#quoting ANOTHER GERMAN MAN WHO LEFT ME

[suckmyarschkarte]

we have to remember these days

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Never felt so...

John Egan X Reader

Summary: John's letter to his girlfriend...

Warning: Sad/ talk about death/ kissing./ crying/

Word count: 800 words.

Dear Y/n,

My darling I miss you so much, I’ve been in this camp for so long now, I’ve lost track of time. Recently, I’ve been thinking about my life a lot. That German officer said something that got stuck in my mind. He said that you’re going to remember the last time you’ve never felt so, and he got cut off by a gun shot. I’ve been thinking about the time I never felt so loved in my life. A moment comes to my mind, it was the night before I got shipped away. We danced together all night and the way you looked at me is still stuck in my mind. I think about it constantly. That’s the night I knew that all the love songs were about you. It’s true what they say: Distance makes you love harder. Because I love you so much. You will forever be my always. When I think about that night, I know that I’ve never felt so loved.

Yours, Bucky.

-

His cheeks were hurting from smiling this much. Dancing with her was the best thing in the hole world. She was beautiful, like art. Her laugh filled his ears, it was the best sound he ever heard. ‘’I’ll miss you so much’’ she whispered in his ear. He trapped her in a hug as they looked around the room, they were the last one, the band were the only people left in the room. ‘’Why are you whispering, darling?’’ he asked her. ‘’Because I’m afraid that if I speak too loudly, you’ll forget what I said. You tend to listen more when I whisper’’ she smiles. John smiled even more. ‘’John, like breathing, loving you is the most natural feeling I’ve ever known. You’re my person’’ she said against his lips. When their lips touched, it felt like home. Their soul found their home. John Egan never loved anyone more than he loved her, and he’d never felt so loved before.

Dear Y/n,

I just had another moment thinking about the quote from the German prick. It was when I learned that Buck ‘died’ in that moment, in that red cabin in London, I’ve never felt so low. You know what he means to me, but to learn that he went down was a punch to the stomach. We thought we were invincible, so to know that he went down was like watching the superhero lose a fight. So that’s the moment where, I’ve never felt so low. I love you my dear.

Yours, Bucky.

-

All alone in that telephone box, breathing the pain away. His brain couldn’t understand what just happened. How could Gale Cleven go down? It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. It was a trick to get him back on the base. Buck was alive, he was going to be waiting for him at the base. His brain couldn’t function properly, John didn’t want to believe the fact that his best friend was dead. He was in pure denial, he can’t die. Bucky felt like he was being punched in the stomach, he was out of breath. All of his happy thoughts with his friend went through his mind. He couldn’t be dead, but is he was the Germans were going to regret it. He never felt so low before.

Dear Y/n,

I’m sorry that this paper is filled with tears. I’m so alone. I never felt so alone. I don’t even know if this letter will come to you. I’m currently in a German prison, I got captured and I’m alone in my cell. I’m alone. I’m going crazy, I’ve been gone for far too long, I forgot the sound of your voice. I’m crying because I’m tired, because I miss you, because my best friend is dead and I’m crying because I’m alone. I don’t know who I’m going to be when I come home, but I’m not going to be the man you knew. All alone, in this cell, I don’t know how long I can hold on, I’ll fight for you; to get back to you. But it’s so hard… I’ve never felt so alone…

-

He’d been crying for a while. The letter was in his coat pocket, he wanted to send it to her, but he didn’t know when. Looking around, he noticed the drawings on the walls. All the men that were there before him had draw on the wall, so he decided to do the same, he took out his pocketknife and started to draw on the wall. He drew two people hugging each other, he drew inside one of the people. For him, it was Y/n and him. When he finished, he looked at his art, crying again. He’d never felt so…

[live-love-be-unique]

I Am No Bird; And No Net Ensnares Me

Summary: Ghost finds himself starting an informal book club with the newest addition to the taskforce.

#22. Ghost and Reader are in a book club for @glitterypirateduck Ghost Challenge.

Parings: Ghost x f reader

Warnings: angst, death and an unconfessed love

You’d been reading your book, when you looked up noticing him staring “you can borrow it if you want? Price says we’ll be sitting tight for a while”

You weren’t kidding, three days later and the exfil still hadn’t shown up. Ghost devoured your book in the meantime, it was actually pretty good, a story about two sisters that had been separated during German-occupied, war-torn France. A little too heartbreaking for his liking but still a good read. One quote amongst the many you had underlined in gray lead pencil had stuck with him: “if I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are."

Days later you’d been sitting on the break room sofa, talking with another female soldier and as he passed he dropped a novel onto your lap. Not a fiction story like you preferred, this one was a memoir of a retired Navy SEAL who was also a Guinness world record holder and an ultramarathon runner. He’d met the man once, respected the hell out of him, for an American. “Thought you’d enjoy this” he offered to your questioning glance as he passed.

It quickly become a habit between the two of you, packing a novel in amongst your supplies for missions to swap during to periods of waiting. Almost like a little unofficial book club. Sometimes, you’d find yourselves together in the break room decompressing after a long mission discussing the books you’d read over cups of tea. He’d learnt you preferred fantasy, dark romance and mystery while he enjoyed thriller, true crime and the odd biography.

He also learnt that you weren’t above the odd prank either, during one particular downtime, he was reading the book you’d brought along and, as he was invested in a pretty graphic sex scene involving a gun, Soap had spotted the book’s title, it also didn’t help that he had been imagining it was you underneath him in that same position. Once Gaz had caught onto what was happening he knew he’d been hearing about it for weeks. He caught sight of you giggling away behind his copy of the historical non-fiction he’d lent you about America's first considered serial killer.

He retaliated by bringing what he imagined you’d think was the most boring book in his collection, all 411 pages of a nautical historical fiction about a young naval lieutenant newly promoted to master and commander. He was right, you’d read the entire thing, under sufferance of course.

He found himself watching you as you read, the way you chewed on your lip as you concentrated, the way you smiled when you read something you enjoyed and frowned when you didn’t. He even learned to love the little notes and quips you left in the margins of his books when at first it annoyed him. He’d watch you, hoping to catch you glancing over at him, above the pages of your book, sending a soft smile his way.

The last mission had been a mistake, anything that could have gone wrong did, and you had born the brunt of it. You’d been raced to the medbay unconscious and barely breathing, they’d had to intubate you immediately and had moved you to a hospital off base for treatment. He hadn’t left your side since.

He spent his time devouring any medical textbooks he could find on your condition, so much so that Gaz was convinced, if allowed, he could perform your surgery.

Price had visited a few days later, citing mission reports as the reason for his delay, bringing with him a box of your belongings, “some comforts from home” he’d muttered. At the bottom of the box, buried underneath a well-worn sweatshirt and a teddy bear that was signed by friends and family from back home, his hands brushed against a small paperback.

The cover was tattered and pages dogeared and a little note on the inside cover from someone he could only guess at being your grandmother telling you how this was her favorite story as a young girl and how she hopes you love it as much as she did. It was clear that you loved it as much as she had hoped as his eyes trailed over sections you had underlined and the little notations you’d made in the margins, it was like a window into your soul as he found the first page a started to read aloud to you in that quite hospital room.

“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.” His voice thick with exhaustion and emotion as he read. He read to you throughout the night and into the next day.

Your heart monitor flatlined just as the story ended and Jane and Mr Rochester were reunited. Even though the doctors and nurses said you probably hadn’t heard anything, he liked to think you’d held on long enough to hear him finally finish your favourite book.

Days later Ghost found himself standing at the front of the large crowd of mourners, surrounded by colleagues and friends alike as they lowered your coffin into the ground. He couldn’t move as the others dispersed, your younger brother clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. Price had stayed with him, Gaz and Soap stood close behind, giving them a moment.

“Did you tell her?” Price had asked him.

“Tell her what?” He muttered, watching as they filled in your grave.

“That you loved her” Price murmured, chewing on the end of his cigar.

“No” he shook his head. “Didn’t get the chance”

“She knew, lad, she knew” Price sighed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

She does now, he thought as he absentmindedly scratched at his chest. The sandiderm covering the fresh tattoo itched like crazy underneath his suit. The simple line-work done immediately after your passing, your favourite quote, directly over his heart: "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me”

List of books mentioned:

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins

Haunting Adeline by H. D Carlton

Devil In The White City by Erik Larson

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

[dailyanarchistposts]

This past International Workers Day, otherwise known as May Day, I attended my local rally. The same old May Day groups were in attendance, Party for Socialist Liberation (PSL), Communist Party USA (CPUSA), Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), and a couple other single issue labor groups. The endless tedium of speeches aside, something strange stood out to me. Every group called for left unity in some way or another. “Unite as workers to crush capitalism,” was the exact quote from the young man in running shoes, jeans, and a bright red PSL shirt. I could have spoken up and made a scene, again, but I feel it is more effective to broadly address why this call for left unity is absurd especially considering the Marxist historical revisionism surrounding May Day. The success of May Day was directly because of the anarchist Haymarket Martyrs and the Marxist attempt to ignore this fact is one of the many reasons why left unity is never in the best interest of anarchists.

Before we begin, it is important to go over the events of the Haymarket uprising on May 4th, 1886. The first May Day was called for by the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions (FOTLU) as the official first day the eight-hour workday in 1886. On May 1st 1886, between 30,000 and 80,000 laborers in Chicago refused to work in support of the eight hour day, which shut down the industrial zones. August Spies, a German-born anarchist and leading contributor to the newspaper Arbeiter-Zeitung, was enthused by the unity and relative success of the eight-hour fight.[1] The McCormick Reaper Works’ solution, instead of meeting the demands of the workers, was to hire scabs. On May 3rd, 1886, striking workers from the McCormick Plant asked Spies to come down to the Southwest side of Chicago and give a speech to bolster morale. Minutes into Spies speech, the scabs began filing out of the plant and the McCormick strikers rushed to the gates of the factory. To protect the business and scabs, 200 police officers rushed in and beat the strikers with clubs and shot them with pistols. According to Spies, 6 strikers were killed including those that were shot in the back as they fled. Spies knew that the battle had been lost and returned to his newspaper office with the sound of screams and pistol fire still ringing in his ear.

That night, August Spies rushed into print several thousand leaflets urging workingmen to come to a meeting the next day, May 4th, at Haymarket Square.[2] The next day, the anarchists August Spies, Albert Parsons, and the Rev. Samuel Fielden spoke to a crowd estimated variously between 600 and 3,000. At around 10:30 PM as Fielden spoke, the police showed up despite the peaceful nature of the crowd. As they ordered the crowd to disperse, a bomb was thrown into the advancing officers, killing 6. The Police then opened fire on the anarchists killing 4 and some of the anarchists returned fire killing another police officer. The Police argued it was a conspiracy and eight influential anarchists were arrested, including Spies and Parsons, who were not present but had significant influence in the community. On November 11th 1887, 4 convicted anarchists including Spices, Parsons, Adolph Fischer, and George Engle were hanged. The state executions further enraged the broader community and would be the catalyst for the International Workers Day.

The Haymarket Uprising was internationally significant. During the funeral procession for the anarchists in Chicago, the historian Philip Foner estimates, between 150,000 and 500,000 people lined the streets in support. Both the American Federation of Labor and the Knights of Labor, although initially reluctant, supported the slain anarchists as heroes of labor. The Knights of Labor even published the autobiographies of Parsons, Spies, Fischer, Engle, and the anarchist who killed himself in prison, Oscar Neebe.[3] The London Freedom group argued “No event in the worldwide evolution of the struggle between socialism and the existing order of society has been so important, so significant, as the tragedy of Chicago.”[4] According to the historian Paul Avrich, pamphlets and articles about the case and autobiographies of the martyrs appeared in every language across the world. In Europe, over twenty-four cities boasted sizeable protests in support of the Haymarket Martyrs.[5] Famous anarchists like Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and Ricardo Flores Magón all attribute the Haymarket uprising to their radicalization. Moreover, it was not only Europe that celebrated the Haymarket Martyrs. The Times of London reported protests in Cuba, Peru, and Chile.[6] Mary Harris “Mother” Jones was in Mexico on May Day, 1921, and wrote that their May Day was expressly in honor of “the killing of the workers in Chicago for demanding the eight-hour day.”[7] More to this point, during a trip to Mexico in 1939, Oscar Neebe’s grandson was shown a mural by Diego Rivera in the Palace of Justice depicting the Haymarket Martyrs.[8] The international significance of the Haymarket Martyrs was undeniable in the hearts and imagination of all of the Left and is a significant element in the success of May Day.

The success of May Day internationally is thanks to the slain anarchists yet Marxist leadership intentionally omitted the significance of the Haymarket Martyrs to further purge anarchism from the historical record. In 1889, just a few years after the execution, the Marxist International Socialist Congress, who would later form the “Second International,” chose May 1st to celebrate international workers. However, nowhere in the Second International’s proclamation was the slightest mention of anarchism or the Haymarket Martyrs’ sacrifice for the eight-hour workday. The historian Philip Foner in 1969 therefore needed to write an entire book to remind the reader that other than pushing for the eight-hour workday, the secondary purpose of the establishment of International Workers Day on May 1st was to honor the Haymarket Martyrs. He argues “there is little doubt that everyone associated with the resolution passed by the Paris Congress knew of the May 1st demonstrations and strikes for the eight-hour day in 1886 in the United States … and the events associated with the Haymarket tragedy.” [9]

This slight against anarchists should come as no surprise considering the Second International broke with the First International Workingmen’s Association to exclude anarchists. The few anarchist members that refused to leave the Second International were barred from contributing. Member William Morris reveals, “expressions of anarchist ideas were often shouted down, and in one incident Francesco Saverio Merlino faced violence from the other delegates.”[10] The later Soviets were no stranger to historical revisionism either. Whether it is Stalin painting himself into pictures alongside Lenin or more typically painting out figures, like Trotsky, from the historical narrative. Famous member of the Communist Party USA’s central committee and founder of International Publishing, Alexander Trachtenberg, published the definitive “History of May Day” in 1932 and did not mention the word anarchism once.[11] Therefore, the Marxists of the Second international developed the May Day holiday to appropriate the international success of the anarchist Haymarket martyrs, while actively excluding anarchist thought from their sphere of influence.

