous. There’s a decent amount of heavy machinery around (such as tractors), but most of it is slapped together or salvaged, often highly inefficient and far from reliable. 

HOPPER

The kingdom has been doing well for itself for maybe a century or two, until a gang of pirates/raiders land and pillage it regularly. Eventually the monarchy reached a deal with them, where they'd offer tribute every year to keep them away, consisting of food, money, booze, cloth, fuel, metal, and whatever else they demand. 

“Captain” Hopper leads a gang of cutthroats known as “The Swarm”, who get around using jerry rigged speedboats and jetskis. They sail out from their mothership (A likely stolen cargo ship turned floating pirates den) to collect tributes from the surrounding islands and coastal towns. Well, the smart ones who have struck a deal with the gang. The Swarm will pillage and loot the ones too stupid to not agree to their very reasonable terms.  

Most of the gang came from a small rural county far, far to the south of here, all leaving their homeland for one reason or another. Some had committed crimes terrible enough to earn them banishment. Some simply were lured by the promise of an easy life of hedonism and violence. And some, like Hopper’s young brother, simply had nowhere else to go. 

DOT

Dot is still adopted into the royal family. One night, a massive yacht/small cruise ship was caught in a horrible storm offshore of Amber Isle. A team was assembled to go out to it, including Flik. Best case scenario, they're a rescue party. Worst case...a salvage team.

When they reach it, they see the ship is practically destroyed. It's already sinking, and absolutely riddled with holes - and not all from the storm by the looks of it. This ship was attacked. The team moves fast to try and find any survivors, but all they find is death… save a single sailor. The man is delirious and yells at them to find the royal family. 

The royal family's cabin is easy to find, but it's been absolutely destroyed. Half the room is missing, blown away by what looks like the blast from a cannon. There’s no sign of the royal family, save for a small though elaborate empty crib in the in-tact corner of the cabin. It’s been tipped over on its side, likely by one of the crashing waves tossing the ship about.

But it looks like it only tipped over recently.

Flik is the first scout to enter the room. He hears crying from far below, and his heart sinks. A baby! She's fallen into the water! 

The water that is teeming with sharks, drawn here by the smell of death and the many sinking bodies of the late crew.

Disregarding all personal safety and sanity, Flik dives into the water, leaping from the hole in the cabin the child fell through. He swims out to her, adrenaline coursing through him as he thrashes through the raging waters. By a miracle, he manages to grab the tiny girl, before swimming to one of the small boats the scouting team used. With a herculean effort, he lifts the baby up to one of the men aboard, before he’s hauled in himself. He’s half-drowned, but alive, and so is she. A heavy tarp is tossed around both him and the child, the best the scouting party can do to 

Around the girl’s wrist is a tiny, golden bracelet, bearing a crest no one aboard recognized. They didn’t know what dynasty it represented, but it was obvious the girl was royalty. A tiny princess, saved from the sea, and likely the last member of her house.  

The ship shudders, and obviously there's no salvaging it. They've got minutes before it's fully taken under. The scouting party, the rescued sailor, and the baby princess are all loaded up, and return to shore, Flik holding the girl to his chest the whole while while keeping her wrapped up in his coat. 

The royal family takes her in as one of their own, adopting the little princess. As she had no name of her own, she was christened Dorothy by her adopted mother.  Her name was often shortened to Dot however, mostly due to the immense amount of freckles she had all over her - a trait almost unseen in Amber Isle, and one that earned the poor princess more than her fair share of bullying. Being different has its price.

For his bravery, Flik earns himself an accommodation from the queen, one that, among other things, grants him a high degree of trust when it comes to the little princess, and he becomes a part of her life, with her growing up and viewing him as an older brother or father figure - a role he is all too happy to play. (It’s the ending of “Seed”, let’s just cut to the chase =p)

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter XI. Eighth Epoch. — The Property.

3. — How property depraves itself

By means of property, society has realised a thought that is useful, laudable, and even inevitable: I am going to prove that by obeying an invincible necessity, it has cast itself into an impossible hypothesis. I believe that I have not forgotten or diminished any of the motives which have presided over the establishment of property; I even dare say that I have given these motives a unity and an obviousness unknown until this moment. Let the reader fill in, moreover, what I may have accidentally omitted: I accept in advance all his reasons, and propose nothing to contradict him. But let him then tell me, with hand on conscience, what he finds to reply to the counterproof that I am going to make.

Doubtless the collective reason, obeying the order of destiny that prescribed it, by a series of providential institutions, to consolidate monopoly, has done its duty: its conduct is irreproachable, and I do not blame it. It is the triumph of humanity to know how to recognise what is inevitable, as the greatest effort of its virtue is to know how to submit to it. If then the collective reason, in instituting property, has followed its orders, it has earned no blame: its responsibility is covered. But that property, which society, forced and constrained, if I thus do dare to say, has unearthed, who guarantees that it will last? Not society, which has conceived it from on high, and has not been able to add to it, subtract from it, or modify it in any way. In conferring property on man, it has left to it its qualities and its defects; it has taken no precaution against its constitutive vices, or against the superior forces which could destroy it. If property in itself is corruptible, society knows nothing of it, and can do nothing about it. If property is exposed to the attacks of a more powerful principle, society can do nothing more. How, indeed, will society cure the vice proper to property, since property is the daughter of destiny? And how will it protect it against a higher idea, when it only subsists by means of property, and conceives of nothing above property?

Here then is the proprietary theory.

Property is of necessity providential; the collective reason has received it from God and given it to man. But if not property is corruptible by nature, or assailable by force majeure, society is irresponsible; and whoever, armed with that force, will present themselves to combat property, society owes them submission and obeisance.

Thus it is a question of knowing, first, if property is in itself a corruptible thing, which gives rise to destruction; in second place, if there exists somewhere, in the economic arsenal, an instrument which can defeat it.

I will treat the first question in this section; we will seek later to discover what the enemy is which threatens to devour property.

Property is the right to use and abuse, in a word, DESPOTISM. Not that the despot is presumed ever to have the intention of destroying the thing: that is not what must be understood by the right to use and abuse. Destruction for its own sake is not assumed on the part of the proprietor; one always supposes some use that he will make of his goods, and that there is for him a motive of suitability and utility. By abuse, the legislator has meant that the proprietor has the right to be mistaken in the use of his goods, without ever being subject to investigation for that poor use, without being responsible to anyone for his error. The proprietor is always supposed to act in his own best interest; and it is in order to allow him more liberty in the pursuit of that interest, that society has conferred on him the right of use and abuse of his monopoly. Up to this point, then, the domain of property is irreprehensible.

But let us recall that this domain has not been conceded solely in respect for the individual: there exist, in the account of the motives for the concession, some entirely social considerations; the contract is synallagmatic between society and man. That is so true, so admitted even by the proprietors, that every time someone comes to attack their privilege, it is in the name, and only in the name, of society that they defend it.

Now, does proprietary despotism give satisfaction to society? For if it were otherwise, reciprocity being illusory, the pact would be null, and sooner or later either property or society will perish. I reiterate then my question. Does proprietary despotism fulfil its obligation toward society? Is proprietary despotism a prudent administrator? Is it, in its essence, just, social, humane? There is the question.

And this is what I respond without fear of refutation:

If it is indubitable, from the point of view of individual liberty, that the concession of property had been necessary; from the juridical point of view, the concession of property is radically null, because it implies on the part of the concessionaire certain obligations that it is optional for him to fulfil or not fulfil. Now, by virtue of the principle that every convention founded on the accomplishment of a non-obligatory condition does not compel, the tacit contract of property, passed between the privileged and the State, to the ends that we have previously established, is clearly illusory; it is annulled by the non-reciprocity, by the injury of one of the parties. And as, with regard to property, the accomplishment of the obligation cannot be due unless the concession itself is by that alone revoked, it follows that there is a contradiction in the definition and incoherence in the pact. Let the contracting parties, after that, persist in maintaining their treaty, the force of things is charged with proving to them that they do useless work: despite the fact that they have it, the inevitability of their antagonism restores discord between them.

All the economists indicate the disadvantages for agricultural production of the parcelling of the territory. In agreement on this with the socialists, they would see with joy a joint exploitation which, operating on a large scale, applying the powerful processes of the art and making important economies on the material, would double, perhaps quadruple product. But the proprietor says, Veto, I do not want it. And as he is within his rights, as no one in the world knows the means of changing these rights other than by expropriation, and since expropriation is nothingness, the legislator, the economist and the proletarian recoil in fright before the unknown, and content themselves to expect nowhere near the harvests promised. The proprietor is, by character, envious of the public good: he could purge himself of this vice only by losing property.

Thus, property becomes an obstacle to labour and wealth, an obstacle to the social economy: these days, there is hardly anyone but the economists and the men of law that this astonishes. I seek a way to make it enter into their minds all at once, without commentary...

[…]

Let us suppose that the proprietor, by a chivalrous liberality, yields to the invitation of science, allows labour to improve and multiply its products. An immense good will result for the day-workers and peasants, whose fatigues, reduced by half, will still find themselves, by the lowering of the price of goods, paid double.

But the proprietor: I would be pretty silly, he says, to abandon a profit so clear! Instead of a hundred days of labour, I would not have to pay more than fifty: it is not the proletarian who would profit, but me. — But then, observe, the proletarian will be still more miserable than before, since he will be idle once more. — That does not matter to me, replies the proprietor. I exercise my right. Let the others buy well, if they can, or let them go to other parts to seek their fortune, there are thousands and millions!

Every proprietor nourishes, in his heart of hearts, this homicidal thought. And as by competition, monopoly and credit, the invasion always grows, the workers find themselves incessantly eliminated from the soil: property is the depopulation of the earth.

Thus then the revenue of the proprietor, combined with the progress of industry, changes into an abyss the pit dug beneath the feet of the worker by monopoly; the evil is aggravated by privilege. The revenue of the proprietor is no longer the patrimony of the poor, — I mean that portion of the agricultural product which remains after the costs of farming have been paid off, and which must always serve as a new material for the use of labour, according to that fine theory which shows us accumulated capital as a land unceasingly offered to production, and which, the more one works it, the more it seems to extend. The revenue has become for the proprietor the token of his lechery, the instrument of his solitary pleasures. And note that the proprietor who abuses, guilty before charity and morality, remains blameless before the law, unassailable in political economy. To eat up his income! What could be more beautiful, more noble, more legitimate? In the opinion of the common people as in that of the great, unproductive consumption is the virtue par excellence of the proprietor. Every trouble in society comes from this indelible selfishness.

In order to facilitate the exploitation of the soil, and put the different localities in relation, a route, a canal is necessary. Already the plan is made; one will sacrifice an edge on that side, a strip on the other; some hectares of poor terrain, and the way is open. But the proprietor cries out with his booming voice: I do not want it! And before this formidable veto, the would-be lender dares not go through with it. Still, in the end, the State has dared to reply: I want it! But what hesitations, what frights, what trouble, before taking that heroic resolution! What trade-offs! What trials! The people have paid dearly for this act of authority, by which the promoters were still more stunned than the proprietors. For it came to establish a precedent the consequences of which appeared incalculable!... One promised themselves that after having passed this Rubicon, the bridges were broken, and they would stay that way. To do violence to property, what could this portend! The shadow of Spartacus would have appeared less terrible.

In the depths of a naturally poor soil, chance, and then science, born of chance, discovers some treasure troves of fuel. It is a free gift of nature, deposited under the soil of the common habitation, of which each has a right to claim his share. But the proprietor arrives, the proprietor to whom the concession of the soil has been made solely with a view to cultivation. You shall not pass, he says; you will not violate my property! At this unexpected summons, great debate arises among the learned. Some say that the mine is not the same thing as the arable land, and must belong to the State; others maintain that the proprietor owns the property above and below, cujus est soluw, ejus est usque ad inferos. For if the proprietor, a new Cerberus posted as the guard of dark kingdoms, can put a ban on entry, the right of the State is only a fiction. It would be necessary to return to expropriation, and where would that lead? The State gives in: “Let us affirm it boldly,” it says through the mouth of M. Dunoyer, supported by M. Troplong; “it is no more just and reasonable to say that the mines are the property of the nation, than it once was to claim that it was the property of the king. The mines are essentially part of the soil. It is with a perfect good sense that the common law has said that the property in what is above implies property in what is below. Where, indeed, would we make the separation?”

M. Dunoyer is troubled by very little. Who hesitates to separate the mine from the surface, just as we sometimes separate, in a succession, the ground floor from the first floor? That is what is done very well by the proprietors of the coal-mining fields in the department of the Loire, where the property in the depths has been nearly everywhere separated from the surface property, and transformed into a sort of circulating value like the actions of an public limited company. Who still hesitates to regard the mine as a new land for which one needs a way of clearing?... But what! Napoléon, the inventor of the juste-milieu, the prince of the Doctrinaires, had wanted it otherwise; the counsel of State, M. Troplong and M. Dunoyer applaud: there is nothing more to consider. A transaction has taken place under who-knows-what insignificant reservations; the proprietors have been rewarded by the imperial munificence: how have they acknowledged that favour?

I have already had more than one occasion to speak of the coalition of the mines of the Loire. I return to it for the last time. In that department, the richest in the kingdom in coal deposits, the exploitation was first conducted in the most expensive and most absurd manner. The interest of the mines, that of the consumers and of the proprietors, demanded that the extraction was made jointly: We do not want it, the proprietors have repeated for who knows how many years, and they have engaged in a horrible competition, of which the devastation of the mines has paid the first costs. Were they within their rights? So much so, that one will see the State finding it bad that they left there.

Finally the proprietors, at least the majority, managed to get along: they associated. Doubtless they have given in to reason, to motives of conservation, of good order, of general as much as private interest. From then on, the consumers would have fuel at a good price, the miners a regular labour and guaranteed wages. What thunder of acclamations in the public! What praise in the academies! What decorations for that fine devotion! We will not inquire whether the gathering is consistent with the text and to the spirit of the law, which forbids the joining of the concessions; we will only see the advantage of the union, and we will have proven that the legislator has neither wanted, nor been able to want, anything but the well-being of the people: Salus populi suprema lex esta.

Deception! First, it is not reason that the proprietors followed in coming together: they submitted only to force. To the extent that competition ruins them, they range themselves on the side of the victor, and accelerate by their growing mass the rout of the dissidents. Then, the association constitutes itself in a collective monopoly: the price of the merchandise increases, so much for consumption; wages are reduced, so much for labour. Then, the public complains; the legislature thinks of intervening; the heavens threaten with a bolt of lightning; the prosecution invokes article 419 of the Penal Code which forbids coalitions, but which permits every monopolist to combine, and stipulates no measure for the price of the merchandise; the administration appeals to the law of 1810 which, wishing to encourage exploitation, while dividing the concessions, is rather more favourable than opposed to unity; and the advocates prove by dissertations, writs and arguments, these that the coalition is within its rights, those that it is not. Meanwhile the consumer says: Is it just that I pay the costs of speculation [agiotage] and of competition? Is it just that what has been given for nothing to the proprietor in my greatest interest comes back to me at such an expense? Let one establish a tariff! We do not want it, respond the proprietors. And I defy the State to defeat their resistance other than by an act of authority, which resolves nothing; or else by an indemnity, which is to abandon all.

Property is unsocial, not only in possession, but also in production. Absolute mistress of the instruments of labour, she renders only imperfect, fraudulent, detestable products. The consumer is no longer served, he is robbed of his money. — Shouldn’t you have known, one said to the rural proprietor, to wait some days to gather these fruits, to reap this wheat, dry this hay; do not put water in this milk, rinse your barrels, care more for your harvests, bite off less and do better. You are overloaded: put back a part of your inheritance. — A fool! responds the proprietor with a mocking air. Twenty badly worked acres always render more than ten which take us so much time, and will double the costs. With your system, the earth will feed more men: but what is it to me if there are more men? It is a question of my profit. As to the quality of my products, they will always be good enough for those who lack. You believe yourself skilled, my dear counsellor, and you are only a child. What’s the use of being a proprietor, if one only sells what is worth carrying to market, and at a just price, at that?... I do not want it.

Well, you say, let the police do their duty!... The police! You forget that its action only begins when the evil has already been done. The police, instead of watching over production, inspects the product: after having allowed the proprietor to cultivate, harvest, manufacture without conscience, it appears to lay hands on the green fruit, spill the terrines of watered milk, the casks of adulterated beer and wine, to throw the prohibited meats into the road: all to the applause of the economists and the populace, who want property to be respected, but will not put up with trade being free. Heh! Barbarians! It is the poverty of the consumer which provokes the flow of these impurities. Why, if you cannot stop the proprietor from acting badly, do you stop the poor from living badly? Isn’t it better if they have colic than if they die of hunger?

Say to that industrialist that it is a cowardly, immoral thing, to speculate on the distress of the poor, on the inexperience of children and of young girls: he simply will not understand you. Prove to him that by a reckless overproduction, by badly calculated enterprises, he compromises, along with his own fortune, the existence of his workers; that if his interests are not touched, those of so many families, grouped around him, merit consideration; that by the arbitrariness of his favours he creates around him discouragement, servility, hatred. The proprietor takes offence: Am I not the master? says he in parody of the legend; and because I am good to a few, do you claim to make of my kindness a right for all? Must I render account to those who should obey me? That home is mine; what I should do regarding the direction of my affairs, I alone am the judge of it. Are my workers my slaves? If my conditions offend them, and they find better, let them go! I will be the first to compliment them. Very excellent philanthropists, who then prevents you from labouring in the workshops? Act, give the example; instead of that delightful life that you lead by preaching virtue, set up a factory, put yourself to work. Let us see finally through you association on the earth! As for me, I reject with all my strength such a servitude. Associates! Rather bankruptcy, rather death!

[…]

A poor worker having his wife in childbirth, the midwife, in despair, must ask assistance of a physician. — I must have 200 francs, says the doctor, I won’t budge. — My God! replies the worker, my household is not worth 200 francs; it will be necessary that my wife die, or else we will all go naked, the child, her and me!

That obstetrician, let God rejoice! was yet a worthy man, benevolent, melancholic and mild, member of several scientific and charitable societies: on his mantle, a bronze of Hippocrates, refusing the presents of Artaxerxes.[7] He was incapable of saddening a child, and would have sacrificed himself for his cat. His refusal did not come from hardness; that was tactical. For a physician who understands business, devotion has only a season: the clientele acquired, the reputation once made, he reserves himself for the wealthy, and, save for ceremonial occasions, he rejects the indiscreet. Where would we be, if it were necessary to heal the sick indiscriminately? Talent and reputation are precious properties, that one must make the most of, not squander.

The trait that I have just cited is one of the most benign; what horrors, if I should penetrate to the bottom of this medical matter! Let no one tell me that these are exceptions: I except everyone. I criticise property, not men. Property, in Vincent de Paul[39] as in Harpagon[40], is always monstrous; and until the service of medicine is organised, it will be for the physician as for the scientist, for the advocate as for the artist: he will be a being degraded by his own title, by the title of proprietor.

This is what this judge did not understand, too good a man for his time, who, yielding to the indignation of his conscience, decided one day to express public criticism of the corporation of lawyers. It was something immoral, according to him, scandalous, that the ease with which these gentlemen welcome all sorts of causes. If this blame, starting so high, had been supported and commented on by the press, it was made perhaps for the legal profession. But the honourable company could not perish by the censure, any more than property can die from a diatribe, any more than the press can die of its own venom. Besides, isn't the judiciary interdependent with the corporation of lawyers? Isn’t the one, like the other, established by and for property? What would Perrin Dandin[41] become, if he were forbidden to judge? And what would we argue about, without property? The order of lawyers therefore rises; journalism, the chicanery of the pen, came to the rescue of the chicanery of words: the riot went rumbling and swelling until that imprudent magistrate, involuntary organ of the public conscience, had made an apology to sophistry, and retracted the truth that had arisen spontaneously through him.

[…]

Thus property becomes more antisocial to the extent that it is distributed on a greater number of heads. What seems necessary to soften, and to humanise property, collective privilege, is precisely what shows property in its hideousness: property divided, impersonal property, is the worst of properties. Who does not realise today that France is covered with great companies, more formidable, more eager for booty, than the famous bands with which the brave du Guesclin[42] delivered France!...

Be careful not to take community of property for association. The individual proprietor can still show himself accessible to mercy, justice, and shame; the proprietor-corporation is heartless, without remorse. It is a fantastic, inflexible being, freed from every passion and all love, which moves in the circle of its ideas as the millstone in its revolutions crushes grain. It is not by becoming common that property can become social: one does not relieve rabies by biting everyone. Property will end by the transformation of its principle, not by an indefinite co-participation. And that is why democracy, or system of universal property, that some men, as hard-nosed as they are blind, insist on preaching to the people, is powerless to create society.

[…]

Work, the economists repeat ceaselessly to the people; work, save, capitalise, become proprietors in your turn. As they said: Workers, you are the recruits of property. Each of you carries in your own sack[43] the rod that serves to correct you, and that may one day serve you to correct others.[44] Raise yourself up to property by labour; and when you have the taste for human flesh, you will no longer want any other meat, and you will make up for your long abstinences.