Rosa Luxemburg also actively excluded mentioning the Haymarket Martyrs, which prominent Social Democrat publications like Jacobin choose to publish to further marginalize anarchist ideas. In 2016, Jacobin magazine published Luxemburg’s “What are the Origins of May Day.” In this article, Luxemburg argued that in 1856, the Australian workers call for complete work stoppages in support for the 8-hour workday influenced the American and then International development of May Day.[12] She claims that the Australians call to action was the primary source of inspiration for The International Workers Congress in 1890. While this is most likely true, she does not mention anarchists at all in her story. Not only did Luxemburg choose to ignore the impact of the Haymarket anarchists, but Jacobin’s intentional publication of her work in 2016 illustrated this same interest in erasure. Therefore, it becomes clear that both the Communists and the contemporary Social Democrats reinterpret history in order to ignore the global impact of anarchism on the working-class.

This active historical revisionism from popular Marxists is what makes May Day speeches calling for “left unity” ridiculous. Let us, for a moment, ignore the legacy of anarchist oppression from the Soviet Union to Cuba. The fact that both the Second International to contemporary Marxists willfully ignore the centrality of anarchism to organized labor and the establishment of the eight-hour workday is ahistorical. The fact that they suppress anarchist history and call for unity on the day that anarchist ancestors gave their lives for labor’s cause is bullshit. The eight-hour work day was a compromise for the abolition of waged labor. Let us not compromise our principles again by unifying with Marxists that work to undermine us at every opportunity.

[1] August Spies, “The Dies are Cast!”Arbeiter-Zeitung (May 1, 1886)

[2] August Spies, “Revenge,” Arbeiter-Zeitung (May 3, 1886)

[3] Philip Foner, “Editor’s Intro” in The Haymarket Autobiographies ed. Philip Foner (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1969), 12.

[4] Paul Avrich, The Haymarket Tragedy (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 436.

[5] Philip Foner, May Day (New York, NY: International Publishers, 1986), 45-46.

[6] Foner, May Day, 45-46.

[7] Dave Roediger, “Mother Jones & Haymarket”, in Haymarket Scrapbook ed. Franklin Rosemont, David Roediger (Chico, CA: AK Press, 2011), 213.

[8] Paul Avrich, The Haymarket Tragedy (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 436.

[9] Phillip Foner, May Day, 42.

[10] William Morris, “Impressions of the Paris Congress: II,” Marxists.org (Retrieved May 4, 2022) https://www.marxists.org/archive/morris/works/1889/commonweal/08-paris-congress.html

[11] Alexander Thrachtenberg, “The History of May Day” Marxist.org (accessed May 5, 2022) https://www.marxists.org/subject/mayday/articles/tracht.html

[12] Rosa Luxemburg, “What are the Origins of May Day?” Jacobin, May 1, 2016 (Accessed May 2, 2022) https://jacobinmag.com/2016/05/may-day-rosa-luxemburg-haymarket

[three-cheers-for-my-balls]

MY FAVORITE RTC QUOTES

when you've been alone as long as i have, you tend to anthropomorphize your friends. (karnak)

-If you believe both armrests are yours exclusively, you are part of the problem. (karnak)

-even in competition against yourself, you can still walk away a loser (ocean)

-he was inspired by traditional african folk music, specifically the lion king (constance)

-raise a middle finger to that most ruthless adjudicator called time (karnak)

-i hope i wiped my browser history clean (constance)

-democracy rocks! (ocean)

-i trade mostly in prophecies that dont make any sense until they actually do (karnak)

-even in death i can't escape her- she's followed me to the afterlife! (noel)

-well played satan, well played (noel)

being the only gay man in a small rural highschool is like having a laptop in the stone ages. sure you can have one but theres nowhere to plug it in (noel)

When a lioness has children, she sops making love to the lion. the lion gets jealous, sometimes so jealous he eats the children. You think this would upset the lioness. far from it. they make love again like the children never existed. (jane/penny)

-noooo i cant get any wifi up in this bitch (mischa)

-my gansta persona is only armour to conceal the fact that i am naked child wandering through the wilderness holding in my hands my wounded fragile heart (mischa)

-that was wack (mischa)

-i dont know how it is in your culture but in ours, playing games with peoples lives? super illegal (ocean)

-if its yellow, let it mellow. if its brown scoop it out with your hand and put it in the compost (karnak)

-some people are right wing, some people are left wing but last time i checked it takes 2 wings to fly. we are community we are family, we are the world (ocean)

-what you need is a fother-mucking hero (ocean)

-your cousin was in grade 4 he had to get his stomach pumped (ocean)

-you challenged my preconcieved notion that all gay dudes are fun to be around (ocean)

-OHHHH sweet jesus christ. on a bike. (noel)

-its like a slurpee woodstock (noel)

-a s.xual provacetour and a novelist. who never wrote a novel. or had sex (noel)

-GOD DAMMIT CAN YOU KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS FOR ONE SECOND YOU HORRIBLE SUCCUBUS (noel)

-that was DOOOOOPEE YOOOOO (mischa)

-mad wicked awesome! (mischa)

-fornication under consent of the king (jane/penny)

-in my country it is natural for 2 men to show affection by kissing… not always in heels (mischa)

-theres a difference between affection and smut (ocean)

-not in my bible baby, bonsoir (noel)

mine will only have profanity in chorus (mischa)

-little orphan a hole (mischa)

-teen sex? kills (ocean)

-porno is magical (ricky)

whattt just because im all gangsta dont automatically make me homophobic. its not cool to be homophobe in rap game anymore since macklemore dropped same love. that sh.t was emotionally devastativing yo. (mischa)

he turned to the last fashion of pure stregnth and masculinity in society, self agrandizing commercialized hiphop (karnak)

grab yo dicks if you in the 306 bruh (mischa)

-autotune will never die (mischa)

-my rage has subsided, i am vulnerable now (mischa)

and that is why not everybody should have a library card! and you should vote for me (ocean)

and this is why you both SUCKED at math (ocean)

-on the other hand, given the context of german history, being a party spoiler might be a good thing. (karnak)

-i guess you could say im pretty sexy on another planet (ricky)

i told you moneky lovedrop (ricky)

-life is hard enough without making up reasons to be dicks to each other (ricky)

-incredible~ (ricky)

-theres only one commandment in the bachelor man bible: dont be a dick (ricky)

-we listen to you now space jesus (mischa)

[tamayokny]

“Get to know the blogger” game :D

I was tagged by @variantoutcast my beloved

• Share your wallpaper:

I have 2 separate wallpapers on the PC I’m using. My lockscreen is Asa Mitaka/Yoru from Chainsaw Man. My homescreen is the chapter 201 colorspread from Tokyo Revengers. I’ll share these at the end.

• Last song you listened to:

“Arepeggio” by Alexandros [Spotify] [Youtube]. This song is used in the Judgment opening sequence, but I’m just really feeling this song right now.

• Currently reading:

Tokyo Ghoul, vol. 12 by Sui Ishida

The Last Days of the Romanovs by Helen Rappaport

The Complete Poems of Emily Bronte by Emily Bronte [compilation published by Neeland Media]

• Last movie:

My dad and I watched some of The Shawshank Redemption Friday night. We didn’t watch nor finish it (my dad is a channel flipper) but we both love the movie.

• Last show:

The last show I finished was The Glory and Tokyo Revengers season 2. I’m currently watching Extraordinary Attorney Woo and I might start another anime, but I’m not sure.

• Craving:

...good question. I’d say comfort and sweets.

• What are you wearing:

A red-pink-white plaid PJ pants and a comfy gray t-shirt

• How tall are you?

Somewhere between 4′10″-4′11″

• Piercings:

I had my ear lobes pierced when I was younger, but I currently have no piercings. I think they’re cool, but they’re not for me.

• Tattoos

None yet! I want to get my twin sister’s name [who predeceased me] and our birth month flower. I don’t want to do a daisy (I think they’re boring), so I’m considering using the sweet pea flower instead.

I might follow a similar pattern for my grandfather who recently passed. I’ll get his name and a flower that represents his birth month, so either aster or morning glory.

• Glasses/contacts:

I wear glasses! I’m not a huge fan of contacts, I’m kind of terrified of them lol. I’m blind as hell and fun fact: my right eye is 3x weaker than my left eye.

• Last thing you ate:

My dad made me scrambled eggs and toast. It’s been hard to eat this week, so these light foods were good for me.

• Favorite color:

Reds and darker pinks

• Current obsession:

I’m trying to complete Lost Judgment, the game I’m currently playing.

I’m going to do more research on my family genealogy. Part of it brings comfort to me [my grandfather loved that stuff], but it’s genuinely interesting to look at that stuff. I’ll probably read more about German/German-American History after the semester is over.

• Pets:

I have an obnoxious German Shorthaired Pointer named Luna!

Favorite fictional character:

To quote Never: “Fuck. Evil question.” 

Here are some of my favorite characters (and these are ones I can think of):

Muichiro Tokito (literally me but a fictional teenaged boy) and Tanjiro Kamado (Ellie says I’m like Tanjiro; it’s comforting) from Demon Slayer

Tobio Kageyama, Shinsuke Kita, and all of Inarizaki from Haikyuu!!

Lara Croft from Tomb Raider

Wanda Maximoff AKA Scarlet Witch from Marvel (saved the best for last)

• Last place you traveled:

I went to my grandmother’s house yesterday. We, along with my dad, his two siblings, their spouses, a cousin, and grandma’s husband got together to remember my grandfather who passed away on 03/28 (Tuesday morning). (This is the same grandfather I’m referring throughout this post.)

No pressure tags, but everyone is welcome to play and tag me.

@numbaoneflaya @rogueninja @meshla @malkinse @bpdanakins​ @sasukdyke​ @oatflatwhite​

Okay, tag system kind of unreliable and I know I’m forgetting people so again: everyone is welcome to play and tag me <3

Wallpaper

Asa and Yoru from Chainsaw Man

Tokyo Revengers won’t upload but you can find the spread here.

[renatedagmarmilada]

grabbing Natalka and the Ukrainians

St Barths put all the Ukrainian community on the scanner…

  Anna by name, who was asked by the lab to COPY our story exactly was not ashamed when she received sympathy from it, as well as payment…

‘’We know what you Ukrainians have suffered…’’

Raika your friend is being tuned to tell your mother’s stories by the Lab, but she adds a bit of German brutality…with guarantee of being printed..

18.9.03

2a.m.

Because we murdered your father, writer Semen Telewny, we are getting a Ukrainian woman writer to write all your stories, she has orders not to change them, just add a little of her own..

As we make the physical torture heavier on you…possibly we might kill you now, but the Lab prefers you to live in total suffering..

I will not release you from the computer on which you and all you do is prisoner of St Barths until I have added a few more twists  of pain and and I do not want admiration for you from anyone, you work must be equaled by everyone.

..and now Maud, Miller and the other jewess of the lab who is using your poems you wrote after visiting Roman Road Synagogue in Leeds, taught by the Rabbi Rothschild, for whom I have packaged your work are safe….

…but these people worked with the Germans…

and is Maria Horobec – Scunthorpe at her level yet..the children of a Jew cathcher of Szalasentgrot, imprisoned by the government, whose both sisters have robbed the little family, tuned by the Lab for their kindness to them.

There is no copywrite in this country anymore if St Barths is involved.

The Lab of Human Research rules the rules and makes the rules.

1.12. 03..Alicia and her Diary C.D another of our thieves, will the Queen decorate her for theft too.

Ms Lipman tells me, ‘’talk about my theft if you want, but sue the Lab. They did it.’’

           18st Aug 1989

You need counseling

By another grouch

 I wish I hadn’t misused them so badly

Used for medical research as toys

Your Lives now nill and void

Belong to us at research

And all you create

Totally destroyed

Tel them they have volunteered.

 No one comprehends the siren of silence

Disturbing in a noisy world of sounds

Distrusting Motives

Disliking Honesty

They changed the first to a second

And then ordered blocks on any further education

They call this prison a programmed life

By research using unseen technology..

Using the worst sadists known to man

And we thought we had them…

All the while they were here.

Child with mothers first:

Using children for science play

Later we all pay

Their lives no longer sacred

HOW MANY OFFENCES HAVE YOU COMMITTED

DOCTOR?

Scotland was not alone in their trial

Therefore we use Abroathe

But Fiona shrugs as they give her work to copy

And guarantee its publication

Be quiet reverberating

clamour from outside

they robbed the old people of every penny

called it the Robe

they gave their life and toil to rebuilding this country

they left them nothing, nothing at all

for what they gave to this island so willingly…

and even murdered the old man

slit his gullet

and called it a practice

will this kill practice….

With the order

Fail everything she does from now…

Eton had picked up our beams of their life

And dare not even talk of what we did to the daughter and kids

Misreading louder messages than any words

Truth from many

Take another atrocities count of Britain

A regular quote from the Lab.

Sima, beast torturer woman of the Lab

Signs the pastels she had stolen from our house

By the Government thieves

Laughs

We hammered them constantly…

And the Barclay’ Bank syphones hundreds

For whom might we ask

To pay for a bogus film the department made?

  SWEATER LADY ST BARTHS October 16, 2003

They all give themselves personas hence the silly names..has rewritten some of your work and has sent a soliliquy to a major newspaper with guarantee of print by the Lab..

 In America long ago

A lady appeared suddenly on the screen

In proper fashion

They just watched quietly

And did not offend her

Until she died

Impossible in Britain

Where all has to be capitalized on

And programmes impossible

From American folders

Are withdrawn and used

Any weakness or accident

So the circle turns

And everyone then capitalizes

On them…

The Kohl election totally fixed

You were that one

Along with deaths

And watched births

Now the country is run by its most evil

And Ann of the Lab

Is the most powerful woman in the Lab

Smiles and simpers

They gave me the power

They don’t stop me though they have the power

So don’t bother to complain

As another high level death is fixed.

As a new partner is fixed

Anything to break ancient moral laws

In these liberal times..

 We’ve seen it all before

So this is what we fled to….

Pitsmoor Donna and Dore Dora from Sheffield Town

Urged by the lab, rob yet again  

the Universal plague

the united nations agree to the torture

aged and helpless woman with children

we block and destroy every pathway they take

it is amusing for us to watch

and add a bit of torture

and a bit of robbery

to cover rogue Research

designers of the States used colours

so they must be given every line

by a thoughtless Lab. Just prying

and peeping with a license to kill.

 SHUBACA

Girl of the Lab throws all mail into bin, presents for children and grandchildren, letters to different departments of Waterstones with flyers of poetry book..all private mail from America etc..it is now the total prison the Lab said today..Octover 16. 2003

Thoughtless heroics which are vague

A whole family in brutal quarantine

To be used as guinea pigs

To test out lies and sadism.

On air and tongues

The Iraquis play

So had to pay

We do that in America

We peel slowly

It’s not so easy to detect

Just tune ordinary people

To rob

And call rape a new name

Sexing, like it was in Hitler’s camps

Of which my mother had laughed

When I was a child….

But put great care

To the smallest of crimes

Not to do with them….

Encompass desired action

Leper in solitude has reaction

Shouldn’t have taken part

And you would still be safe

In your solitutude

Children’s teevee also watched and took

So one thievie had to write Fairy Stories

Al la Renart

Only bring known sadists and not the clever

To pass and qualify in St Barths Lab

In their stupidity grows their brutality

And we can play a bit longer

They let us hack their bodies to bits

The old octogenarian volunteered St Barths told us

As Jasper tunes the Ambulance men to rob

An octogenarian heroine

And we had thought Hitler was from hell

Megele lives in Jasper

In all of western Human Research..

Can we see all the way from the States?

They did not stop us

It was their fault

All the civil servants

Each P.M. knew

It is not our fault…

We could not commit crime

If they did not take part too

It is not us to blame

It is them

If they destroy us

Their own parts will be found

SEXUAL STRESSERS

Your mother was given sexual stressers by the Lab repeatedly when she was eighty plus..October 16th 2003.

 Unable to pierce velvet comfort

Considered ogre in fractions

Child of corners homes full of children grown in traction

Becoming Unacceptable

Adults Screeching for the respectable

“Don’t be seen or heard” type of reformation

Now require the opposite confirmation

A confounding away of orders.

Leave no room to be nor borders

Activating cancers from the highest to the lowest

My Forest Gate friend and angel in disguise dies

Though a sharp East End tongue was her delight

          Near give her cancer with her masoids

Get squashed we would like to watch you die

On the screen of pain and sadisms

Called human research

And I once read of cruelty to animals

Which was nothing compared to this….

Squirmishly manoeuvring towards

SO YOU PEOPLE WERE MUGABE’S DEEDS

driven into please record anything

now record these copies as originals

science is the total truth now through all its lies

and Jews of Human Research forgot the past

and how science had caused the holocaust

and who had been there for them

and repeat what mad Hitler had done

and with such relish

and then mourn for their own…

 ‘now there we have a good arguement from the Prisoner, use it.”

       Sustained silences deriving benefit only from within

       Introspection abounds

Be decisive as the Deutsche Bank carries out its orders

To thieve from helpless elderly women

As once they had done from jews

Ordered by jews this time

Manifests its withdrawal

Concavenous creation

A hollow world rewards

Followed by all banks

But robbing the poor has such poor rewards

Another lesson in this great trial

To us it seems identical to Hitler’s trial

Yes, the Lords have forgotten

Get educated  

brimful with empty laughter meanings

so english

       Nothing but pain, give them pain

They saved jews

Give them pain by jews

Just be

removal

Inhabited by unfathonable strangers

Felix adds a new one

Take out her hair by the roots

The queen of evil Anne is going white

The prisoner is not

Remove it by the roots

 Distance mirth

endless discussion of triviality

Magnitude reduction diurnal

Living within the care ,

shrinking daily

Shroven death sentence

how

are never quite sure if it was them

Having the right word to touch.

 IRAQU AND LADEN

Put yourself forward what gentle reasons

tale of lessons  come learn with us the lies

and then your time of weeping will come

you gave us permission to destroy for learning

Taught, to forget preciously recklessly

All those seconds of eternity which are sobs.

Join a religion

Rights of sorrows,

Science takes another aircraft

This time it is the Gulf

The ageless Arab has at last dropped his guard

years robbed, he has returned to the beginning of his learning

 Unexplained, beg to be told

Repeatedly quotidian sold

Laden was promised the price not explained

The price was unexpected

As Ethopians say with wisdom

Lie once, lie twice, lie thrice…

And the agony continues from the Master computer

They say with agreement from the Military Supreme

But we have seen all this before

Twice infact Hitler and Stalin

And squint knowingly into the futre

Whilst they unseeing, uncomprehended

Think it is new and watch the crashes

Techniques now already thirty years old

Do something with mute eyes depended

        Understanding why unwithered children try

        Withering their hopes of death

Immortality

        Seeds sown never grown cataclysm

        Living within ,you can’t make it a prison

        Staying for an outward sign thrown as pristine

        Of battered mind bitten we’ve seen all that

Though they torture us constantly

We know who will in the end be defeated

As so many others have been already

So willst though oh great science

Now traveling on the wrong path…

The Royals withdraw their support.

 At London Dental Hospital

A young man in a white coat enters a tiny room

with a steel hammer

please go there to take an X-ray

please open your mouth

Smashes four teeth

Walks out in silence

They used to do that in the Soviet too

He looks like the man in the raincoat

At Roman Road Park

When the Livingstone sound thrower

Threw its vilest

At rest not even normal life at the lowest level

permitted

From working on the hospital Ward

test from the debasement sound waves of vulgarity

thought of by Mark who is a criminal

mutters I only intended it for short periods

research took it over the years and years and years

not I…

bent  science is given too much information

sadism heaving through torrential jeers from the Lab

Mark banned used again

        Expiration shrouded still

The Asians don’t really understand crime

And are perfect

India says the man at Bombay

Is filled with every kind of idiot

And English always find them .

Are you living? We are

On huge salaries

Paid to torment and destroy YOU

Nothing else

For this the tax payer pays us

Bewildered

But we had saved jews..

        Unable to turn back the beyond the dragging forward.

        Live for gods sake resigned in calm hysteria’s break

        Praying for tranquility’s sake cocooned in the impassioned

        Anger sustained in wanton cabal Body and wind ballast

You can’t do: mystifying onlookers unable to hear the parody

‘that’              of forces on air waves castigating

  of forces on air waves ringing in cordons of avarice.

Giving rise to unending fears astounding.

Another drop out fed by chaos lodged in yesterday.

Too clever by half for tomorrow’s children depreciate

Never mind the dole feel the weight

One doctor feels the weight of his patients testicles

And that too goes onto their internet file of mine

As mini crime waves created by the Germans invited to the Lab cause headaches to the Lords and Councillors..

keeps them in concurrence.

21st Aug 1989                              Duty

  Abhyasa

 It’s a mothers duty to they tell us expounding

to love, to serve, to organize, to ……

Everything with no deviating

All encompassed in one inferior body.

One inferior mind

Or so they tell us blithely

God help you if you can’t promulgate

No excuses, No reasons, definitely no seasons

For any deficiencies, called human.

Martyrs one and all terminate

You mustn’t fail them crewman

With only two hands

(are we octopuses? Or are we even octupii?)

Don’t we try whatever colour.

Whatever creed to do it all.

Unstintingly, Unbegrudgingly

Lab lice and their women kill till we fall.

Free our eyes become taciturn

The skin on our hands is torn and worn

They call that love        

……

For this transaction

We get ……what ?

The lowest title of oration

Unmarketable product obsequious

Finally obsolete unless you are good and work with children

Or become a tart for some man’s pleasure fantasies

After they’ve buried us phlegmatically

They might remember precisely

Why is it really love?

Were likely monstrously

Missing our care, our work, our loyalty

Mother, don’t be facetious

Who worked so well so hectically grumbled muttering

You dared to leave them

Worn and  maligned by the female Jews  

Your worth is valued limpidly

Too late loathsomely

For you impartible

Can’t toil anymore for anyone, anyway.

Finally homage

Deserved facile rest

Who cared anyway

E lucidate a eulogy

 8.3.90           You have a child

 Mum

Soft, warm, cuddly                        Mum

Milk in warm bottles                     worry, exhaustion, panic  

Sucking, licking, stroking             Do well, exams

Love unlimited,-protection           The future, don’t worry

The total world                               It’ll all work out

                                                       Pressure

Mum

brushing, pulling, tugging               Mum

shoelaces, buttons, hair                   Distant, dreamy, untouchable

Behave, -naughty                            In love every week

Go to bed                                         spots, acne, clothes

Orders abound                                 Don’t be seen

                                                        Growing up

 Mum                                                 Mum

Crying, clinging, fearful                   Distant, dreamy, untouchable

Schools, strangers, socialisation       Quarrels, selfish, why

Don’t go, sit, be silent                        I know, you don’t

Got to learn                                       Friends, gangs

Discipline                                           voting now.

 Mum

Somewhere, far away or near         Mum

Too busy, life of my own               gone now

Bashing rules to bits                        tears hidden

Kings of the road                             I loved you really

Young adulthood                             Too much to do

Wish you were here

Mum

Living life, making money

Getting on, this way or that

Forging for the future

We all know it all

Developed

 Mum

I was so busy, now I remember

Where are you, you’re so small

So old, so helpless now

Forgot you,

Didn’t mean to

Sorry,

That’s life

Are you dead yet

Has the Lab murdered you yet

Though they’ll call it secret manslaughter?

  Citta

22.Aug.89                        

bitter purgings

we walked hand in hand

over the hills

down the dales

of our new city

close as always

for twenty three years

soon after

you walked out

never to return

and never once said why

I asked

Is he still living?

     Taking my life

  You wrung it out

  Having more concern

  For that dishcloth

  Now I find it was a Lab’s conflict game

  not you

  now seen they put me into shock

and left the children alone with a sick mother

in a strange city to cope

  resigned to what has been

  What is to be

  It’s all clear

How little we mattered in our dance together

How distant we remained

To you dear husband and father of my children

But the Lab made the decision

 After twenty three years of married love

Each up and down we had conquered

we lost it all, in a glance from one Lance

The profit was all yours

Husband, lover, father?

Only repenting

Ego defending

Work excusing

Enployment,

Goy hated returning

Presiding always

So ?  

Who says the righteous always win

 Was it a sin?

To love my man

For the children to admire their father

It was my job

To keep their childhood happy

We are not jews like the Lab

Who make themselves bleed with no wounds

All just a game to them

You couldn’t feel our grief vibrating

Would you care?

In your immaturity and vehemence

You are the first to be tortured in this way

How often will it be repeated

No human on earth will ever repeat this

 How often will science say this we wonder

How often have we heard all this

Concentration camps and gas

And concrete in the womb as this started with

Now I understand what they did

And who created all the royal divorces?

Hitler too played these games with people

The jewish Labs just play them secretly

And are continuing the Auschwitz programmes

Too late dear they use these tools on their own students

The girls lose purity tuned  to be used by their bosses

The prize  a first and we and I fear not

 The torment and terror the Lab applied after that

Are still too evil to explain

But more than evil it’s never been allowed before

Anan Koffie himself signed a false report

Or was it one of his underlings

Who never checks the script

Maybe he cannot even read..

What was the reason developed the laser to its clicking

Beyond any normal mind as they laser everything

Sarah sends death threats via the screen on Friday nights

Leaving me lifting my prayer book high

As we believe God is still stronger than St Barths.

 They are our men

who for Gods sake

the men we clothed back then ….

and when she goes mad,

we’ll put her into one of our hospitals

we’ll walk around her bed talking

and then discharge her insane and mad…

Complexions we gave and continue the womb torture charges

Even to this very day often used as she was teaching

In Colleges classes filled with asylum seekers and ethnics

But our beliefs are different as they put over their hidden voices

called love, loyalty, truth

now have only one name

no wrath from us

Just mistrust

Doesn’t it sadden you

All we have shared and hoped

in voice throwers she threw you whore

and anything is possible now

but we are too evil in research to use it for good

I will drive you out of every institution in this country

Why do these people always get such high marks…

We lied to the top nurses too

In order to get you blacked…

There at Newham Hospital

That big red cross still doesn’t mean much

Even over here

We had used you too

We fear justice

And prison awaits us

If you live…

 going to the park for an ice cream to draw flowers

grieving my man

Blind

You couldn’t envisage my hands

Aching warily

To touch for verification

Not just to work vacantly

Deaf

You were dead to my sighs

Telling unanimously

Everything too tranquilly

In soundless words

Dumb

You never spoke

Shared thoughts not synopsis

Yourself tyro

We imagined you not wanting us

Son’s traumatized out of their minds

No one cared

No one knew us

When did you actually leave

I was so ill from their Lab computer shock

In milder form they did that to the Princess too

They say it is necessary to tear people apart

I really can’t remember

Except going to find some milk

Somehow I knew my children needed milk and bread

Without a penny you left us tuned by the men at the Lab

But not the first time

But my mother was a long way away

This time she couldn’t feed us

  Lacking any knowledge

  To guide tentatively

  Only to find subsequently

Our picture was painted closing its shutters

Our tally had different meanings

  When clarified to synchronize

You left us sleazily

As you came to me

A stranger

And never once explained why...