To fall from the proletariat into property! From slavery into tyranny, which is to say, following Plato, always into slavery! What a perspective! And though it is inevitable, the condition of the slave is no more tenable. In order to advance, to free yourself from wage-labour, it is necessary to become a capitalist, to become a tyrant! It is necessary; do you understand, proletarians? Property is not a matter of choice for humanity, it is the absolute order of destiny. You will only be free after you have redeemed yourself, by subjugation to your masters, from the servitude that they have pressed upon you.[45]

One beautiful Sunday in summer, the people of the great cities leave their sombre and damp residences, and go to seek the vigorous and pure air of the country. But what has happened! There is no more countryside! The land, divided in a thousand closed cells, traversed by long galleries, the land is no longer found; the sight of the fields exists for the people of the towns only in the theatre and the museum: the birds alone contemplate the real landscape from high in the air. The proprietor, who pays very dearly for a lodge on this hacked-up earth, enjoys, selfish and solitary, some strip of turf that he calls his country: except for this corner, he is exiled from the soil like the poor. Some people can boast of never having seen the land of their birth! It is necessary to go far, into the wilderness, in order to find again that poor nature, that we violate in a brutal manner, instead of enjoying, as chaste spouses, its heavenly embraces.

Thus, property, which should make us free, makes us prisoners. What am I saying? It degrades us, by making us servants and tyrants to one another.

Do you know what it is to be a wage-worker? To work under a master, watchful [jaloux] of his prejudices even more than of his orders; whose dignity consists above all in demanding, sic volo, sic jubeo[46], and never explaining; often you have a low opinion of him, and you mock him! Not to have any thought of your own, to study without ceasing the thought of others, to know no stimulus except your daily bread, and the fear of losing your job!

The wage-worker is a man to whom the proprietor who hires his services gives this speech: What you have to do does not concern you at all: you do not control it, you do not answer for it. Every observation is forbidden to you; there is no profit for you to hope for except from your wage, no risk to run, no blame to fear.

Thus one says to the journalist: Lend us your columns, and even, if that suits you, your administration. Here is what you have to say, and here is what you have to do. Whatever you think of our ideas, of our ends and of our means, always defend our party, emphasise our opinions. That cannot compromise you, and must not disturb you: the character of the journalist, it is anonymous. Here is, for your fee, ten thousand francs and a hundred subscriptions. What are you going to do? And the journalist, like the Jesuit, responds by sighing: I must live!

One says to the lawyer: This matter presents some pros and cons; there is a party whose luck I have decided to try, and for this I have need of a man of your profession. If it is not you, it will be your colleague, your rival; and there are a thousand crowns for the lawyer if I win my case, and five hundred francs if I lose it. And the lawyer bows with respect, saying to his conscience, which murmurs: I must live!

One says to the priest: Here is some money for three hundred masses. You don’t have to worry yourself about the morality of the deceased: it is probable that he will never see God, being dead in hypocrisy, his hands full of the goods of other, and laden with the curses of the people. These are not your affairs: we pay, fire away! And the priest, raising his eyes to heaven, says: Amen, I must live.

One says to the purveyor of arms: We need thirty thousand rifles, ten thousand swords, a thousand quintals of shot, and a hundred barrels of powder. What we can do with it is not your concern; it is possible that all will pass to the enemy: but there will be two thousand francs of profit. That’s good, responds the purveyor: each to his craft, everyone must live!... Make the tour of society; and after having noticed the universal absolutism, you will have recognised the universal indignity. What immorality in this system of servility [valetage]! What stigma in this mechanisation!

[…]

Abuse! Cry the jurists, perversity of man. It is not property that makes us envious and greedy, which makes our passions spring up, and arms with its sophisms our bad faith. It is our passions, our vices, on the contrary, which sully and corrupt property.

I would like it as well if one says to me that it is not concubinage that sullies man, but that it is man who, by his passions and vices, sullies and corrupts concubinage. But, doctors, the facts that I denounce, are they, or are they not, of the essence of property? Are they not, from the legal point of view, irreprehensible, placed in the shelter of every judiciary action? Can I remand to the judge, summon to appear before the tribunals this journalist who prostitutes his pen for money? That lawyer, that priest, who sells to iniquity, one his speech, the other his prayers? This doctor who allows the poor man to perish, if he does not submit in advance the fee demanded? This old satyr who deprives his children for a courtesan? Can I prevent a licitation[47] that will abolish the memory of my forefathers, and render their posterity without ancestors, as if it were of incestuous or adulterous stock? Can I restrain the proprietor, without compensating him beyond what he possesses, that is without wrecking society, for heeding the needs of society?...

Property, you say, is innocent of the crime of the proprietor; property is good and useful in itself: it is our passions and our vices which deprave it.

Thus, in order to save property, you distinguish it from morals! Why not distinguish it right away from society? That was precisely the reasoning of the economists. Political economy, said M. Rossi, is in itself good and useful; but it is not moral: it proceeds, setting aside all morality; it is for us not to abuse its theories, to profit from its teachings, according to the higher laws of morality. As if he said: Political economy, the economy of society is not society; the economy of society proceeds without regard to any society; it is up to us not to abuse its theories, to profit from its teachings, according to the higher laws of society! What chaos!

I not only maintain with the economists that property is neither morals nor society; but more that it is by its principle directly contrary to morals and to society, just as political economy is anti-social, because its theories are diametrically opposed to the social interest.

According to the definition, property is the right of use and abuse, which is to say the absolute, irresponsible domain, of man over his person and his goods. If property ceased to be the right of abuse, it would cease to be property. I have taken my examples from the category of abusive acts permitted to the proprietor: what happens here that is not of an unimpeachable legality and propriety? Hasn’t the proprietor the right to give his goods to whomever seems good to him, to leave his neighbour to burn without crying fire, to oppose himself to the public good, to squander his patrimony, to exploit and fleece the worker, to produce badly and sell badly? Can the proprietor be judicially constrained to use his property well? Can he be disturbed in the abuse? What am I saying? Isn’t property, precisely because it is abusive, that which is most sacred for the legislator? Can one conceive of a property for which police would determine the use, and suppress the abuse? And is it not evident, finally, that if one wanted to introduce justice into property, one would destroy property; as the law, by introducing honesty into concubinage, has destroyed concubinage?

Thus, property, in principle and in essence, is immoral: that proposition is soon reached by critique. Consequently the Code, which, in determining the right of the proprietor, has not reserved those of morals, is a code of immorality; jurisprudence, that alleged science of right, which is nothing other than the collection of the proprietary rubrics, is immoral, and justice, is instituted in order protect the free and peaceful abuse of property; justice, which orders us to come to the aid against those who would oppose themselves to that abuse; which afflicts and marks with infamy whoever is so daring as to claim to mend the outrages of property, justice is infamous. If a son, supplanted in the paternal affection by an unworthy mistress, should destroy the document which disinherits and dishonours him, he would answer in front of justice. Accused, convicted, condemned, he would go to the penal colony to make honourable amends to property, while the prostitute will be sent off in possession. Where then is the immorality here? Where is the infamy? Is it not on the side of justice? Let us continue to unwind this chain, and we will soon know the whole truth that we seek. Not only is justice, instituted to protect property, itself abusive, itself immoral, infamous; but the penal sanction is infamous, the police are infamous, the executioner and the gallows, infamous, and property, which embraces that whole series, property, from which this odious lineage come, property is infamous.

Judges armed to defend it, magistrates whose zeal is a permanent threat to those accused by it, I question you. What have you seen in property which has been able in this way to subjugate your conscience and corrupt your judgement? What principle, superior without doubt to property, more worthy of your respect than property, makes it so precious to you? When its works declare it infamous, how do you proclaim it holy and sacred? What consideration, what prejudice affects you?

Is it the majestic order of human societies, that you do not understand, but of which you suppose that property is the unshakeable foundation? — No, since property, as it is, is for you order itself; since first it is proven that property is by nature abusive, that is to say disorderly and anti-social.

Is it Necessity or Providence, the laws of which we do not understand, but the designs of which we adore? — No, since, according to the analysis, property being contradictory and corruptible, it is for that very reason a negation of Necessity, an injury to Providence.

Is it a superior philosophy considering human miseries from on high, and seeking by evil to obtain the good? — No, since philosophy is the agreement of reason and experience, and in the judgement of reason as in that of experience, property is condemned.

[...]

[josefavomjaaga]

Wellington’s letters about the Argenton conspiracy

I apologize in advance for yet another monster post that probably will interest very few people, if any. But hey, for once I did not need to translate a thing as Arthur dearest was so kind to already write in English. This is quoted from Volume 4 of the Dispatches of Field Marshal Wellington, containing the letters from spring 1809, when Wellesley defeated Soult at Oporto and almost managed to cut him off and force him into a capitulation. A development made possible, among other things, by the unrest and conspiracies within Soult’s own army. While Argenton’s treason is only indirectly connected to the "roi Nicolas" story, Wellington’s correspondence does shed some light on what was going on within Soult’s army, at least from Argenton’s perspective.

Unfortunately, in the publication the names of the French officers are almost all left in blanks in Wellington’s letters to Castlereagh (weirdly enough, two names, that of Loison and Delaborde, are spelled out in his letter to Beresford). I have substituted Argenton’s name in those places where I was sure that it was he who was mentioned.

To Viscount Castlereagh, Secretary of State. Lisbon, 27th April, 1809 Upon the arrival of General Beresford at Lisbon on the 25th instant, he informed me that he had had some communication with a French Officer, through the means of M., at Oporto, which announced a disposition in the officers of Soult's corps to revolt, and to seize Soult and other principal officers of the army. On the night before last, a French Officer, by the name of [Argenton], arrived here, accompanied by Major Douglas, who had been sent by General Beresford to the French advanced posts to confer with him; and I had yesterday an interview with this Officer. He informed me that great discontent and dissatisfaction with the measures of Buonaparte prevailed throughout the French army, and particularly in the corps of Marshal Soult, which had suffered, and was still suffering, extreme distress; that dissatisfaction had long prevailed on various accounts, particularly the conscription, but had been greatly increased by a sense of the injustice of the measures adopted in respect to Spain, and the seizure of the King; and that a large proportion of the officers of the army of Soult were determined to revolt, and to seize the general and other principal officers of the army, supposed to be particularly attached to the interests of Buonaparte, if that army should be pressed by the troops under my command, so as to oblige Soult to concentrate in situations chosen with a view to their defence rather than with a view to their subsistence. [Argenton] having met Major Douglas between the advanced posts of the two armies, and his communications having there appeared to the Major to be so important, that he thought it desirable that [Argenton] should see General Beresford, he proposed that [Argenton] should come to Lisbon. I draw your Lordship's attention to this fact, as it removes a suspicion which might otherwise attach to the whole subject. The objects of these communications appear to be: first, to prevail upon us to press upon Soult's corps; and, secondly, to give to [Argenton] and two other Captains of the French army passports to go to France. In respect to the first of these objects, your Lordship is aware that I had adopted a plan of operations which would have effected it; and I must add, that in the different conversations with Major Douglas, General Beresford, and me, [Argenton], in pressing that plan upon us, advised us to watch the movements of the enemy on the left of the Tagus, while we should be engaged in operations to the northward. He was, at the same time, entirely ignorant of the situation of Victor, and of all the other French corps in Spain, excepting that of Ney. In respect to the second object, I asked [Argenton] particularly the reason he had for wishing to go to France at all, and those he had for wishing to go before any blow should be struck. His answer was, that he wished to go in order to communicate to Generals ___, ___, ___, and others dissatisfied with the existing order of things, the measures which the Officers of Soult's army had in contemplation, and which would certainly be adopted if the army should be at all pressed by us; and that he wished to go at an early period, because it was certain that as soon as Buonaparte should receive intelligence of the event, he would seize all suspected of being adverse to him, and would put an end to the hopes which were entertained that the same measures would become general throughout the French army.