I still don’t know why you left us.

  Pounding the asphalt

Feet ahead with eyes averted

Scurrying rats follow rules with no emotions

No smiles without pleasure

Beaming complications from ware watery suns  

Telling other stories.

Now Britain is just a testing ground for the super power

All of us activated

Pain and death...

   24.Aug.89                              

Summary for this nanny

Platonic prop my surrogate sons

Disarrange anguish they feel for me

But bring happiness of a sort back into our home

     I know you for terror

    Creating no pleasure

  Slowed permutations

  Since childhood’s freedoms

  Torn too early for comprehensions

  So long ago, yesterday

  Hugging tightly, you squeezed the black night

  Shining through each optic nerve

always forgotten from shock after shock

rememberances clear in milky hazes of Laboratory shocks

you followed me round art exhibitions

and stood on the steps of the Tate

Madmen singing London’s pride

Making up stories

Unreal created happenings created by doctors

Freezing anger they call sensing and destroying

Super strong emotional arousers from computer

Never melted pain in searching frenzy

Sincerely yours

I tried to find you

 But first I had to feed my children

I run down to the Cathedral for help and bread

The Lab has already been

What do I feed the children

               I depended on you for any money

And spent any I earned on you

What to do?

Maxwell asked for my head in plaster

Had grown gentle in age

We come from the same homeland

Not far apart

We knew you well

We each other

Because he knew the truth

He had to die by science

 A clear blue night

Of frost and snow

Everything died

Except despair

Turning in circular agony

For that unfindable probing for amusement

They are paid by the State so can play to keep busy

 Lost, losing every stanza

Unclear then art brought life slowly to life

Words and forms the saviours all my life

Yet again did their work for me

Where my refugee comrades had despaired and died

My deaths were on the papers and in verse

Did the world itself disintigrate

Or maybe it was me

In deepest memories

Caves filled with more trilling laughter

                    Healing water of our God’s mind

Breathing living life still

Present, ever dead

Since searching endlessly

Fundamental aroma turned

a sickening joke against all women by new women haters

Nowhere discovered

Life

Restarted so often it is no longer possible

Living again as the lab keeps on trying to kill..

  A ten minute piece for Sheffield University Writers ....                 Performance Poetry  Sept.’89

(which my favourite home, London is very rich in)        

The fifth Our Joe

12 o’clock                                       Bye, see you…

12.05                                               Later

Let’s go to the supermarket           mmmm …

Later…                                           2.00

Now…Please…                               2.03--

12.30                                               --ah, you again

12.45                                               gotta watch these fifths—

help mummy put the groceries away            nurse!

Later                                               Three minutes now, is it?

Now…Please                                   Screens around this bed

1.45                                                 Shave

1.48 1/2                                          Hot bath

Oh dear, you’ve wet yourself         Caster oil

Can’t cook lunch                            2.45

Go get some chips                          2.47

Later

Now…Please                                 Dear neighbour, your first is it?

Be good                                        Blib, blib, blib, blib…

Be back soon                                 What a pretty nighty

Later                                             What’s the machine?

Damned traffic                                my doctor’s really good (she

-got the suitcase

under the bed did you                 nothing is too much trouble for him                                                 nothing is too                               Who---?

Your mother and your…              All full---except B

Husband…                            It’s a fifth, be quick

And yours?…                               Warm pain, sweating

Oh, its my fifth                      bleeding relief

Later …                                         Slithering, sliding

They’ll all come later                   no longer while here starched

Been here so often…                    cotton

(hardly count anymore)               Help, please, give me

could do it on her own really       a hand up—

tick tock tick tock                         3.15

—cold steel trumpet again           It’s a beautiful healthy boy

what an enormous writhing lump   look

can’t wait to be born—                 Doctor’ll come

I’m listening—                              Later

2.51                                               more blankets

 2.15 1/2                                         Now

go on, short                                   Shock

someone help—                            There cup of tea dear

Quickly                                         Please

Now…Please                                No.o—Later

Delivery room                              Now.

Quick

Which                                        

   Hello Mrs Kenny just having our

Tea. Slipped on the way here                   alright

 Oh dear, patchwork to sew blankets      don’t worry

Ha ha, for my tea               Later

Hm hm

now

Fine healthy boy

Sucking his thumb, look

Later

In his glass box

—like snow white

—and as the seven dwarfs wept

  They tripped

And she came to life again.

Perfect Baby Boy

Eject their poison

6.30

Back to the ward

Now

What endless passages

Wheeling, flashing past

Alarming speed

Keep her covered Shock

Please

Now

And Later

For all of you

From the rogue branch of medecine

The Lunatics

Now...

 Sheffield University Writers Group..five minute piece

1.Feb.90                               Borsch

Borsch                                   all mixed in with beetroot

Day in day out                       its red hot too

It simmered it boiled             A bit of paprika

Thick and tun did                   We’re Hungarian too—

“Does you good”, mamuschka           Never measured

That’s why I’m so strong         always mixed

Tatuschka labours the point     what can you do

Mamuschka sniffing                 Each day as you come

Have to cook what he says         a home

He’s the boss                              with its never , ending

Pungent and strong                            pot—

Changes day by day                   that pot of borsch

Our pot is altered                       that haunts me still

According to pay                       sometime, I think I can

—I can’t bear it                         smell it stile

after three years or four             and taste it too

but we eat it                               It’ll be with me forever

all the more beetroot                 follow me wherever I go

cabbage, tomatoes                     sure dad, I grew on it

fat and pork too —ugh              grew sick of the smell of it

and garlic and spices                 yet.

With onions                               It was good for us

Good for the blood !! too

Kept us going so long

Through poverty, strife and need

our tradition

till

Today

It’s only a memory

They sell it in restaurants. (so they say)

In delicatessens too

In super posh restaurants

Not for me thank you

I’ll slick to my vegetarian stew

They’re tasteless and smelless

Without the barrack smell and melting tar

And memories of how it was

And good for me too??

  25.Aug.89                              

Mamushka and Tatuschka

 Tenor was in every moment

Now turned to gnarled old age

Fearsome was in every glance

Now turned to sadness

No more than a blind notation of the second

Time has eroded ingenious

Shifted power from them to others

Respect sown could not grow

With age…for age

Was mysterious

Deception completed by the filth of politics

 Detected then slaughtered again a second time

By experimental medicine

To save those we had saved

In heaving waist lines

Mottled skin and memories which remember silently

Warriors slowed

Arms laid down

Tension threads broken

Allow shocked breathing

Slowing mind forgets its bark

Racing life awaiting death

Tomorrow the children will live somehow

It was the only choice possible then

Has thrown its wand away

Purging all sins

Past and present

Now forgiveness is an easy concept

Sorrow in mellowness

For sunsets that were then

Sunrises that should have been

Actions dictated lost for ever

To be remembered in disproportioned flashes

After the grave

For nothing

For duty

Total deference saved our lives and outside calm

But was that life worth saving

If the memory could only die...

   2.Feb.90

a New Illness                  

I was ill, very ill—so—why?

 How do you feel dear?

Now do be honest                            What did you feel dear?

About those nights as you sat           Tell it dearly

All alone                                         About that eternity you lived

Felling the baby moving               Not knowing the way,

                                                    No where to turn

Stirring                                          No one to blame

In slow movements                       Having the proof at last

To footsteps                                  No longer fevered imagined

Quickly                                         the proof that hid on a

Passing the time                            medical card

Waiting, Waiting…                        Forgetting, forgetting

 What do you think dear?         You never forget dear?

Do be clear                               Did you—

About those days as you waited     the pain of that moment

All alone                                The baby inside in revulsion turned

For ever                                     That silence became total

Expecting his ringing call         With the trust broken

Telling you                                Could never be repeated

Knowing his call                       eyes stopped shining

“Happy to be leaving”               that day, dear

Listening, listening                    and that night endless—

                                                  Still hasn’t ended

     A Believer 16. 12.90

     I believed

   An idealist of ideals

   I believed

   In love

     Encompassing

   loyalty, tenderness, completeness

     I believed

   In honesty

   A helping hand

   held out to all

     We are one

   Equal in dignity

     If not the same

   If different in essence

     Each given a different name

   With each different version

     They call belief things like

   Religion, Marxism, democracy

   I called love belief

   I believed in vain

    13.Oct.90      

Suksmadrsti        

Reunite them all

Is what we want most of all

 Their revolutions

Which knows no end

 Their fodder

Prod and prong

Throw away—

 Whist they scream their prayers

To indifferent hungry ears

 Bellies blinded by running

 We are the experiment

That mistake of all mistakes

Humanities progress

In this worldly obmutescence

 Margined with ear-splitting rows

Daily living arthas

 Lost touches of reality

Chaotic actions bluster

In ordered unison keels

Ice drop drums cracking

 Blackened splintered shavings

All of it will come true

We just put it into code

Those who know..

   13.Oct.90 part poem. part lost          

 We despise you as a Mongrel        

                              I am amazed

I had not realised

That Israel was so pure over here

Israel the people from the Mediterranean

Who still havn’t found their roots

And still hang on their boots

It’s ok, I like Arabs too..

Somewhere they pinched and flinched

Their revolutions

Knows no end

Their fodder

To prod and prong

Throw away—

While they scream their prayers

To hungry ears  and sieved bellies

Blinded by running from gunning

That mistake of all mistakes

Humanities progress

 Speaking in channels

Senses abscond with sanity

Dumbstruck tongues dilacerated

Phalanx breath fluxes

The terminal civilization

Descry the heels in tanks and gun wheels

Of quaking depth science makes death

Until the fireball ingurgitates

Survival in toto

But the Reform didn’t hurt me...

Religious people are nearly always nice

And it’s necessary to die a billion deaths to provide for life

   29.Aug.89                              Break down

having felt it all

simulated fogs

The thought and subordination

Experienced every variation

         Every nuance of pain

Life and the Lab had taught

         An endless lesion of interpretations

Yet now another pain watched by the boys from Spain

         Supersedes all others

 More poignant, drawing no open sympathy

Waiting which is over

          Whilst waiting

Always alone allowing the Lab to hammer unabated

That deepest pain to remove

Immovable, destructive, frustrating

corrupt beyond the imagination

 There is no reason visible

                     —yet—

To continue striving is hollow triumph

on and on ,wondering—why—

Dignity of endless tears harden

Become a wall of pressure

Unreleased resentments no longer needed

Once heroic become Lab rats for their enjoyment

Having no hostile reason, to fall

 Why have you gone?

 Watching, seeing; the suffering heart

Feeling, hot prickling skins as the media repeats again and again

Sorrowing from all the borrowing

Its appearance

Each second a reminder

 After twenty three years

 Another day wasted

Another night pasted

I lived more than twice as long

as with you

what they did with my parents!

Along and called it the Robe..

 Tinged with regrets for them

Because we had yet again met the Jew

Whom we had saved

Within over crowded city life to hide

Filled with milling crowds of solitariness

Waking each dawn in our refuge of response

feeling sliced under the experimental machine

Betray us for all,

Aimed for only their profits,

seeming not real in amazement

but we gave you life then

why do you do this to us now?

A thundering anxiety within skinny ribs

Hollow dragging beyond each day and year

Measured unreality even the United Nations

Of future goals to future generations

Aware only instinctively as Germans whisper

Survival is no more, no less

But I would not believe them

Not of you..our friends and cousins

They told the truth.

 And ashes to ashes

With time, the time has flown

With excruciating time to wait

Replaced by the departed

So lets have male prostitutes

“I meant no wrong”

Punished for nations

Still weeping in the bath as the doctors whisper

 That old lecher meyer

And  miller, my tears fill oil

Oil replaces stinging soap

Choking life—trying

Threatening

Burn to death then

—die—

and I don’t know why

but we liked your naked body...

  27.Aug.89

MANAS at Synagogue

 a chance to glance at them at prayer

we saved them then

Scaring, searching faces

Worshipers with easy with cases

Knots swooning , all bigots

Chairs appear more rigid

in the pattern of gods

Undiscovered divinity

 Where is your true sign

Put your money where your faith is

To eat the full load

Nothing buried just the goading

Do they see more clearly or am I blind

Reverend piety and fears hover

Strangers gather to pray

And the Cathedral no longer helps

Nor the Priest speaks to children

But we try to believe in them.

 Nothing  touches the fine

to hear lechers singing

the nuns speak nicely but too gently

without the fear no one senses

Perceiving, sensing insincerity of impossibility

Theologians nightmare,

each religious dream

Turned to shambles

With profit and no lover  

We didn’t know women preferred celibacy

Well it isn’t the english gels

Their morality has similarity.