And oh how I would love to speculate who Generals ___, ___ and ___ could be!

In the existing situation of affairs in Portugal I have considered it proper to refuse to attend to these communications. I have therefore asked the Admiral to give to [Argenton] passports for himself and two other Captains of the French army to go to France by sea; in which [Argenton] says they will experience no difficulty, as Soult allows vessels of all nations to quit Oporto; and the Commanding Officers of the regiments to which they belong, being parties to the plan of revolt, are desirous and have the power to permit them to go. I have pledged myself no further; and I have particularly desired General Beresford, in delivering his passports to [Argenton] to request that he will inform his friends in the French army, that he asked from me, and only obtained, passports to go to France; that I wish them success in the accomplishment of their objects; but that the line which I shall take upon them must depend upon the circumstances in which the French army shall stand at the moment the Officers may seize their General. I acknowledge that I do not entertain any hopes that I shall be enabled to effect more to the northward than oblige Soult to retreat from Portugal. If circumstances should enable me to do more, the question whether the operations against the French army ought to be carried to extremities, or they should be allowed to seize their General and place themselves under our protection, becomes one of greater difficulty; upon which I am desirous, if possible, of having the opinion of His Majesty's Government. Your Lordship will observe, that I have not thought it proper to discourage the disposition which appears to prevail among the French Officers; at the same time that I have taken care not only not to pledge myself to any particular line of conduct, but that those concerned should understand that I do not consider myself pledged by anything that has passed. The successful revolt of a French army might be attended by the most extensive and important consequences; whereas their defeat, or what is a more improbable event, their surrender, would affect only local interests and objects, excepting that either of these events would add to the reputation of His Majesty's arms. In the consideration and decision of this question much must depend upon the minute circumstances attending the situation in which each of the armies shall be placed at the moment; but I consider it my duty to give the earliest intelligence to His Majesty's Ministers, in order, if possible, that I may have the advantage of their opinion, and His Majesty's commands, before I shall have to decide upon the line which I shall adopt. I have the honour to be etc. Arthur Wellesley

[Same date, an addition, possibly encoded:]

My dear Lord, I have but little to add to my public dispatches of this date. I fully believe in the intentions of the French Officers to revolt. The existence of this intention is confirmed by the recollection of what dropped from nearly every individual of the French army with whom I conversed when I was in this country last year, and it is highly probable on other grounds. I doubt, however, whether it will be quite so easy to carry their intentions successfully into execution as their emissary appears to imagine; and I also doubt whether it follows of course, as is generally imagined by those with whom I have conversed here upon this subject, that the successful revolt of this corps would be followed immediately by that of others; and I am convinced that the mode proposed by [Argenton?] which will be explained to you by Colonel Bayley, to accomplish that object, would not answer that purpose. It is, however, very certain, that the successful revolt of one French army would have a great effect, particularly in this part of the world; and would probably do more for Spain than Spain would ever do for itself. In case there should be an opportunity, I should not wait for a revolt, but shall try my own means of subduing Soult. If this army should revolt, or, indeed, at all events, I anxiously recommend to you to set all your emissaries to work in France. I have no doubt of the detestation of Buonaparte by the people of that country. There is a very clever fellow in communication with Mr. ___, who ought to be useful to you. [...]

So, this was Wellesley’s report of the first meeting with Argenton. It is to be noted that in this first interview, there’s only mention of unrest in the army because of Napoleon’s actions. Not because of Soult’s. Argenton and his co-conspirators want to seize Soult obviously because they think he is loyal to Napoleon and thus a threat to their plans.

However, this is about to change 😁. Here’s what Wellington reported to his subordinate Beresford after a second interview with Argenton, some days later.

Coimbra, 7th May, 1809. My dear Beresford, Our friend came to Aveiro yesterday; and I saw him last night at a fire on the road between Fornos and Martede. He says there are two parties now in the army: one, to seize at all events; the other, who wish to seize only in case the person persists in declaring himself King. He had two plans to propose: one that we should endeavor to draw S[oult] into a snare by persuading some of the people in this part of the country to address him to declare himself King, and even that I should write to recommend the same measure to him, as one most likely to pacify Portugal and Spain; the other, that we should make our dispositions, and attack forthwith, taking care to cut off their retreat by a strong corps upon the Douro and even at Villa Real. In respect to the measures proposed for my adoption, I declared that I could have nothing to do with them, as the inevitable result would be to deprive me of the confidence of the Portuguese. In respect to the attack, I told our friend that I would make it as soon as I could, but that the time must depend upon circumstances. He said that if S[oult] could be induced to declare himself King, the whole army of [De]Laborde and Loison would declare against him, and lead the army back into France.

I actually find Argenton’s idea kinda cute.

Argenton: How about you tell the Portuguese on your side that they should make Soult their king, and you tell Soult that you’re totally fine with that, so that he really does it and our army revolts against him?

Wellington: … How about no?

I could not exactly understand by what road the French were to march after having made good their retreat to Villa Real: he said, towards Benavente in Spain. However, it is not impossible that they might endeavor to pass the Douro and to go by Lamego, which place indeed our friend mentioned at one time, though he did not say where they were to go from Lamego. He showed me a paper very ably drawn up, as he said, by an Officer of rank, pointing out their different lines of retreat, which states a decided preference for that of Villa Real, but to what point from Villa Real is not stated; and I observe that there are several roads which lead through Villa Real, to Braganza, to Chaves, &c. Our friend particularly cautioned me against the employment of too small a corps to cut them off at Villa Real. […]

And so on; apparently Argenton detailed to the enemy every single thing he knew about Soult’s defensive measures and the position of his troops.

Wellington wrote another letter to Castlereagh about that second meeting, too:

Coimbra, 7th May, 1809. I met last night [Argenton] for the first time since I had seen him at Lisbon. He told me that the French army was at this time divided into two parties; one, which intended to seize Soult at all events, and to carry into execution the plan he had before communicated to me; the other, consisting of ___, ___, and even those connected with Buonaparte, who were determined to seize Soult if he should declare himself King of Portugal, of which he has manifested an intention. This latter party would then lead the army into France, where it is understood that Buonaparte wishes to have it. But [Argenton] thinks that if Soult was once seized, everything would go on as his friends wished. He then made two propositions to me: one, that I should make my arrangements to attack them immediately, taking care to cut off their retreat into Spain; the other, that, if I would not make my attack immediately, I should endeavor to prevail upon the inhabitants of some of the towns in Portugal with which I was in communication, to petition Soult to take upon himself the government of Portugal as King; and that I should even go so far as to advise him myself to take that step as the most likely to secure the peace of Portugal and Spain, and to lead to the overthrow of Buonaparte. In answer to these propositions, I told [Argenton], as to the first, that I should certainly operate upon Soult as soon as I should be ready. In regard to the second, I told him that I could not take any measures to induce the people of Portugal to act as he proposed, without incurring the risk of leading them to believe that I was unworthy of their confidence. He then gave me a good deal of information respecting the strength, the position, and the plans of the enemy, and of the detestation of Soult generally prevailing in the army; all of which was confirmed by Monsieur ___ who came with him; and I sent him back without his having seen any of our troops, or knowing that we had such numbers collected here. I firmly believe what he says respecting the prevailing discontent, and I think it not improbable that ___, and others attached to Buonaparte, aware of it, and apprehensive of its effects, would turn it so far to account of Buonaparte, as to induce the army to seize their General, for being guilty of an ambitious abuse of his authority and disobedience of the orders of the Emperor. And if they are really in a scrape, which I acknowledge I doubt, they would make use of this act, if possible, to induce us to allow them to go away. This is certainly the case if ___, ___, and others of that party knew of [Argenton]’s communications with us, which I cannot find out. Believe me, etc. Arthur Wellesley

So, what can be learned from all this? Mostly, imo, that the idea Soult wanted to make himself king came up some time later than Argenton's conspiracy; during his first interview with Welly, Argenton seems still unaware of it. But by the time he met with Welly again, a second party within Soult's army had become convinced that Soult was up to no good, and felt they had to do something against him.

I really wish we could fill in the suppressed names of the generals. It would be highly interesting to compare them to those that Soult himself suspected.

[notmuchtoconceal]

Cpt. Schreibermachen knew desolation beyond words.

Though it was his occupation, his habit, and ultimately his pleasure to reduce what desolations he was able to the confines of words -- for anything which could be made smaller most often better off was -- some intangible enigmas, those which proved most painful as a consequence of multitudinous intrigues, continued to gnaw at him, resisting the easy characterization which would allow the serrated edges of his perception to pare down what irregularities made for the advancing blight of what tendrils begot always new growth, entwining new and more fruitful deaths, beckoning, in time, revelation and all corresponding upheavals which would disturb what beds you had lain chilly with frost; what lofty now-simply-abstractions you had pinned down, not quite yet ready to vivisect, for the die being rolled, you left all things to chance.

Cpt. Haruspex, it was his pleasure to report -- seldom occupied this category, though he seemed to fight daily for its consideration.

"Were those thoughts of things you cherish most dearly the gloss of a magazine always beckonin," he seemed to state, as he stared at you in mute idiocy, nearly on the verge of drooling. "I would give my heart, my soul, pay any price, lick any dick, to be your most frequent covergirl."

Cpt. Haruspex needn't trouble you, seated across the table -- you having the paper as you breakfast with your brother, neither of which the two of you touch, though the pepper of the sausage and blueberry of the muffins beckons always -- preferring to subsist on the sun, the air, the fresh water, the ink and the pulp for which you rationed only time.

Though you turned the page, and the song of its leaves rolled as waves over rifle fire in your ear, somehow you still heard him. Though he never spoke, never glanced up, simply thumbed his pen on the wood of the table -- tapping his cap on the lattice of its top: vents of chainlink running parallel as spokes from the hubs of wheels of silver lizard scale.

"You like me a lot. Tempestuous as I am beautiful, I am all which the man you profess to love could never be, and so you wear your repulsion of me openly and deign to spurn me, spurning only yourself for you wish to lay encoiled with me arm-in-arm and call me brother. Chastising yourself only for you know in time you will succumb to my sick fancies and find yourself incompatible with who you think you are, unable to recognize any longer which inadequacies you adopted of me, and which were always your own, you so willing and desirous to bare the endowment of all I take of you, reveling in those spaces in which I leave you to fester."

The things he couldn't say -- to which you seemed to give shape and clarity with a panache which needn't be telling, any difficult projections casting only light on smooth, marred surfaces -- simply elevated him, reductions though they were, for he was habitually enlarging himself in whatever confines you put him, as a foam perpetually boiling over.

"Hot pot with me, Joe. Give you a splash as you dunk em in."

Dunk tank goon. He would make an excellent dunk tank goon. The target which would dispatch the lever to send him splashing ought be water-sensitive as the type you'd see in carnival squirt gun games, modified along the duration of a trough where men could shoot of their distillations, flowing down to the basin of the tank proper, filling with the piss in which he would inevitably drop and need to drink himself out.

"We could work so well together. Is it really good for yourself, for me, for our shared brotherhood or the people of our land, if you continue to find me arbitrarily repulsive for no reason other than to suit yer idle fancy?"

There were reasons. Reasons you found men of his ilk tiresome, constraining, obnoxious, the height of tedium. For whatever reason, you couldn't remember what a single one of those reasons were, nor did you wish to. What was the point of remembering the precise reasons for a limitation you felt not at all inclined to humor anymore?

"When you have a girl with me. When you see how you she bows to you, worships you, makes a king of you just by how you show her yer cock, bonds herself and relinquishes all she is just by how you slap her round and stick it in, you'll come to understand ... the needless complications, the byzantine redundancies, what torrid obfuscations of how you mangle your thoughts attempting to circumvent the sublime simplicity of nature. One shape nestles another. One mind consumes another. Why do you resist, Brother Joseph? Why do you deny yourself your right to make a sockpuppet of your brother, feeding his will to suicide by leniency of imitation, stroking him further and further into the torture of his continued and collective lack of true and conspicuous knowing?"

"Why would I make myself blind?"

Putting down his paper, looking up.

He spoke to no one in particular.

"Losing one eye, I gain two. Seeing with three, I am four. Two steps backward, three steps forward, I am always taking one after another."

He sipped his coffee.

At last, he turned to you, his superior always beside him.

"The live televised slaughter in Tiko Tiko Square yesterday afternoon which Cpt. Haruspex streamed and repeated all night long, while engaging casually with those speaking machines which bless him with what sparse literacy he has, in such a manner where he could not help but repeatedly spell out your, I and his complicity in so many subtle tells, what few minds have slipped between the cracks of our ideological ballistics -- the carpet bombings always freshened by the ash of incense -- are surely now compiling the collective dissociations in longform essays to feed the synopsis industry which will surely spell out the ruse with a poignant mania. I have taken the form of nine separate wounded and conspiratorially-minded erotic poets (each with a distinct voice and mythic backstory) and descended to their local haunts to speak their own prosody to them as I pepper in the larvae which will beget the counterpropaganda always stirring; winding winds of doubt fear and disgust around what few scabrous openings to the truth remain that, in time, the inherited sickness will make any righteous man disprove himself, any virtuous ear willingly blighted by deafness."

He took another sip.

"In this morning's paper, the poignancy of which I am now reviewing in solidarity with our proud nation's collective intelligentsia, I have packed into the verve of two paragraphs the collective grief and ire of a people wronged, and to the mass of their wicked hearts, I have thrown the bone they yearn to whittle to a shiv, that they may impale themselves upon it to build -- arrow by flying arrow -- a staircase to our mountain realm of heaven. They require so many, our dear and ravenous dogs. The bones of many men, most preferably the giants among their ranks, on whom were they to stand, would be as ants upon logs. The fear which drives them you could never understand. The fear which drives them defies all reason. Behold the sanctity of nature. Pandemonium is a place on earth. The truth would be less a purging fire urging forth fresh yields than a cataclysm to shroud in blackness the atmosphere for years. How am I to live with myself, know that true and ever-enduring love, seated at the right hand of a beast, feeding sweets to sick dogs who long to die?"

Looking to him, you raised your teacup. He flattered himself your laughter as you stuck out your pinky like a proper lady. He fawned over such dichotomies as the supremacy of tea to coffee for its lower caffeine content which would beget a more serene and meditative idyll.

"Sacrifices," he reminded himself. "Must be gifted as a show of respect."

Cpt. Schreibermachen was still Joey.

Joey was your little brother.

It was not at all obvious to you, the many enduring proofs that Joey was by far your favorite little brother. The ways he was closest to you, and bore most stridently the hardness of your masculine form, polished as his diamond-bright mind whose luster would never dim, and revealed yours always most splendidly. Therefore, most assuredly, it was not at all obvious to anyone else, and none would have the gall to say otherwise.

Brux put his tongue between his lips and blew.

"You decided you were gonna be the one to write all the fake politiks, Joey! You decided you were gonna be the only one to write the fake politiks, now you gotta sit there and enjoy it, it bein your job to write the fake politiks. Write all the fake politiks yourself! You don't need Brux's help writin all the fake politiks. Brux has plenty of great worldbuilding ideas which would make for viable economic systems the state only needs to prop up through taxation and bloodshed. Why are you implying I'm some kind of gold-hoarding, money-grubbing ghoul? I can feel you accusing me of having a big nose not even with your body language, cause you're illiterate in body, which is why you can't fuck your own boyfriend who -- oh wait! Isn't anymore! I can feel my big nose gettin bigger and bigger by the second, and that is all on you! You want me to get down at the bare, dirt-encrusted bubbletoes of St. Sarkeesian and kiss her ankles in puritan scandal! You would be so gauche and pitilessly vile as to suggest I even peel up her frock far enough to expose fatty calf! The nerve of you! Brux is a gentleman and a scholar and a bestselling author and Brux's books would still sell very well, even if he was competing against real literature and didn't just invent a market for his own bullshit! How dare you imply Brux is good at makin people want things they don't want! Everybody needs Brux and nobody wants him cause Brux is a hero and a saint and the only man who's gonna save the world! You're all just so set in your ways, you can't even see the emerging truth right'n front a you!"

Joey, his paper being down at the moment, needed to bare the brunt.

"To be frank, what most delights me about your rhetorical style isn't the clinging to what meager thread of relevance you can pluck out, nor the shambling, barely-upright miasma-headed conclusions in whose stupor we yearn only to fall to our knees and beg for death, no. It's the fascinating glimpses into your sick and soulless sexual imagination which you find always ways to steer into once you've hijacked the topic. Sometimes speaking to you -- or rather, not speaking -- I get some inkling of what it must be like to be a long-haul trucker, staring at the pitiless and winding road for hours as I search for scant voices to remind me in this emptiness into which I am forever driving against the cleave of waters no longer there, that I am far from alone though can only always feel I am, so heavy and far and baring this weight, wide-awake in my stimulant-addled flesh, carcasses of my own making or many years rotting littering the periphery of that blank space which is my only aim."

Brux ... being given a lot, and not able to deduce what was immediately flattering, knowing well that every compliment was a four dimensional chessboard of double-edged swords less a mirror that a cheese-grater, on which he could not see his outers, but peel his innards ... decided it was still in his best interest to take it, all publicity being good.

"Thank you, Joey. I like the breakfasts where we talk."

Joey. His cup was running on empty.

"I can take them or leave them. The impulse in men for surrogate girlfriends reflects some hideous malformation of the spirit."

Joey set his mug down.

Joey stared into Brux's eyes.

Brux, meeting him defiantly, would not look away.

Brux, growing bashful, tried not to look away.

Brux, breathy and girlish, couldn't help but twiddle his thumbs.

"You're a jerk and you're mean," he bravely managed to give it all away at once. "I've decided I actually like it when we don't talk now."

What you most admired about Joey's rhetorical style was how he did multiple semantic twirls, as though a pony performing with a baton, opening gateways through the circles in the air it drew out, of which a stand-up routine of mortifying asides could enter into our world.

Joey was always opening doors and leaving them open.

Joey was always flicking on lights and leaving them on.

One day you noticed Laika had this same tendency, this semantic tic which was a calligraphy of ballistics spelling out smiles in bullet holes, for Laika had seemed to grow as attached to Joey as Joey had to you.

Truthfully, the awareness arose near simultaneously, as though you had been looking away for a moment, and in that freedom from the walled garden of your pitiless gaze, they had each rapidly evolved in isolation.

Turning again, he looked to you.

He was smiling. Still and proud as a sculpture he had carved of himself in molten brass, live before you with his bare hands.

You would look to him. You would receieve him.

You would not fetch a medkit.

Cpt. Haruspex ... in his official capacity as Brux ... needed to act up.

"You know sir, I think any clear-headed and thinking man ... having inspected personally all 70 + of Joey's mythic poet characters can start to find simply hilarious repetitions and redundancies of image and phrasing that you could improvise a bingo board live on the spot with em! I mean, come on, now! Are we really to expect that certain trade schools of aesthetic styles produce such overwhelmingly similar vernacular as to wholly incidentally Praise Ford and Venerate The Assembly Line? (Six and a half years a public schoolin, only book I ever made it all the way through cause it had pure and chaste hairy wildmen, well as frivolous drug-addled Russian goils and embryos under ultraviolet light -- these bein but a few a my favorite things!) Heck, no! We understand our aesthetic trade schools which teach hyper-strident blunt-force approaches to style to make dumb dumb apemen on the GI bill figure out how to prosy-wose are staffed solely by freethinking stylistic and ideological rabble-rousers who fought their way to the top! We should expect far more variance in vocabulary, syntax and overall capacity to process random variables in these sham canonical poets ... by which I mean each requires a radically individuated worldview which functions as the flat prism of a mirror reflecting the totality of its environment back to us as though a petri dish which were properly an encapsulation of the vault of the heavens! I want pages and pages of backstory pretraining to the lives, struggles, techniques, radical innovations, dead ends, quagmires, failures, triumphs and blissful deaths, of all 70 + of these motherfuckers properly bound, laminated and indexed, to really give me and my boys plenty of room to dream by hallucinating death visions in prison walls of verbiage as though asylum inmates in paper-mache straight jackets and piñata walls. Who's gonna be filled with candy? Brux is. Brux is gonna be filled with candy."

You watched. You listened.

You knew what needed to be done.

"He's perfect and amazing and brilliant, sir." Joey said, at last. "I want to marry him. Marry me to Brux right here, right now, and I shall break my fast on his cock live before all our couriers this morning bright."

Brux ... blushed and scurried away.

"Don't do it, sir. I'm not ready to inherit property. Oh God. My countless sham rental venues. There are real people living in them. They don't exist! What the fuck is going on there? How am I making money off this!?"

Joey looked to Brux, his intent the serenity of perpetual fallout.