 Deity to discover

Representative shackles, to be dispersed

And fundamentalist’s bread is the fastest

Wading through incomprehensions in nests

Of placid spirituality by militant obedience

383 observing laws

 From time immemorial bowing

Humanity excluded as cowing

Within that inclusion of belonging

A game of extension turning

Selection and Existentialism

Versus pantheism represented

Unthinkable truths depressing the norm

Dropped chared offerings reflect

cannibalism of missions and holy men

drink of my blood, eat my flesh

eat a nun and you will be holier.

 Healer of entrails in tatters

bringer of spare answers spatters

but

never listened to!

Continues with  

Deity to discover

in a wiff of formality

in fluted neutrality of many John Kennedys

 I am god to you

Feared, humoured, unheard and sometimes pitied

Figure of contempt by all modernity

To teach the within

Thwarted psychology of hopes without any ropes

Misunderstood context of despair

Allowing no parallels

Parables of communists

Ramblings of life in the hereafter

And a truth no one wants to listen to...

The Lab will ask Dana to use this up.

 29.Aug.89      

WITH A SMILE

White bastards and that Ahmed

Brown enigmatic smile

Saying from nothing dries

Curling tendrils portrayed deep within

A ark glistening eyes

Check the dole and tries

Black market workers fry

Flowing silence cries

Of gibbering Currie

(Lets send our jews,

no one dare upset them

Its uncivilized to be seen anti-semitic)

Silent nod of the head

Understood crop reaction of the mindless

Truth readings and the thermometer splinters as it drops

Another chalk mark, another insult

Compounded wisdom just an insult of submission

Hidden fury disguised with a smile

Shuttered within remission

eye globes never flicker

To be added to that endless list

 Treacheries

Multiplying within unspoken fists

disappointed hopes they silently call compensation

Unheard by future recipients

Feelings so damning the chairs shake

In readiness for some future day

Praying for another mistake, quakes

The meaningful roars of scandalized bores

Shocked at the thoughts of a nation turning gently browner

Yet spend a fortune tanning every summer

Frizzing and perming in aping fashion

 Playing, toying, blind disgrace using every Muslim

The time of the Muslims tears has started

In warmless puritanical disregard

Excluded red , derided white, tolerated blue

—needed—true?

A dying island race

unadmitted anihalation

a purpose sublime

 Unremitting account of debit

Against the passbook of proof

Brotherhood?

Or crime

When needed, only when needed

Easily, instantly discarded love story

Excercised and excused within Christianity

Weird morality seeded

And they always use sex to destroy

tells our sikh Historian on our sub continent

even then within their truth

 onwards Christian soldier is meaning less

Ignorance sharing the answer

To wards the master’s accumulation

Its culture a wealth to create and soothe

Not the slow dripping destruction

Of the great queens flames

Burning blazes of indifference

—one day brother

Account will settle

We’ll own all of you —

Nodding our heads in obedience

   30.Sept.89

KENNY from Kil KENNY

Another Irish club

A barb from another bard

Crowded blank interest

Appraising the stage

—“Where’s the TEA?”

Performance and performer

—“asks the Priest from his pulpit”

Nodding approval

 To another man’s sweat

And the lump dare not complain

Changing their beds in shifts

Pouring messages in the tricklets and bricks

As the whiskey flowed forrgetfulness

Rivulets of experience hidden sorrows

Encapsulated is song for today and tomorrow

Black’s tars stings and sings for everyone

And orange men weep

Thrilling words on fleeting moments

A living race, condemned

A beauteous land penitent

Undestroyable quotations so blatant

Forming passionate pleas without ears

Brits get out all over the world

Within.

In Sheffield’s granite city...

   Scribbled is panic—

upon not finding the teaching block

 LOST AGAIN

4.Oct.89                

1st day of BE’d

Row upon row

Keen and witty

Willing to —what—?

We’ll teach the future

We’ll reach and future

Taught what to teach, ourselves

We’ll blank their thinking

This citizenry to be

With opened pigeon holes

Filled with monitored facts

To produce

The next lot of moduled models

Who’ll perform

Who’ll teach

By Government training

The next layer upon layer

Caged and peppered by pacts

No lateral thought

not permitted thinking

Because we taught them all

By government order

They call it education

     4.Oct.89    

In the hall

  1st day of BE’d

 Starting today

I wonder what it is I’m doing.

—I was into thought—but—

battling inside my head is the notion

that big brother has won after all

Telling us how to think yet again

And exactly how to repeat it

Pass it on

Testing

And teachers must look tidy—in suits

Is this a  finishing school for big blouses?

All spurned—churned out

To produce the canon fodder for righteous profits

For our future

For our capitalist society

And bribes with airy status

 Suddenly I need to protest

Seeing in reality myself

Tied mouth, dumb hands

Immobile

Another product of organized thought

A gory of mind, enslaved, desperate

And I wanted to teach

Thinking, thoughts to mushroom

We just shackle, really

Teaching dominance

Wiping away heeding

free-doom’s freedom

Oh dear and they really are so young

And its all planned already

How many jobs at the end

So give me the child

And I’ll turn him into a willing doley

If it has any originality left

    5.Oct.89      

by a laughing

Books          person of wit

 They give me books

Into to library

And books and books

I try to read them all

Hoping to expand

hoping to fill my mind

To blank out all I’ve learnt from living

I feel dejected

I feel stupified

I feel blanketed

I feel frozen solid by so much knowledge!!!

Not for me they told me

all this thinking

Just copy the masters did

that’ll do

everyone jumps on their back

we don’t need thinkers

to spoil our planners

So

For whom are we learning

Who needs all this to live

Or

Do they teach us anti-living

With government preaching

With religions teaching

The massive don’ts

So Here a sermon of won’ts

But stile we need

To read and read

Jsut go out and breed!

  4.Oct.89

Despair as day goes on/an first day of BE’d.(P.E)

  I watch your words

My typist keeps typing bed for BE’d

Does this mean something?

 They sink in

Yet

Understand not a jot and got

I scream for you and you ignore me

This is not my game

They’ll hate me for it I already know

Same old trademarks

She’s haughty, thinks she’s too good

But my thoughts cry with interest lacking

The english girls all complain

In that smarmy way they do

Whilst I just disappear down to the Computer room

For peace and not to be seen

 I want to learn—deep thoughts and thinking

I want to learn—to touch words

That excite

That give meaning and forms

To that endless stream of thought

—dictated to by necessity

I sit and listen

And slowly dry out and crumble

—to make a living

mother again—my needs come last.

thereby lost

 My learning unimportant

So easily created

Then long ago

Love is a heavy taskmaster

Methinks

Then you find out

You are to so dumb

As they all had you believe..

  3.Sept.89

TIMES GONE

Time should have been filled

With words

With images

With thoughts

Encompassed in progress

Within an outward creation

Instead

Daily happenings were tied

To lonely drudgery

To household tasks

To created tenderness

Unnoticed inverted maid

Misses freedom all given with love

Only within the chanters of roving dreams

Daily songs hummed

Wordless sounds of humanity

 What cravings were hived

it could have been like

Living on a cloud

Longing for a footstep

Trembling for a voice

wondering about long past

 Too late for matured dreams

Too far, all gone too far

Work, like a hapless prison, beckons

Is recompense for nothing

One second , two, in the minutes of life

It seemed.

Just may be

Maybe there might be a moment

Life could soar on wings

And dreams could become more than

Gutteral speculations

And a refugee could use its pen..

For battle and thought

Banished to sleep

That moment gone now forever

The seconds tick frantically

And I used to wake

With those shards teasing as

Daily companions

Pain sharp and clear

No one to tell

No one could see

After nights of horror

The magnitude of vivid incomprehensions

With shudders left deeply tormented

Leaving a pretended forgotten age

Pressing tears of memory

Time renews covering open gashes

With a new skin of different names

A graft that’s impossible to remove

Vale of irony

An endless away of sharpened blades

Performing walzes on bleeding soles

sealing a million satin filled hearts

Bring the only relief

Running on.

   9.Sept.89

having been sentenced and sectioned

all of us

secretly

our whole family

for the comfort of criminal government professionals

who never go to the confessional

nor need to confess anything

Become part of our normal world

Who’s more mad?

The mad

Those that think about the mad-

And so they tell us

What the normal world

Induced ideas and norms

Force brain washed lives of indifference

To comprehend an order

Seemingly clear until seeing

Takes over

Depression of tears, hidden

Hearts buried is frustration

And formal capitalism

Adhering to its rules

Profit for something else through normality

Men of loin please join our game

Bending with all the rips and tears

Scarred nature fits its pattern

To lives lost in living

Constitutes

Phenomenal cost of success

Cease to be, be normal

No other way, it has to be

That flew clinging to their normality

Bleating upon battered straws of theology

Tentacles of self realization

For that inner man

Needs expression as succumbing to

             Rationality

             Logicality

Loses itself to bitter task masters

Of dull useless ache

Modernity over brimmed with contradictory reactions

Twisted echoes of response

Causing inactivity

Endless futures leave reeling mind

And force explosion of incomprehension

Normality achieved.

  10.Sept.89

Waning alone at jot

 Each autumn attests to the fears

Is tingling crushed awareness

Graying sighs of living

A mourning of endless nights

Evenings cocooned is darkness

Disappearing hazy whispers of yesterdays sunlight

Closing the circle of existence

Leaving only flight

Hidden in artificiality

All its limitations exposed

Fragilities weakened

Man and beast

To instinctive reaction

And child abuse records its horrors

Forwards a closing book

Withered heart beats of warmth

Shrouded stretchings covered

Aligned to musky nature

   4.4.93

Labour. Upton. Park ward

 Eligible conspiracy of politics giving

Appearances of greatness which convulse

Success or failure –no question of which ?

It doesn’t count

Members only qualify for broken promises

Hand in hand

I’ll nominate

You-?We’ll rejoin with our egos maintained

Your country needs you.

so march for withdrawal from Ireland

And It’s all lies, have you got you stage

Apologies Ladies and Gentlemen?

It’s such an absurd anomaly

Combating racial harrasment that’s my party

piece

-baleful dubiety

There may be some things

frail and fragile

recorded by actual

Numbers

represented

The money spent,

efforts taken

Results achieved

-        with their usual instantaneous intelligence

Money which sent impulses/

dubious financiers

Signing the power game at the back

Briskly, with catachresis

Hexes

-the copy of generosity

Father Xmas knows no bounds of ……

Y move he enter by the side entrance

Not the tunnel of fumes

As tinges appear of deferred smells

Wasting

each tradesman’s entrance-

Next naïve question-?

Louder please

Repressive revulsion dessicates

The eyes have it, for the have’s

For chauvinism for flag waving fascism

nationalism

No support though for the lapsed

We all frankly object……

It’s questionable whether we can cope with all the eyes

Of truths and Out of ace

the business losses-

divulge or stifle

Putting it forward with all that cash

Views which report too much

Unex purgated started the memberships of democracy

Visitors definitely signed-

Archetypal, accursed, nefarious batards

Treachery on the flat!

He has the letters

Pass it on with explanations

To the uncaring carers

With those letters after their names

Deleting one thing after another

So necessary to life-

I do not wish to overthrow, just to win

Other peoples impossible

would be developing the improvement

Improve on nature? -directive

Interesting to see and

The deign, who?

Another investigation or is it investor

who knows

Covers for those comedians

Have you got the front,

the nerve,

the verve

No and I’ll just go to the sponsor

                 To conquer and combat

Grapple with the strikers

sacked if they don’t spike her

Return to work haranguing and disputing

Newspapers

Not being helpful.

they scream

Can you hear them whimper

From the doss cars as they simper

Not yet gone altogether

My impression spoken to someone else

Resolutions for revolutions of apathy-

Blearily watching, rebuffs which mortify

The movement of a snail

Up dated on latest position-screens

And bottom line as always is nothing decided

 And yet another meeting with more

Deputy secretary and

Leaderships and

Meantime more resolutions from

Chairs of corporate services

Attenuating on further possibilities

Desecrations

Redundancies

Redeployments

Issues of outstanding problems sidle into

Consciousness

Unrealistic hopes committed

Indulgent schemes

Inadequate abstentiousness

All appeared on central records

Moderation expected - the eternal

Battle cry shrouded in doubt

Job doesn’t exist

Job not appropriate

Please retain at all costs, engage, hire

Abstruse, commission or enlist

Take on, take up – We say it all - be off

What ever the wording would be

One firm job often is all they need or want

“System doesn’t work at the moment ladies and gentlemen”

Temporary contracts with consequent renewals

After the last contract

Following the last

And before the last, victimization

Yes too, bully, cheat, exploit, all with amiable complacency

Just people who were acquisitive:

are then persecuted, used apprized

If your face fits, invitations pour in

Otherwise not, so negotiate, negate

Stop listening, fight, scream, be heard

You fool

Tread, stamp, march, not for your country for you

Against capping beaurocrats

Who cap through grapevines –friends

The drums holler, anesthetized

Let’s look seriously, look through everything

At these nonentities – in their magnanity

Angels are business, so major speaks

The shop floor to be cleared

Angels removed and profits counted

Compulsory reviews, offers on orders from acheion

And management versus workers

Charlatans of old –

Valuable resource, botchers at work

All in who’s who

Hadn’t appreciated idiosyncratic

Partnerships promising appeasement

Of shady suspicion with more partnerships

In private sectors promising

Community care

Everything is profit making or eradicated

The city appeases

all are challenges

In crumbling schemes of hopeless messes

And it all stinks

As another meeting closes.

  31.3.93 U.E.L.Cultural Studies      

Reds...

 They drink tea

Those people – you know – those

Those – reds under the beds

Those ruskies, and ukys, Cossacks, not those

We had hot – then  and Uzbeks and them –

And the loot they ate.