"I will always be here for you, brother. Meet me in an open field, I will hold your hand. We shall kneel to one another and picnic as proper knights and I will confess my soul's love to you, profess my deepest desirings, and reveal to you the splendor of how you fill what multitude of fancies I conjure within and around you. Beckoning crystal studs from coral branches, you are comely beyond words. Your sexual appeal is a bizarre enigma beckoning me a thousand simultaneous quasi-oblivions as I am stirred to a multitude of pinpricks death-by-death, as if leeched by microtones in vortices of razorblades shearing my heart as the peals of a great ape, orange as a new day, tongues always tapping at three to twirl to a ballet of broken legs the crown of her severed knees, axon laurels of shins and ankles. The unspeakable violence of my yearning desolates me and I am wounded unto nonsense against myself. Why would you awaken the animal in me, yet refuse the courage to tame the beast? I pity you, Cpt. Haruspex. For you fear me, your brother and soul's only love, you despise me through a fetid jocularity of imagined sleight and self-deceit and keep me at a distance to preserve your woundings, for without these scars by which to be a map, you would have no compass, no rose, no reason to pose. You are so meager. You are a toxin. Wretched creature. It drains me to love you. That you are in my heart, I am weaker for it. Were you dead, I would have more strength, perhaps enough even to love the man I profess to love. Beautiful dreams. There are many I find myself too weary every morning to commit to paper, storyteller though I am, archiving experience to preserve their clarity as a gossamer more revealing for what it transpires. Sweet frame of distance beckoning us always further down distant alleys. You are death to me, Cpt. Bruxer Haruspex. You murder me daily. Why do I let you? Why do I not kill you now, slit your throat and eat your flesh as our brother laughs?"

You snorted.

Brux wailed.

"That is not funny."

That is hilarious.

Brux shambled.

"Sir... Sir, you wouldn't really let him eat me?"

That depends. Would you let him eat you?

"What the fuck does that mean? You tellin him if my own brother tried to cook and eat me, you wouldn't break that up? What kind of tyrannical biblical patriarch you is? Why am I out bustin my ass harvestin babydick pinky rings if you ain't gonna protect me gainst dual fraternal murder cannibalism and also, definitely yes, anal rape while still alive!"

You wanna let him eat you, no force on earth can stop it, buddy.

"I don't want him to eat me!"

Really sounds (por mi) like you wanna let him eat you.

"He's putting a bib around my neck as he waltzes about in the buff, splashing himself with butter and spices, grilling himself openly as if to invite the probings of my nostrils with his savory!"

Brux wanted Joey to eat him so fucking bad.

"No, no!"

"You heard him say it."

It's canonical now.

"It hath been declared."

"You monsters... you can't just declare things like that!"

"I, in my official capacity as Joey," Cpt. Schreibermachen declared, "that though Brux is properly of the neuter gender, it is correct to refer to her with female pronouns, she being a right proper cunt."

"Um... Brother Joseph, I confided that to you in the strictest confidence."

Cpt. Schreibermachen hath made a public record of Cpt. Haruspex's gender, and in doing so, clarified it for future annotation.

"My gender is not a thing to be tabulated by passing trends!"

You had known seasons, where Brux was sultriest of the heavy metal ladyboys, letting his hair grow long as his arms grew buff.

"Stop it, that was decades ago. In my mind, the aughts became the naughts when the spades became jades and I could tell no longer the Yaps from the Jyds all thins lookin beige the rage whenever we took to the stage. Why did I toss away my heart to stay but a passing gleam in the eyes of a stranger? Why would I think myself worth less than nothing, needing but a quaker to oat the feedbag of a neigh-sayer's nuzzle?"

Joey paused ... successfully unable to tabulate the meaning of Cpt. Haruspex's words in a way he couldn't immediately dismiss as nonsensical, for despite the clear obfuscation there seemed some poignant hinting, one perhaps even beyond his own compliance.

"Brux is a stupid idiot moron. Brux likes to sniff Joey's jock."

Brux snorted.

Brux snorted hard.

"How did you know!"

All occurrences before you, begotten of rational consequence.

"I am always making myself known," he admitted.

"I dream of you, Joey," Cpt. Haruspex confessed eagerly. "I dream of you taking me down by the sea, your manor the only home I have, I sweet orphan begotten of past obsession, lone wolf sired by a brood of ticks, I clean as a woodlouse always whitwashed, prim and proper lady that I am. I can't commit to words the passions you stir in me. I don't know how to deal with it. You bein such a gentleman, such a scholar and a beast. I despise you. I detest your valor, your sincerity, your freedom of thought, of expression, your sharp and angular brain, your barbarian heart. I detest how you are strong of body and bountiful of mind, so brave and unbounded by arbitrary convention. In the limitless summers I dream of you holding me and leading me by the hand, I know I am always safe and I wish to cry, I knowing in you a home I have never known. I can't say with words how much I love you, Joey. I am sick. I am leprous with envy, poisonous of how desirous of you I am. My needy, blighting love could only be the death of you, and I have no right to use that word. Abandon me, Joey. You have to throw me in the trash where I belong. It's the only way you can respect yourself as a man, the only way you can prove to your ever-observant soul that you's a bein borne a character."

"I wish myself presently..." Joey decided, "To make myself unknown."

Brux ... rotated counterclockwise.

"My spine, my spine!"

Joey had taken Brux to the tabletop. Around his head, the crook of his elbow crushed him in suffocation, descending down his face, a rolling pin in a harmony of notes ringing out in creaking leather. Flattening him down to dough, he rested there, cap-off beside his plate unruffled, in a headlock as he looked up at you swollen and helpless, Joey smiling as he pried his legs apart with his ankles and pinned him by the arches of his calves.

"His belly is open, sir. You could slit him right now like a pig. Fry up some sausage right quick, the two of us, sir. Breaking our fast man to man on the first of the morning's hunt, our sun growing only brighter as it rises!"

Joey was making you hungry. You confessed, however, thrilling as the notion would be, were you to eat, there existed already plenty of food in front of you. Certainly, it would be a waste, not only an insult to the chefs, but needlessly time-consuming to slaughter and prepare a fresh carcass for a meal already in progress, verging in fact on conclusion?

"Don't... don't let him kill me!"

"Fresh sausage, sir. Steaming in the morning sun."

Your stomach was grumbling.

That fuckin Joey kid was a bastard sometimes.

Musta learned it from his bitch cunt of a mother.

Joey exhaled.

A baleful expression came about, heavy as a metal shroud.

He dropped the butterknife from Brux's throat.

"Well, I seem to have lost my appetite, how about you?"

You tsk-chortled.

It elevated in pitch to a belly-laugh as you turned away.

"Sir ... !"

Being around him effortlessly elevated you to unprecedented new vistas of condescension. Kid needed to be fuckin experienced.

"Sir, you're my best friend, sir!"

Brux sobbed and buried his face in a Long John.

" ... I knew you wouldn't let him kill me!"

Looking up to you, the glaze smeared his face in the morning sun.

A fine day, it most certainly was.

"A fine, hearty breakfast we've certainly had!"

[deepcoraldragon]

(Reluctant) Hybrid Consultant

🛡️ Techno-centric, SMP Earth AU

🛡️ Summary

The world is at war. The feared Antarctic Empire, with none other than the Angel of Death at its head, is conquering all known lands. But instead of ruins and famine, what they leave behind are strict rules against the discrimination and mistreatment of hybrids. Their campaign seems unstoppable. But then, the youngest prince falls ill. Little is known about Nether hybrids, and before the healers’ helplessness, Philza and Wilbur find a different solution: Yoink the only other known piglin hybrid, enemy general Technoblade.

🛡️ Content warning: Fear of torture (unfounded), fantasy discrimination, captivity, nondescript illness

🛡️ Ennemies to family

🛡️ Angst with a happy ending

Read on AO3!

.

Chapter one: A new Dawn

General Technoblade, of the SMP army, was a walking contradiction.

Well, right now, he was arguably a standing contradiction. Considering he was stood a little way outside of the camp, admiring the sunrise.

Sunrises and sunsets ranked high on Techno’s list of Things that Made the Overworld Worth It. The sun, potatoes, dogs, fresh rivers, shaded forests, and horses. So, not only was General Technoblade a contraction by being the only known piglin hybrid to have the misfortune of being stuck in the Overworld, he was also almost certainly the only general to enjoy potatoes and dogs more than battle strategy and warfare.

Though he was mostly known for the first reason. Being the only hybrid of his kind was a significant affair, after all (and there wasn’t really anyone to ask about his love of the sunrise). A fact people seemed way too eager to remark loudly and tactlessly, while also being completely unwilling to discuss the reason why this was so, at least in his presence.

All the other piglin hybrids had been killed.

Which brought us to yet another fact that made General Technoblade the contradiction that he was. In the kingdom of SMP, as in many of the surrounding ones, hybrids were not allowed to partake in most professions. And if that included working at a coffee shop or owning farmland, you can bet being an army general was out of the question.

Or would have been out of the question, hadn’t it been for the Antarctic Empire.

At first, the forces from the South had taken everyone by surprise. While great travelers, and therefore travelers’ tales, were rare in this dangerous world, everyone was vaguely sure there wasn’t much of anything, down there. Wasn’t it? A few villages, poorly subsisting on their rocky, frozen ground.

The news of the fall of Katla shook everyone.

An army had risen out of nowhere, taking control of the volcanic kingdom in one fell swoop. The commotion surrounding this story would’ve certainly died down if, like everyone expected, the neighboring nations had retaliated appropriately, putting this new nation back in its place.

But they kept advancing.

And as their victories piled up, one fact became impossible to sweep under the rug: the new empire had a hybrid at its head. An Elytrian.

The Angel of Death, as he was named, could be seen flying far overhead from settlements hours before battle, his dark shadow like a curse on the life of anyone threatening his advance. His right-hand man, on the contrary, was never seen coming. Leaving behind nothing but blue stains and stab wounds on cold bodies.

Subtly, Techno raised his eyes from the East and checked his surroundings. No one. Just trampled grass and the blue of the sky, getting lighter.

Read the rest on AO3 <3

[tribbetherium]

another clump of asks

Perhaps. After all, despite their biology, despite their psychology, despite their societal factors surrounding their concept of morality, a sapient being is still able to make a choice.

Perhaps there were a few who ran off into the wilds when eschewed for their lack of mercilessness. Perhaps a number were kinder than most, and did not live long because of it. Perhaps there was a leader who protected their tribe even if only initially for pragmatic reasons. Perhaps some felt love and attraction but could only express it in aggressive and vicious ways, unable to percieve gentleness. And maybe the short span of time the mother rears her young was itself some primal, vestigial form of love and compassion.