Good food

But they don’t

Would you believe it

They don’t, because they’re commis –

 We drink tea too

Smile as much

We do. Laugh sometimes. Really laugh

And the government can’t cope

 I drink tea too

However

Her majesty

And her majesty’s government

Sub – humans by her majesty’s governments

Promise to bow to orders

Honest

Feeling pain pushed out

Trained with past colonials

Bring tea...

   89.                                           

Madness Series –

   Mary Jane on WARD16.

Were you mad that day Mary Jane

As you strolled the past with lapping tufts

Tearing your hair inside your scalp?

 Were you mad as you watched, Mary Jane

With eyes turned into shedding suns

A fog of a fireball inside your head

Yes Mary Jane, were you mad?

 They said so Mary Jane

As your blood turned into a box of pins

And the days into needles, punctured all through the night

With tears much larger than life or death

Were you mad?

 I cried for you then Mary Jane

As I cry for you now on that some spot

Slowly stroked roots into pivots of hair

For you Mary Jane

And taught you to see words again Mary Jane

Instead of the future’s distant timelessness

It was all a concert of sounds Mary Jane

It shouldn’t have been –

And you had to learn to exist all over again

Without any help as then – you see, don’t you?

 For I’m you Mary Jane and you ‘re me

And those punctures have rotted away

We remember it both Mary Jane

That day we went mad.

 How do you feel now Mary Jane?

You and I soundlessly

With vibrating handles screaming for help

We’re learning silence again

But Mary Jane

As twilight dawns

The pictures appear once again

And we sit together you and I Mary Jane

Dripping that madness away

 Your food became pills Mary Jane

And pills were your food

They kept you up right on your canvas

all through the night

As you lived in your mind far, far away

That world on your thumb print Mary Jane

It’s all splintered in wheels of past days

Yet – Mary Jane – yet, you learnt the whole truth

On that day you went mad.

 MY COTTAGE plashet road. E13.

The vacant buses pass

Roman revenge                                                    

Brown beech trees

Gooseberries sinking

Dried cracked thorns blinking

Crowns of thistles

Happiness no matter what life brings

As I walk into the door

The Hetman’s four

  30th.Sept.89

Snarling, gnashing

Noise of loneliness

Wounds hiding

Imagined tender aspirations

Never came book

Footsteps

Familiar deer handle

 Of the beloved

Tenderness and caning

 Love

Of the faceless one

With a thousand faces

  30.Sept.89

 I am a woman

I dreamed as a girl

Of wooing

Of being loved

Shared laughter and chatter

Of holding hands

Along seashores

I dreamed of sharing dreams

Is a world of harsh realities

Of the eternally displaced person

Taught never to demand

Duty and loyalty above all

Gain through world

 Misinterpreting

Thought work would equal love

Walked the wedding plank

Not noticing his reality

Only the outward Anglo – Saxon fairness

That longing of every foreigner

Eternally different

The home a shelter, divided

Children foreign too unshared

Distanced separateness a noiseless wall

So different

Neither laughter nor rage

Only barbs

Enforced with superior brow beating

The strangers lot

 Learning, their ways are learnt

       Their outside coverings

       The casing as hard as steel

Allowing no visions or dreams displayed

But still

I am woman

From warm earth which nurtures responses

Its seeds slice lurking within

Frozen in sorrow

Never able to grasp why

    15.Dec.89  

Breakdown

 Unfinished sadness at life

Dull miscomprehension of conceptions

Apprehended

Spewed out

By

Misappropriation

And the weeping sickness

 Clinging by living

To drowning ideals

Slice searching

  Nov.20th

  Breakdown

 In this silent world

Brimming with ear splitting rows

Daily living

lost touch to reality

Chaotic actions

In ordered unison

Ear drums cracking into ice drops

Of splintered showings

Called being normal

Speaking in channels

Fleshy cheeks watched

With the bones of successes

Senses flown

Tongues torn

Forcing breath flown

with the last civilization

Finding the heels

A silent quaking deepens

Until the fireball swallows it all whole

   15.Dec.89        

you’re mad

 Living alone is that silent world

Nobody spoke a word

We’re too busy to bother was the excuse

And so are you

Now they ask why I didn’t shout

And

You’re dumb as he walked out of the door

And who kept their lives running so smoothly

I ask

And never a glance who or how

Through sickness or health from any of them

 My voice was printed is a thousand verbs

Long lost around the world

Life’s experience is brown envelopes

Exchanged for a million ideals

Conversations with heavens

Sin daily written style

Till – you’re mad they all declared as one

You make no sound

This was my silence which I now declare

   21.Nov.89

Bullshit

 They distort and contort

Diffusing the very pattern of me

Individuality, ill fitting

Questioned

 It’s etched

Messages of the might

Seeking tranquility

And the pharmacists answer

   22.Nov  

magpie

 This personal experience

Called making art

Is it imitation

At it loftiest

Elitism gone mad

Does it allow freedom

Freedom to what

The quest of all mankind

Expressing itself

In its textures of shrapnels

And shades of tenor

To hide in

We

Who have refuge

  Nov.21

The model

 Sitting

She

Is

Nature

Creation

Searching the strands of her pores

Probing her skin

To find

Only ourselves

Reflections

Of pain and joy

Hopelessness

Imortalising life

Whilst she sits

In her chaotic peace

For the oblivion of the human race

 22.Nov.89

Under the blazing lights

Its human flesh

Reveals the profanity of living

In dragging truths

And breathless voice

Encumbrant civilization reverant

In non – belief

Revued

Seconds giving each lie

A lifetime’s story

And disorientated thoughts

Its brain washing reputed

By shadows

 ]

 30.Aug.89

That second before death

 Stunted and splintered

Existing only to die

Knowing

Life holds no future

        No expectations

Leaves no tender past

Daily grind of automated celibacy

In continued waves of silence

Perished yet never ending

Misunderstanding reasons professed

Is reasonings

 Limbo

Giving the lie

Unwished for contracts

Of continuing wash

Daylight formed of necessity

A cry for contact

Why the trials alone

A refugees lament

Grey clouds burning holes into emotions

Tied into grey eyes, keyed into grey skin, staring

Its all pervading sadness

Down beat land

Land of our refuge

If only the sun would shire

Even our pores are turning rusty from damp

Flocking here

Viewing your greatness

Justice

Finite understanding

From clenched anger

Of Churchill’s betrayal

Resentment still burning

As interlopers

    2.Feb.86

Women conservation

                                   He went lovely, did he?

Dear me, lovely               and so did they

Soon be forty                 you sit all alone lovely

How many years              and so do I

Three or four you say           lost your way lovely

Dear me lovely               whilst they all played

Lines around the eyes         They’re all got someone lovely

The kids are grown lovely       while your heart broke

And his are wandering

Your work is done             without a penny lovely

Spent a lifetime lovely           you sit and wait

Sorting them out               it’s a long wait lovely

Hang on lovely                 till the grave eats you up

What’ll happen if he goes         they didn’t train you lovely

You’ll have nothing lovely         that’s for other

Gave it all to them               who didn’t give so much

How will you manage lovely       They seem to have it all lovely

If you let him go                 while you seemed to

Go wandering for his youth lovely   live in vain

Whilst you’re grown old           live now with those memories

That keep you upright

And keep you awake lovely

As the years drag you down

You’re told /you’re too old now lovely

Too old for what

And your time’s passed

 What was it all for lovely?

They said it was love –

   Jan.90    

The day the wall: to Joe

Came down

 They’re opened up my homeland

Oh god what will this mean

Can I go see, find out

Become

Will it change me, us

My images, reflections with aged newness

My breast beats savagely on hearing

Home’s like the nearly lover

Who walks across the sleet

Never to ached and bitter sweet

Those memories that could have been

To risk the pain to risk the looking

At what’s been missed and al gone by

Is it too late to dare

Touch histories of scattered memories

Stories of Slovaks made jewish by implication

By Jewesses of no talent by the british

As is the file of lies, lies by implication…

Now the crippling begins, under the Red Cross

A jewish Red Cross with medical fronts…….

-        over there time moved on –

Standing stiles in our treads

In mellow warmth of distant past

A land now different to all that was

Where do I come how, belong

These strangers here

Or those strangers there?

    6.2.90

Waiting for interview at Northern General

 Seconds in between

Its met quite like I thought

All carpets, smiles and tea

This interviewing lark

 The tea gets churned is nerves

The smiles turn boiling reds

Now they’re said – yes

  Hip hip hurra

Only three more years ahead

You worry and you scurry

Is this really right?

Am I good enough

Will I do

Oh god, should I be here at all

It’s all so doubtful now

Courage courage

It’ll all work out

They haven’t bit you yet

But will you ever qualify

Pass exams, do alright

Well, got to have a go

That’s life

 There’s people here and there

It’s like a great big town

A miniscule universe

Within the hospital ground

There’s those in charge

And those below

And those who laugh and cry

And then there’s even some who work

To make the place go round

There teachers, preachers, folks who pray

Those spending their last days

And those who tremble at the might

Of all within their sight

-        I’m coming to join them all, I think

To hide within this crowd

I’ll do my bit and moan and groan

Just as they all do here

And beneath it all be filled with faith

About the way to go

I’ve filled my little jug with wee

And answered all their questions

With answers that were right for me –

Can’t except much more than that right now

Given them my honest thoughts

Now they’ll expect my labours too

What makes it all worth while I ask

This work and caring so immense

Well, there’s the wage –

Is that so big?

Eeh, I don’t know, you’ll see

They tell me naught

Watch carefully what I do

Can’t see that tickle in my turn

Excitement hope and a new start

With all I’ve learnt from life’s bashes

To use in service – here –

Can they use flying spirits though ,I ask

Gotta wait and see

When I come back they’ll tell

If I’m worth it or no

 Autumn.tern.89.[BED]shades of flokinokinihilipilification

Look what I found is this bucket of mothers

Shining with gold

Cared for coiffeurs

Attired is fashioned articles

And I expected the thinkers

And we’re the strugglers

Instead

Powdered and puffed

Needing interest

To add to their pampered lives –

So what of us

The losers

Well yes, a bit different

It’s all a bit difficult

Its pocket money to them

Three peoples total assets to us

But nevertheless moving mountains

We become

Hoping to teach

Have a profession

Starving to get there

No free roofs of marriage

No luxuries for the children

The LEA thinks – methinks

We belong to the moaners

   New Year.89

What are we doing

We artists of live form or colour

Or frightened of

Of disarranging for ever

As we disappear

Hope to live for ever

As obsessive line, form or colour

Obsession for what

What makes us

Who make us

For what purpose

Put our souls on paper

On view to the world

Shouting our emotions

Fleshy syllables in lines and forms – colour

Textures excused by profits

We’ll sell we excuse

It isn’t so, we need to

What

Create in existances name

    6.Jan.92.  

Performance Poetry

           Stratford Dole Office

Whilst Waiting

         Waiting on benches at Stratford

Unfortunately

the area I live in

Is ok

But life’s a shit

You know why?

It’s Britain

Hurrah for Britain

Someone

Somewhere

Knows

We sit – on benches

And claim

Fresh claims and general enquiries

 To feed

The excecutive

Hail now Marx

Come and help us

Lets raise the flag

 Where are we going?

Our next

Appointment

For the system

No one starves

Where - ?

In Britain doze

That’s why we sit

here

Waiting for the officers

What officers

We won the war

We freed Britain

With all our new claims

 Join the Army

Join the Dole

Join the Queue

Just don’t ask

For

For what?

What are we asking for

Pray

Do tell us

About what

What’s free about Britain

What’s the percentage

Percentage of what

Black, white, brown

But they only come here

For what      

and yellow too

The grand life style of course

of the empire

That’s why we sit here

On our benches    

Its compensation

Shit –

What’s this

Hunchbached gargoils

It’s like church

Isn’t it?

There they fed obedience

What dill they give us in

church?

And school

School too

What do they give us

In the wonderful

The wonderful, the wonderful

The wonderful what

Oh yea

The wonderful British establishments

Where they teach

 Now my belief is

That –

What’s my belief

 I give

What do I give?

I give the dole

Where its at

What?

Where what’s at

We’re society man

We’re society

We’re big and little

And skinny

And fat

And and and and.....

And we went to school

And we went to church

Honest we did

We did

And they taught us

They taught us

Now let me remember

They taught us how to sit on benches

To say

Yes sir

Yes miss

Cause you know it all

Miss – sir

You got it all – right

  Sir Sir Sir.....

And I stick your hand – out

For the care

Miss Miss Miss

And

And why aren’t you telling me

What to do now

Miss – sir

You’re standing up there sir – miss

You’ve got

A job

A car

A house

A holiday

Even –

I’ll bet you’ve even got

 Got Got Got.....

Shall I tell you – miss, sir

What your establishment got me

I got to sit on benches

Sir – miss

Does that tell you something

Miss – sir

Does that tell you

Does that

  Shit sir – miss

What does that tell you?

I know what it tells me    sir – miss

If tells me

Hey, you’re the brain box

You’re the ore who knows it all

You stand up there

All of you

And tell us

On all the benches

That we’ve sat on

Shit sir – miss

Since we were –

I can’t remember anymore when

Pant of your machinery

Your plan

Sir – miss

Your great big almighty machine

That sits people on benches

You

Sat us

On

Benches

All over

Your system

With

Your

Forms

Exams

Orders

And tidy little plans

Of how

YOUR

Society

Should look

Sir – miss

 Did you think

How

I’d

Feel

When you spewed me

Out

from your machinery

On to your waste – valve

 Did I get it wrong

Sir – miss

Or did you?

  29.1.93

SHEEZAN’S DARACH

 Visiting the Writers syndicate.