Partly the work of their aggressive swarming fast-breeding evolutionary history tainting their base instincts, partly the result of a twisted morality that saw the amoral, unfair ruthlessness of wild nature and normalized it as the inherent order of the world, and partly the result of a society that held individual lives as insignificant and glorified war and conquest and ruled through fear and violence, the harmsters were shaped by forces, both out of their control and within their control, into the menace that razed the planet for five brief millennia. But even in the mass of thorns that was the harmster species, a few gems may have sparkled briefly only to be choked by the oppression of their short-lived and cruel society.

And in the end, the plague would claim them all the same.

I would suppose so: though foregut fermenters with multiple chambered stomachs (ruminants like cows) seem to be more efficient at processing cellulose, hindgut fermenters are better at getting more nutrition out of relatively smaller quantities of low-quality food and thus have a leg up over ruminant foregut fermenters which specialize on efficiency rather than on bulk (hindgut fermenters process plants less efficiently than foregut fermenters, but in turn are able to process more and faster and thus compensate for the quality with quantity.)

Bulk-feeders that feed constantly on large quantities of food (the mison and hammoths, the thorhorns and the piggalo) are likely better being hindgut fermenters, while those that process tough vegetation (most of the smaller ungulopes, the rabbeasts, the big oof), are more suited as foregut fermenters.

More of sudden flashes of inspiration such as snapping awake at 2AM thinking "WHAT IF SQUIDS BECAME FROGS EXCEPT THEY WERE ACTUALLY SNAILS".

Technically no. It's still biologically an animal, and obligate carnivores can subsist off of it, leading to specialized "carnivore grazers" in the sub-Arcuterran cavern system, and its surface ancestor the shroomor is an occasional opportunistic snack for surface dwelling carnivores as they are uninfectious to non-podothere species, and to those podothere carnivores, symptoms are generally no worse than a few harmless warts, with only rare isolated cases of it becoming harmful when individuals are immunocompromised (or alternatively, have an overactive immune system that can lead to an allergic reaction).

A fair bit simpler, as they started out from snails, which are markedly less neurologically advanced than cephalopods. That said, the skwoids have since advanced beyond the typical gastropod brain over the millions of years, with most pelagic species being at least at par with the typical bony fish, and the reef-dwelling species more complex as to better navigate their surroundings and exploit food more food sources, and generally trend toward smarter when there is much competition.

They could potentially also become nocturnal, after all there's plenty of niches for small generalized insectivore that many unrelated lineages have exploited. Whether their bizarre biology, shaped to handle an extreme isolated world, will prove to be an asset or a hindrance on the world above remains to be seen.

[beguines]

Mainstream economics treats the market as an institution providing individuals with opportunities; a view corresponding to what Wood and Brenner refer to as the commercialisation model of the historical origins of capitalism. According to this narrative, the emergence of capitalism appears as "a maturation of age-old commercial practices (together with technical advances) and their liberation from political and cultural constraints", as Wood puts it. Supposedly, if only people are allowed to exchange freely, a market economy will automatically arise. This is the view Marx resolutely breaks with in the sections on the "so-called primitive accumulation" in Capital. Here Marx demonstrates—against "the tender annals of political economy, [where] the idyllic reigns from time immemorial"—that "in actual history, it is a notorious fact that conquest, enslavement, robbery, murder, briefly, violence [Gewalt], play the greatest part". This violence was necessary in order to deprive peasants of the possibility to reproduce themselves outside of the market. In other words, market dependence had to be created, since peasants generally did what they could to avoid relying too much on the market. Rather than producing exclusively for the market, they preferred to produce for subsistence.

Producing for the market required specialisation in order to remain competitive, and because of the unpredictable nature of agricultural production, amongst other factors, specialisation meant vulnerability. As Brenner explains: "[g]iven the uncertainty of the harvest and the unacceptable cost of 'business failure'— namely the possibility of starvation—peasants could not afford to adopt maximising exchange value via specialization as their rule of reproduction and adopted instead the rule of 'safety first' or 'produce for subsistence'". Producing exclusively for the market also conflicted with the dominant family structures in the early modern period, where large families were necessary in order to "secure insurance against illness and old age in a society in which there was no institution upon which they could rely outside the family". Peasants thus had good reasons to resist becoming market dependent, and this was exactly what they did. Even the dispossession of peasants was not enough, however, to secure a steady flow of exploitable labour-power into the market. Instead of selling their ability to work, the propertyless were, in Marx's words, "more inclined to become vagabonds and robbers and beggars'. "In the 16th and 17th centuries, the hatred of wage-labor was", as Silvia Federici explains, "so intense that many proletarians preferred to risk the gallows". The state therefore had to step in and introduce draconian punishment of beggars, vagabonds and others who refused to work. Here is Marx's summary: "Thus were the agricultural folk first forcibly expropriated from the soil, driven from their homes, turned into vagabonds, and then whipped, branded and tortured by grotesquely terroristic laws accepting the discipline necessary for the system of wage-labour". It was not only those needed for wage labour who were violently forced to adapt to capitalist production, however. A "true war against women" also had to be undertaken in order to force them to accept the capitalist separation of the production of commodities and reproduction of labour-power, a separation in which women were assigned to the domestic sphere and the "double dependence" upon capital through the male wage.

The historical analysis of the origin of capitalism demonstrates that the latter was not a result of the voluntary acts of individuals. Capitalism did not emerge because human nature was finally allowed to unfold its "propensity to truck, barter, and exchange one thing for another", as Adam Smith put it, but rather because some people violently forced other people to become dependent on markets. The analysis of the reproduction of capitalism demonstrates, as we will see, that once capitalism has been established, it systematically prevents individuals from opting out of it.

Søren Mau, Mute Compulsion: A Theory of the Economic Power of Capital

[newtonian-tragedy]

A 500-word prompt of Newton making a callout post on Robert Hooke, with avian metaphors as the theme. It felt genuinely mean-spirited, but I wanted to explore more of Newton's shit-talking behind his rival's back, and just how much projection was evident in his rantings against his colleagues in general.

"Standing proudly among the menagerie of Fellows of the Royal Society is one who, in his own estimation, fancies himself the very paragon of intellect and innovation. I speak, of course, of none other than the Curator of Experiments himself.  

Mr. Hooke would have us believe that he, like the glorious peacock, stands apart from the mundane, gracing us mere mortals with the opulence of his thoughts and the radiant plumage of his assertions.  

Indeed, he does preen and strut about, flaunting his colorful tail feathers, each eye symbolizing one of countless notions and pursuits over which he jealously asserts priority, despite the often mediocre—if any—results produced for his experimental efforts. An ostentatious display, in other words, which serves no purpose beyond enticing a captive audience with boasts of lofty proposals for the advancement of mankind, while delivering nothing but trifling scientific demonstrations and unfulfilled promises. 

And yet, beneath this splendid façade is a man who is anything but noble. For Mr. Hooke, while attempting (rather poorly, might I add) to conceal his mathematical ineptitude, absolves himself of the drudgery of calculations and formulae by way of using his preoccupation with other projects as an excuse. His disdain for those who possess the means to perform calculations is evident in his rather presumptuous habit of correcting and criticizing what he himself is incapable of comprehending, and it is clear to me that he regards mathematics as an occupation unworthy of his esteem, excepting, of course, on such occasions as he sees fit to further his career; an aim that is accomplished whereby both academic rank and glib-tongued flattery come into play, in order to cajole an unsuspecting victim into surrendering some vital tidbit of information, the credit for whose inspiration Mr. Hooke will then proceed to shamelessly flaunt as his own.  

On the contrary, far from the grandeur and distinguishedness that define the peacock, I find the underhanded and opportunistic nature of a carrion bird to be far more befitting of Mr. Hooke’s character. Like the abhorrent vulture, Mr. Hooke does nothing but scavenge the hunting grounds of natural philosophy, eager to swoop down at the first sign of another's hard-earned spoils, to snatch up with his talons and present them as trophies of his own. Of this I must inquire: If none have soared higher among the heavens of truth than he, then for what reason is he all too satisfied with remaining tethered to the ground, subsisting upon the detritus left behind by more diligent minds? 

Instead of tending to a nest of hatching eggs that are fertile with the abundant promise of progress, Mr. Hooke is content to remain as the caretaker of a graveyard, where ideas are greedily horded, only to stagnate, languishing like a scattered pile of decaying bones. 

And lastly, let us not forget that even the Lord Himself has seen fit to fashion Mr. Hooke’s outward appearance into a perfect reflection of his own soul—a stooped and twisted creature, dwarfish and unimposing."  

[soulsinnerstatues]

All things that exist are offspring of the gods, are brought into existence without intermediation by them and have their foundation in them. For not only does the continuous procession of entities reach completion, as each of them successively obtains its subsistence from its proximate causes, but it is also from the very gods themselves that all things in a sense are generated, even if they are described as being at the furthest remove from the gods, [indeed] even if you were to speak of matter (hulê) itself. For the divine does not stand aloof from anything, but is present for all things alike.

For this reason, even if you take the lowest levels [of reality], there too you will find the divine present. The One is in fact everywhere present, inasmuch as each of the beings derives its existence from the gods, and even though they proceed forth from the gods, they have not gone out from them but rather are rooted in them. Where, indeed, could they ‘go out’, when the gods have embraced all things and taken hold of them in advance and still retain them in themselves?

For what is beyond the gods is that which is in no way existent, but all beings have been embraced in a circle by the gods and exist in them. In a wonderful way, therefore, all things both have and have not proceeded forth. They have not been cut off from the gods. If they had been cut off, they would not even exist, because all the offspring, once they were wrenched away from their fathers, would immediately hasten towards the gaping void of non-being. In fact they are somehow established in them [the gods], and, to put the matter in a nutshell, they have proceeded of their own accord, but [at the same time] they remain in the gods.

Proclus, Timaeus commentary

[31st3rd30th]

I have different personalities and identities idc. I used to be so hidden about this part of myself because I thought everyone lived in this world of being one person. That they all had who they are and they acted the same way but I was literally always changing. Like I had "modes" and different genders of myself. And not like systems or whatever the fuck it's called now, it just like a private play where I pretend to be something but it's really me because I'm playing the role as if I'm there.. like a part of me is this thing I'm trying to portray just a slight tweak or a change or a complete upheaval of myself and an opposite game.

And I find it interesting to see how kids these days internalize and externalize themselves through tiktok and social media. But for me it's always been this private world, and I like it for the most part.

Connected to that, I'm very anti-technology. Even though I grew up with an extensive access to Tumblr and the internet from 12 and up, I feel like my worldview was wrongfully shaped. From like before 12, there was a mystical sense of the world where I would literally run around and do whatever I wanted- I'd write or think or draw or sing and there wasn't a drop of ideological or societal rendering in that. Now, I feel like everything is about ideology. Everything is a form or message that pushes an agenda when creation of something at it's core should be a melding thought baby. There isn't anything under the sun that hasn't already been thought or done or performed, but I believe the reason why people are so different, is this individual output of your voice. You have a voice that is so specific to your experiences and world. Nothing is ever done the same at any point despite it being already being done. No story is ever told the same way despite it being told over and over again. Therefore, do it. Is what I think.

I can't hate tiktok or Tumblr or Instagram but I find that sometimes ideas and propaganda is pushed too readily and people are easy to fall into it believing they're participating and creating change when it's just falsified rage at the wrong thing.

But also it's about money, capitalism and power, but at its root, its capitalism and perceived value of things. It's strange. Like the more I'm learning about Marxism and Marxist ideas, okay we get it communism, socialism but when you look at capitalism, it's sort of a disease to art and creation. It accelerates the process of art and commodifies it into just an idea when art is representative of our soul and interactions - experiences and life is created into how much value we can accumulate or create through expression of ourselves. But it's wrongful and diseased. Nothing great comes from money but rather from the possessed spirit of art. Of the need to create. It should never be subsisted from money.

"Am I getting paid?" No. You're not. You will never get paid. You will never get paid anything. The world exists in creation but it doesn't run on money. So to live the best life, create and live in your own world. There's no suffering in a world where you live your truth rather than chasing monetary value. I believe this without a doubt FORRREALL. Even if people make the argument of those starving and suffering - it's because of capitalism. It's because of perceived view of value. If things were shared and communal and equal, it'd be possible to create advancements in society, but rather it's a hoarding of resources for like 3 people. It's insane to think of how things exist and how we fall into the trick of assuming that "Thats just the way it is."

In the end though, I realize that there's not much to do about the outside world. That things will move against or with you, and you have no control of things. But there is the spirit inside that calls you to something and I believe that. That spirituality and feeling of feelings is the only thing that should not be suppressed no matter how primitive, savage, revealing, dispelling, terrifying etc. That's where real humanity lies is the ability to feel without thinking of the consequences or monetization of it.

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 175

Wujud (Finding and Existence): Part1

Wujud (finding and existence) is not what is meant in Qur’anic statements like the following: They assuredly find that God is One Who truly returns the repentance of His servants with acceptance and extra reward, and All-Compassionate (especially toward His believing servants) (4:64); He will find God All-Forgiving, All Compassionate (especially towards His servants who seek forgiveness for their evils and sins) (4:110); and In the end he will find God and meet with Him, and He will pay him his account in full (24:39). These are, respectively, more concerned with how those who have sinned or lapsed somewhat into deviations on the way, beg God for forgiveness, and how the unbelievers will find God or how God will treat them. Rather, finding and existence denote the finding of Him with His truth beyond all concepts of modality, as referred to in, O son of Adam, seek Me that you may find Me, and some allegorical sayings of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings. When travelers to the Truth attain this rank of finding, they feel and achieve a state of melting away in the presence of the manifestations of His “Face,” with nothing being left behind except that state and the pleasure it gives. One who starts with this belief and advances toward knowledge and love of God is called “an initiate.” Such initiates continue their journey by understanding the language of His signs in the outer and in their inner world and by feeling that their witnessing of Him is that of “a seeking one.” Finally, when they have reached the ultimate point where they have found the truth in their consciousness according to the capacity of that consciousness, beyond all concepts of time, space and matter, each becomes the “one who has found.” The beginning of this journey demands belief and perfect resolution, and its continuance requires being driven and led, and reaching the end according to the capacity of each, melting away and total annihilation in the face of the rays of the Realm of the Holy Presence. This final point in no way denotes incarnation or union (with God) or God’s taking on a corporeal body or His being transformed into another being. It only denotes the state and pleasure of feeling as a drop in relation to the ocean and as a particle in relation to the sun. Abu’l Hasan al-Nuri expresses the state of those who have reached this point vividly: “I have been going to and fro between finding and losing for twenty years. When I enjoy meeting with my Lord Whose Essence is unknown, I lose my heart; and when I feel my existence in heart, I then suffer a loss of Him.”

Certainly, it is not possible for those who are still at the beginning of the way to feel the state described by al-Nuri. For this state, which is frequently felt and frequently disappears, resembles the state of a diver who feels the water when diving into it, and lets the water pull him or her deeper, and who feels only the water when he or she becomes “lost” in the depths. If such a feeling that appears on the way to reaching the truth of something is based on the knowing of the heart or consciousness, it is the culture of consciousness or cognizance in consciousness. If it is of the kind obtained with vision or insight, then it is sight. If travelers are in constant pursuit of increasing research, analysis, and synthesis, then the result is spiritual discovery and vision. Finally if they see everything annihilated in God, then their state is annihilation in God and subsistence with God, and they feel no need whatsoever for anybody else save Him.

At the beginning or in the first stage of the journey, travelers are saved from all doubts and hesitations and attain in their consciousness such a degree of knowledge of God that they no longer need deductive or inductive reasoning in the name of “finding,” even though they sometimes refer to things and events when expressing the truth. Based on a knowledge that comes directly from the Divine Presence to aid finding, they rise to the horizon of knowledge of God they inwardly experience, and this knowing is above the kind of knowledge acquired by rational arguments and the observation of His “material” witnesses in the universe.

In the second stage, travelers reach the point where they feel and have the vision of the Eternally Existent One, which is in effect knowing Him with a knowledge based on spiritual observation of Him, without restricting Him with such considerations as body, substance, matter, time and space.

In the third stage, which marks almost the end point of the journey, travelers are in a state of experiencing the Truly Existent One without seeing any other existents save Him, and they attain annihilation in Him in their world of feelings.

This systematization of the journey is based on the assertion that spiritual knowledge of God is higher in value than the knowledge acquired through scientific or rational arguments, and that the spiritual vision of God is above the spiritual knowledge of Him, and that finding Him in self-annihilation in Him is more valuable than the spiritual vision of Him. However, this needs to be revised according to those who see the vision beyond finding.

There is another consideration based on the concentration of the Divine Existence only. This consideration, which has been called the Unity of Being, is sometimes reduced to a mere philosophical view, although it arises from a spiritually experienced state. It will be useful to give some information about it here.

[footballfan38]

Knowledge 토큰하이로우분석법 of sports betting

Gambling is a means of 토큰하이로우분석법 공유 subsistence for millions of people around the world. For the simple reason that music makes them happy, many people are devoted fans. One of the most popular forms of gambling is wagering at sporting events. When it comes to sports, what exactly is a wager? It’s a process that entails wagering on several different popular sporting events.

Picking the best athlete in a given sport and placing a bet on them is an excellent method to take a chance with your money. Instead of going to a casino or a secret card room, you should attempt sports betting.

Bets on sporting events are legal in a lot of different places. If you want to give it a shot, you should know the odds. Consider the stakes at all times. If you don’t know what you’re doing, gambling is never a wise decision.

There are probabilities attached to every sporting occurrence. Depending on the betting lines, the team or player you’re rooting for could be the underdog or the crowd favorite. In most cases, this is the maximum amount you can win by placing the specified wager.

If you want to know the odds of something happening, all you have to do is look at the probability of that thing happening. Ratios and percentages are common ways to express them. Tossing a coin is a simple example of this.  sportsbogi

If you flip a coin, you have an equal probability of getting heads as you have 온라인 토큰하이로우분석법 getting tails. A pregnant woman’s unborn kid is another example. A woman who is expecting can expect either a boy or a girl to be born. Each of them is a possible outcome, and when added together, they always add up to 100%.

There is a growing need for sports betting as the popularity of a wide variety of sports continues to rise. Best of all kinds conform to these specifications.

This class includes wagers on the proposition, the parlay, the run line, the puck line, the goal line, and the future. In the context of gambling, “proposition bets” are betting on the results of specific games. A run line bet is a wager in which the spread is a defined number of points, with the favorite receiving a higher payout and the underdog receiving a lower one.

Future bets are wagers put on prospective sporting events, while parlay bets include combining numerous bets. The amount of money wagered on sports is often proportional to the level of interest in that sport. Therefore, you should always bet on the sport that marks the pinnacle of the season.

The Importance 실시간 토큰하이로우분석법 of Realizing How Sports Betting Works

As the internet and IT have advanced, so too has the popularity of online sports betting. Online gaming betting necessitates a computer with internet connectivity. To get started with your online sports betting, you can even rent a computer with an active internet connection.

Doing so is a breeze, like eating a piece of cake. You may use it to bet on sports online and gain money, whether you choose to wager on individual games or rely on statistics. However, you will need to be of legal age to complete this.

Most sports are fair game for wagering on the internet. Motor racing, baseball games, sports events, sports events, and tennis matches are just some of the sports that welcome wagers over the internet. Most online sportsbooks would cover these kinds of events. They can be found easily on the internet.

Sports betting provides a tremendous amount of entertainment. You should know 안전한 토큰하이로우분석법 that having fun isn’t the only thing to keep you from becoming addicted to gambling. Keep a healthy supply of cash on hand to use for wagering purposes. If you don’t have the financial means to do so, avoid making any online wagers. Think about this before every online bet you make.

Gambling online is risk-free if you can afford to lose it. In this precarious situation, all we ask is that you exercise caution. If you bet more than you can afford to lose, you could end up without enough money for food or drink. Taking such a risk is quite unwise. While engaging in such online betting can be fun, developing a dependency on it is not a joke and is a serious issue. Problem gamblers should get help immediately since they risk losing everything if they don’t.

You can use a sports betting system to increase your odds of winning by 97%!

Sports betting is gaining popularity due to the high 검증된 토큰하이로우분석법 potential earnings. There is a large selection of sports and other events on which you can place wagers. With the advent of the World Wide Web, 토토사이트추천 betting has become much easier. One option is to utilize the systems offered by several online sportsbooks as a starting point. These methods, which are based on statistical data, were developed by experts to help you make informed wagers. Gambling can be done in any sport, any team, and any event.

Before employing a sports betting method, make sure it was developed by a trustworthy company. Developing reliable sports betting systems requires the developer to get a degree in the appropriate field from an accredited institution. The developer needs an understanding of the system’s needs.

You may also gauge the system’s success by seeing how many wagers the creator has personally won. In a similar vein, feedback from customers and other sources can be instructive. A system’s success with its target audience can be inferred by analyzing its income stream. It’s possible to find a sports betting strategy that will increase your chances of winning by as much as 97%.

Having some background information is recommended even if you want to apply a betting strategy when placing wagers on sporting events. Sports enthusiasts have access to a variety of resources where they can get tips, suggestions, and picks for their next wager. Bets should only be made after 최상위 토큰하이로우분석법 thorough research and familiarity with the sport. It will take a long time and you will never know everything there is to know about any sport. Consequently, it is suggested that all beginners employ betting tactics to their advantage to quickly gain financial independence. Learning the ins and outs of the game through researching the positions of games and player strategies will equip you to make educated wagers once you’ve received training and completed your homework.