Often clinking

coffee at East Ham

In a café

    They don’t collect rubbish anymore

The East end                   and the streets are

Is yellow grit                     paved in gold!

Is plastic orange chairs

Is green tea/afloat with bits

Specks of multi – coloured life

Life and lives

Warm skins of dancing cool greys

Dancing is that daunted eternity way

And I am still new

Here

new old way

 Winter cloths with pitted teeth

(fake or true)  obtained from the dole

no truth here

children conceived and born to feed

with endless opportunities to sigh no

in the rain

in the damp

watching ……for the opportune moment to scream at officials

each stocky feat full of skinny housewives

with their purses bulging with dole

and he? Himself – in their sky – scrapers scraping for the skies

grinning at some sow of a civil servant

is yet another got office,

and she

glistening

like an over decorated got covered Christmas

Tree

Amazing trellis

With the wellies to wade through the dirt

It all goes in mulch

Quite reverently

Seeing the buses pass

Strangers in the night

Trudging like

Ships that parse

Or something like that

He declares he wants his love

Well floured

A man needs a tart to cheer

his worship the dole

Just around the corner at the Muslim pub

On black plastic

 And

Jesus watched too watches from below

Lights suggested it all passing

The red lights

Passing by that pink glow

Passing away

Where all sat listening

To plastic creaking

Springs, squeaking

Through rotten walls

Shiny black plastic

Of unknown qualities

Quantity unknown

And the lights flickered over the tombs

Of London

all  night long

Drown  

Londoners enjoying black plastic

Shiny black plastic

Filled with rubbish

Such a waste

Raised with the sweat of competitive racism

And a million or more

And more millions folk

All perspiring

Into driblets of salty cracked sewers

Jerking spewing out – trash  

Mice and rats

Around the blacks

Glassy black plastic realities

Detrimental

Orange green glass cup

Over the bar of differences

We’re

All

Easterners

Local

East Enders, who

What’s local

In London

We

all spit on

the black shiny plastic

Equality pegs longer

the same equally

They’ve changed it all as we watched

Unseeing not caring

Sit again and there’s yet a church

or some one’s house of god

Talk of church windows

Squares of honesty

Latticed with theology

Smelling of breweries

How all its accomplishment

Knowing that Jesus can’t

Visit

Neither

 The coloureds preach

To us now  and I thought we had damned Jesus to them

Even the temples

And smells of drugs

With their handled virginity

As everyone gives their arm an opinion

Lots of thoughts for others

To peruse over

And eat in sickening knuckles of gristles

Pork or penises

Yes and no’s

Scream through the chattering

Of clattering irony

Shining reflections

To deflect the holy wood never ending

Immigration circular

Movements of the world

Screen at its veins of crunchy marrow

Hollows burning into osteopaths

Chairs

Levered by politicians

Munch in the same skeins

Of baby pale – blue cotton wool clouds

Robust threads

Running through glazed policies

Magnifying goodness

Please welcome to Sheezan

And Imran Kahn

Invites you to his clinic

Or is it restaurant

Is it Halal

Butchers relax

We’re all watching you

Trays piled with magnetized strengths

Sepia smells wafting

Traveling

With taunted restraint

Isolated performers

Anglicization Protected

Stifling the dusty brilliance

Turquoise masses leaning

Blotchy

Held in a net of sun shine leaving

Back    

The gauges washes in the grimy waters

the Thames flows in these quarters

Like pee

Life added to yet another

Setting sun

    1.Nov.89  

Course Committee of students

 I am the student

Who is the reptile?  

Representative    

Profile Please

Feed back if they ever

Evaluation of dried leaves

Subject leaders under foot

An afternoon inspiration

Odd writings locked in this room

 Consulting bodies air waves

Advisers – teachers tear savers

Organizing and chaneling park lands

Thoughts and actions dark hands

Yes

The melee

Which ignores,

which wanders,

which dawdles

Through it’s all in orders

Deaf as atone to all

This specification and that squeezing

 We invoked

What did you say

A future for the few

A life of promise

What promise?

In happiness, I cried out

This king

Of those

Left –

Who’ll never live

Who’ll never know

That glory and honour

Of becoming

Acceptable

Left on the sheep of living

Without a plan

 Mathematics of words

Literacy examined

By examination and figures

Sounds of beauty

Music is corporate

Washing the tepid suds

Of artistic depths

 We discuss

They tack

So necessary

Without

Such a loss

But dear

oh dear

We could

Paint

Write

Wonder on crispy leaves

-        such heroes

are we

Discussing,

talking and

Oh so, so necessary

Minor politicians

One and all

Except me

 Rationalize thoughts?

Never

How can you –

Big brother squeezing personalities

Into shape

Herds of manageability

-        increased cooperativity

Grey life matter

Given distance, close up

Not me

Black motes

Melodious

Glances

White notes

Secondary dances

Porous, cellulose voices of living

Putting sounds into actions

Protruded debates

Waftings all clarified

Of yesterday’s hopes

Nostalgia and beauty

Combines

On faceless boards

 Sad words of rejection

Words

Words of analyzing

       Categorizing

Humanity lost it’s touch in numbers

Love words

Words of love

With

Words of hate

Afield listening organisations

With wonderment programmed

Candidates are lumps of flesh

Suddenly turn to life

Emitting their time subject

Sounds of and colour character targeted

Wondorous wonder

How did man aquire

fluctuating musical sounds

Binds them with draw

Overwhelmed tell all

In grunts groans that have of belief become

Lofty wisdom

Words

Sound thudding

Distant whispers

Hollow booming

Leaves its marks

Patches of oval reasonings

Opposed voices of action

Conformity technique

Interview application break

With later identifications

Now what was said in this meeting

Broken problem issues mentioned

Spokesmen’s particularness support transferred

Talking groups council jargoning

On conducted occassions

Don’t ask me at the combines

meeting what was said at this meeting

8.10am over the TV.on sixth November 1997

 NOV. 1997

I wouldn’t have believed it

I’ve got away with it

I think I’ve got away with it

Per the British and other governments

On TV

Murders with much pain

Thousands robbed

A life destroyed

An artist destroyed

Misery for 20 years to now

Much beyond yet

Britain’s advancement

To save its corrupt Jews

 Christmas 93

 Khounlivong Cheng’s party

Khounlivong Cheng – Ost str 60.

Cheng visits [Berlin]

Rice sticks

Sticky balls

Of food

And Mao wrote beautiful verse

That politician of dreams

That student of ancient poetry

Fighting a waiting attack

through out the night

In his caves

 Cheng knows

Farms are watered

Filled with the blood

Of this philosophy and that

 No one wins

 Cheng reads

Cold nights

damp mountains

Was it worth it?

eating would

Or was it the power of the mushroom?

 The bones rotted

Cheng shivered

Who remembers?

Cheng worries –

Whose bones?

 Cheng sits cross legged

cold earth

Alive

Thinks of chrysanthemums

And lives his celibacy

In a strange

strange land

Where they cry

smiling –

 Cheng tells

If they see black hair

It’s dangerous.

Cheng reasons

Then they made rope from such black hair

Friends end up in hospital

Beaten like steak

Cared for by the state!

 Cheng smiled as he visited

Learned to know

Smiled as we shivered

Read as he smiled

Smiled as we sat

And cried through the telling

Sitting up in hospital

 We all sighed

Three years later

A boy was killed

Here on the streets of London

After a football match

 A Dutch boy

The hatred never ceases

Because he looked like a German

By a mob of football fans.....

  6.Nov.97  

Those dogs

 you’re not bad for a German he said

Tho’ I hate them like dogs

Actually

Our German sergeant dug trenches

For all of us

to live

When we refused

There battling for them in Italy

And sat there laughing at him

Soldiers of the Wehrmacht all of us

-        he was one hell of a worker!

Actually

 Our officer was a dammed efficient guy

Couldn’t fault him

They did miracles

We never got kicked by them

Like the British

Well Scotts Guard kicked us

But I hate Germans

 Actually

They’re hard working

Yes and decant

And quiet

But I hate Germans

In the end

a few took my life quite without cause.

In democratic Britain

but I hate the Germans, like dogs!!

He sighed

 The Priest, Protestant ofcourse because we are Catholics, who was asked into the Human Research Lab of St Barths to watch the vilest of lewd films for an illegal highly dangerous, banned unofficial programme made by their licensious staff, says….a programme of manipulation and destruction as has never been known before, yet totally secretly…

“however you have written good ideas,” chirped the English man, “good thoughts, I will use them in Sermons.”

 And Raika, my childhood friend from Elsham Camp, Lincolnshire,  is now tuned to explore every second of our camp life to ensure I cannot talk of any of it. She writes, friend alters and Lab ensures all is printed..

It is considered ‘’revenge’’………yet, hadn’t my mother ensured that over two hundred of their women were fed and kept safe and alive in humane conditions……..

No avenue must be left, no voice will be given to these people we have damaged, destroyed and murdered murmures the Lab.

M/s ‘’they are going to try a monetary collapse next. The tidal wave hasn’t come off yet.’’

[sk3tch404]

Hoooh boy you're definitely not gonna be prepared for what Nonny and the Schneidermann's are wearing then, because Jesus Christ me and my friend truly went "the only people who would love you are the ones with more or equally atrocious fashion styles" with that one out of the way, let's start tame with Y/N because I forgot a key characteristic of hers :)

-Nothing much to say about Y/N, Beige stop that reveals her midriff and light blue shorts, BIG RED CLOWNSHOES WITH HEELS, also the thing I forgot was that she literally does not have a face and has to manually apply waterproof makeup so that she looks like a normal person everyday. The game starts off with her make up routine actually lmao I think it wasn't much of a problem for her, because most of her face was hidden thanks to her bangs anyway, but she still enjoys doing it

-Here comes our favourite Hackerman meow meow, so like, his outfits that I described before? Still pretty accurate, Mans got Black hoodie, though I think he has grey sweatpants instead of black pants, oh and also he's got BIG PINK BALLERINA SHOES WHOSE STRAPS GO O N T O P OF HIS SWEATPANTS AND END AT HIS LOWER THIGHS O_O I didn't describe them last time, partly because I totally forgot he had them until I saw his traditional character sheet and partly because I didn't see them in the game, since his sprite cuts off right above where the shoe straps end. So yeah, do with that information what you will. Also he had a straight up Lenny face at first, no eyecolor, just ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Also also he wasn't 7 feet 8, he was 9' 2" O_O .

Extra quotes we wrote on his sheet: "giiirl, get back inda BASEMENT" "Are u lost, babeygrill?" "He's got NO lips!" "He's never gonna get a kiss kiss very UGLY!" "No kiss for him"

-J. Schneidermann (because writing his full name would clutter this already long ask oof) so, pink cap with a heart on it uwu. Straight up rainbow dash hair, except short, no face because he anime blushed too hard (he actually has one, unlike Y/N but we just didn't draw it) a long sleeved shirt that's various shades of blue and INTENSE shoulder spike (not horizontally, they go vertically up to his ears) green saggy ass pants that approximately reach his ankles and have GUTSCHI written on it (makes him look like a fucked up hamster ngl) lots of chains on his wrists and pants, ears are pierced, and the most notable detail, he has mismatched shoes that he shares with his cousin, one red high heel and one... black boot or black sneaker I can't tell. He's also smoking a red vape in the pic and has a gold chocker

-B. Schneidermann, black fluffy hair that apparently also covering his face because we didn't draw him one either (rip Schneidermann face enjoyers) mirroring his cousins general outfit, except we can actually see the divide between his legs with the red loose pants he's wearing, rainbow long sleeved shirt, I think he was also supposed to have the ridiculous shoulder spikes but they look more like a high collared cape that's reaaaaaaaally short instead, 1 gold bracelet on each of his wrists and smoking a golden vape too, wears the other part of the mismatched shoe pair. He's also holding a banana and a hotdog (I think it's a hotdog at least) also wears a silver choker

Btw if you're wondering what the hell is up with the Schneidermann shoes, it's inspired by another thing we had to do in German period, be basically got a story from a newspaper that we had to retell in another way, the story we got was "Asian man steals peoples left shoes" like, specifically only the left one, which reminds me that Kim Hojungseo would be shoe thief considering that we drew a shit ton of shoes on his sheet lmao.

Extra writing on Hojungseo's sheet: "I only listen to REAL music!" "Save the fucking turtles b-baka! ùwú" "how can mirrors be real, when our eyes aren't?" "Crying on the inside"

I think I'll probably yassify part of their designs, not too much tho, oughta stay true to their OG vibe after all 😔✊ also this felt like a My Immortal chapter with these lengthy character descriptions, still kinda feel that I don't do em justice, they rlly are the kinda character designs that you simply need to ✨experience✨for yourself to truly understand. Also sorry for clogging up your asks you can tell me when to stop just sayin :,)

-Ren'py anon

Wow.

What an

Experience.

I do need these game files ASAP.

Why are the swedish cousins ESPECIALLY ugly 😭😭😭 a golden vape too??? Bro is living the life. WHY DID YOU GIVE THE WORST AND BEST CHARACTER THE HYPEBEAST AESTHETIC??? HELP

I HONESTLY DONT KNOW WHICH IS WHICH ANYMORE

YOU AND UR FRIENDS GAVE NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS A CHANCE TO BREATHE. YALL REALLY WENT, "Let's give them as much as icks as we can."

The genderfluid aroace urge to accept stoner swedish cousin and hacker nonny for who and whatever the hell they are is strong,

but I have standards I must stick to 💔

The pants on Stoner swedish cousin are questionable to say the least, but hey, at least the got them chains 😎 although his hair is a 🚫off

Hair is a BIG PART of attraction for me so 💀

In another world, he would've looked like that blonde boy from 6teen that was voiced by Chris Mcleans VA

Hacker nonny. Hacker NONNYYYYYYYY MY BOY

At this point, there is only friendship, listening to his funky ass one liners yall wrote, going to his bad private home ballet practices and kicking the back of his knees. Being over 6'8 is an ICKKKKKKKK

I'm 5'5 so, baby this ain't gon work </3

Y/n is awesome. I love how their hair conceals so much of their face, but they just do paint it on anyway. Taking no eyes Y/n to the next level I see 😎

Tbh Y/n and stoner swedish cousin are the only love interests to me now. Y/n should be able to say, "Yeah, humans are fucking FREAKS. I'm the hottest one here tbh." AND GO ON WITH THEIR DAY AS PER USUAL.

Y/n gotta go shoe shopping b4 hand bc WOOOO BOY those clowns shoes ain't it.

Koreaboo bf cousin can go fuck himself bc I hate how he's affiliated with 'Kim hojeongso' or whatever the fuck his name was.

And its okay renpy anon! Send in whenever you'd like! Even though it takes a little while to read through everything and try to include most of everything, I dont mind it all that much!

Thank you for being even comfortable enough to talk about your personal creation with me like this! I enjoy everything you have brought to the table and I'm excited if you have more. Thanks so much Renpy nonnie <33 ilysm

[zafirosreverie]

Día de muertos

October 29th: 

Today, the waters of the Tlalocan calm down.

Tlaloc, its lord, calms his temperament and with a paternal gaze allows the souls of the drowned and those who died of disease, to return to the land of the living, to once again enjoy with those whom they couldn’t say goodbye to. The kingdom of Tlaloc is half emptied, tomorrow, the god will release the rest of his children.

We light another candle and put a glass of water, to quench their thirst.

Ann, @roseclear ​‘s grandmother.

She passed from a heart attack in 2009. Her granddaughter was very close to her for her whole life. Nikki’s sister and she were her only grandchildren, and she spent every Thanksgiving through New Years with them. She always treated them like they were precious. May her family feel the hug she’s giving them today, because Nikki miss her so much.

Peter, nonie’s grandfather. 

“We used to play chess. He’s who taught me the basics of chess when I was little, and we’d play a lot. He was a woodcarver, so he had made us this beautiful chess set, which is the one we still use now. But because I was so young I didn’t fully understand, so one time he tried to take the king and win, I put my hand over it and yelled ‘forcefield!” He just laughed and let me use my made up move, and let me win the game of course because I was probably only six”. I’m sure he’s still using the move you taught him to win every time he plays chess wherever he is.

Arthur Günter Weiser, @readerxxx ​​‘s grandfather.

He was born on a ship, in german waters. He was raised only by his mother, Agnes, along with his twelve brothers. One day he had an accident at work and during his hospitalization he met his future wife, Emma Sedonia, a nurse. When he returned to work in another state, she left the hospital to be together. Unfortunately, the rest of their marriage wasn't so happy, but they got everything they have from absolutely nothing, working honestly.

Emma Sedonia, @readerxxx ​‘s grandmother. 

She died of grief because her daughters (readerxxx’s aunts) only wanted their inheritance. Saddle, she had a heart attack. May she find peace and feel our love for her this night.

Ramiro Yáñez.

Brother, son, father. He was a kind and funny soul, who was always ready to help everyone. He deeply loved his family, especially his mother. His humility left its mark on the hearts of all those who knew him. Sadly, he passed away under strange circumstances in his own home, but his wife never allowed an autopsy to be done, it was simply said that it was a failure of the heart. May he still be laughing and his joy flood our hearts tonight.

Dave, @katzoo12 ​‘s friend. 

“He was an amazing man. Crazy, insane, and an old rocker who still loved going to rock concerts, but amazing. He loved his cat Pedro and my family, especially me. I introduced him to a lot of movies, and he always quoted a song to me. “I love you more today than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow.” Honestly, I never listened to the song until I learned that he died because I felt I owed it to him”.  On his second anniversary, we all sing with him, his voice will echo in our hearts, wherever he is. 

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

And you will be a song, chords, guitars and light.

And you will be a song and a verse will speak of you.

And you will be a song, and your soul today will be my voice.

-Mago de Oz

[brooklynmuseum]

Closing out National Poetry Month, our Spring Interns paired some of their favorite poems with works from our collection. We hope you enjoy!

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas

Image: Suzuki Harunobu (Japanese, 1724-1770). Page From Haru no Nishiki, 1771. Color woodblock print on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peter P. Pessutti, 83.190.1

from Citizen: “Some years there exists a wanting to escape...” [Excerpt] By Claudia Rankine 

/

I they he she we you turn only to discover the encounter

to be alien to this place.

Wait.

The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.

The opening, between you and you, occupied, zoned for an encounter,

given the histories of you and you—

And always, who is this you?

The start of you, each day, a presence already—

Hey you—

/

— Halle Smith, Digital Collections Intern Catherine Green (American, born 1952). [Untitled] (West Indian Day Parade), 1991. Chromogenic photograph, sheet. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 1991.58.2. © artist or artist's estate 

Ode to Enchanted Light by Pablo Neruda

Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light like a green latticework of branches, shining on every leaf, drifting down like clean white sand.

A cicada sends its sawing song high into the empty air.

The world is a glass overflowing with water.

Consuelo Kanaga’s black and white photograph captures a dazzling, yet fleeting moment from everyday life. Three textured glasses cast shadows whose patterns are almost kaleidoscopic in effect. We can imagine Kanaga passing by her kitchen table, as she is brought to a halt to take a closer look at, and ultimately to photograph, the simple beauty generated by the play of light and everyday objects. The close-up scale of this image emulates the singularizing framing techniques deployed by Surrealist photographers, who also took parts of everyday life and blew them up in the photographic frame, thereby encouraging their viewers to look at life around us from a different angle. It is a way of saying: Here, take a closer look. Viewing the world with wonder, along with the joy that this act brings, are encapsulated in Pablo Neruda’s poem Ode to Enchanted Light. The speaker observes the way light passes through trees and creates enchanting patterns. He not only observes, but feels the beauty in the simple details of life, from the way light falls from the sky, to the sheen of leaves, to the buzzing of cicadas. Approaching life through such a hopeful lens evokes a glass-half-full perspective. In fact, the speaker is so hopeful that he believes “The world is/a glass overflowing/with water.” I think Kanaga would have felt the same way. 

— Kirk Testa, Curatorial Intern, Photography Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). [Untitled] (Glasses and Reflections). Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.25

Easter Wings By George Herbert

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

      Though foolishly he lost the same,

            Decaying more and more,

                  Till he became

                        Most poore:

                        With thee

                  O let me rise

            As larks, harmoniously,

      And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne

      And still with sicknesses and shame.

            Thou didst so punish sinne,

                  That I became

                        Most thinne.

                        With thee

                  Let me combine,

            And feel thy victorie:

         For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Easter Wings by George Herbet and Martin Bach’s flower vase from the Brooklyn Museum’s Decorative Arts collection reveal the interrelationship between form and function. In Easter Wings, Herbert strategically varies the line length to create an image that enhances the meaning of the poem; when you turn the poem on its side, it resembles the wings of a bird, of which are symbolic of the atonement of Jesus Christ. In doing so, the author is not only telling us his message, but he is showing it visually as well. Similarly, the vase takes the visual form of its function. Its floral design amplifies the meaning of the object, as the vase is meant to hold flowers. In both instances, we see how aesthetic properties of a work echo the meaning and function of the work itself.

— Amy Zavecz Martin Bach (American, 1862-1921). Vase, ca. 1905. Opalescent glass. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mrs. Alfred Zoebisch, 59.143.16. Creative Commons-BY 

I am the Earth (Watashi wa chikyu) [Excerpt] by Kiyoko Nagase, Translated by Takako Lento

I am warm, moist soil  I am a single supple stalk  I draw my life  all the way up into corollas of wild berries on the roadside 

I am amazed at  a breast of water welling  to flow into the inlet of a muddy rice paddy  I am amazed at  myself being  hot steam blowing fire and sulfur up  from the bottom of the great ocean, deep indigo.  I am amazed at  the crimson blood flow  covering the earth’s surface in human shape;  I am amazed that it swells as the tides ebb and flow, and gushes out monthly under distant invisible gravity … I am the earth.  I live there, and I am the very same earth. 

In the four billionth year  I have come to know  the eternal cold moon, my other self, my hetero being,  then, for the first time, I am amazed that I am warm mud.

The vivid imagery conjured up by Kiyoko Nagase’s poem is beautifully visualized by Emmi Whitehorse’s painting. The emphasis on deep Earth tones and abstract corporeality in both the poem and the painting really creates an intense metaphysical link between the environment and the self.

— Amanda Raquel Dorval, Archives Intern Emmi Whitehorse (Navajo, born 1957). Fire Weed, 1998. Chalk, graphite, pastel and oil on paper mounted on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Hinrich Peiper and Dorothee Peiper-Riegraf in honor of Emmi Whitehorse, 2006.49. © artist or artist's estate

Seventh Circle of Earth by Ocean Vuong

On April 27, 2011, a gay couple, Michael Humphrey and Clayton Capshaw, was murdered by immolation in their home in Dallas, Texas.

Dallas Voice

                                          1

2

                                              3

                                       4

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     6

                                                                                            7

________________________________________________________

As if my finger, / tracing your collarbone / behind closed doors, / was enough / to erase myself. To forget / we built this house knowing / it won’t last. How / does anyone stop / regret / without cutting / off his hands? / Another torch

streams through / the kitchen window, / another errant dove. / It’s funny. I always knew / I’d be warmest beside / my man. / But don’t laugh. Understand me / when I say I burn best / when crowned / with your scent: that earth-sweat / & Old Spice I seek out each night / the days

refuse me. / Our faces blackening / in the photographs along the wall. / Don’t laugh. Just tell me the story / again, / of the sparrows who flew from falling Rome, / their blazed wings. / How ruin nested inside each thimbled throat / & made it sing

until the notes threaded to this / smoke rising / from your nostrils. Speak— / until your voice is nothing / but the crackle / of charred

bones. But don’t laugh / when these walls collapse / & only sparks / not sparrows / fly out. / When they come / to sift through these cinders—& pluck my tongue, / this fisted rose, / charcoaled & choked / from your gone

mouth. / Each black petal / blasted / with what’s left / of our laughter. / Laughter ashed / to air / to honey to baby / darling, / look. Look how happy we are / to be no one / & still

American.

Ocean Vuong’s “Seventh Circle of Earth” has persisted as one of the great, affective moments of poetry in my life since I first heard Pádraig Ó Toama’s gorgeous reading and discussion of it on his podcast, Poetry Unbound. I decided to pair Vuong’s poem with Mary Coble’s Untitled 2 (from Note To Self) because both works are urgently immersive into the violence and experience of LGBTQ people in the U.S., and for how each work uses text and physicality to address presence, pain, and erasure. Vuong’s poem is actually footnoted to a quote from a news article about a gay couple murdered in Texas. The page is thus blank, absent of text. The reader has to sink below the main stage, the accepted space of word and story, to find the voices of this couple and the depth of their story’s tenderness, eroticism, and utter devastation. Coble’s piece foils the structure and effect of Seventh Circle of Earth by taking what was subverted by Vuong—text and the narrative of violence—wholly to the surface. Her photograph captures her own legs tattooed without ink with the names of LGBTQ individuals victimized by hate crimes. I cannot help but think of Franz Kafka’s short story “In the Penal Colony,” in which prisoners’ “sentences'' are inscribed by the needle of a “punishment apparatus” directly onto their bodies. I was struck by how the curator’s note for this photograph describes Coble’s artistic endeavor here as “harrowing.” The needle in Kafka’s short story is indeed called “The Harrow”. The noun harrow is an agricultural tool that combs plowed soil to break up clumps of earth and uproot weeds and clear imperfections. The verb to harrow means to plague, and in the story’s original German the verb for “harrow”, eggen,  is also translated as “to torment”. Kafka and Coble conflate these definitions of “the harrow” in their respective works: they use a needled device, like the true noun definition, as an instrument of torment because of someone else’s idea of punishment and justice. Here, violence is brought to the surface, intimate in as much as we are brought right up to the artist’s skin and into the presence of her and her community’s pain. Together, one can see how each creator physicalizes their respective artistic space to tell the stories of LGBTQ people, of what is tender and harrowing, below the surface and written into the skin. 

— Talia Abrahams, Provenance Intern, IHCPP Mary Coble (American, born 1978). Untitled 2 (from Note to Self), 2005. Inkjet print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 2008.10. © artist or artist's estate 

To my daughter Kakuya   by Assata Shakur  

I have shabby dreams for you   of some vague freedom   I have never known.   Baby   I don't want you hungry or thirsty   or out in the cold.   and I don't want the frost   to kill your fruit   before it ripens.   I can see a sunny place  Life exploding green.   I can see your bright, bronze skin at ease with all the flowers   and the centipedes.   I can hear laughter,   not grown from ridicule   And words not prompted   by ego or greed or jealousy.   I see a world where hatred   has been replaced by love.   and ME replaced by WE   And I can see a world replaced                                       where you,   building and exploring,   strong and fulfilled,   will understand.   And go beyond my little shabby dreams. 

This poem is featured in Assata Shakur’s memoir, Assata: An Autobiography. It details her hope for a better world that  her daughter can grow up in. This poem is positioned in the book when Shakur is facing increasing prosecution as a result of her  activism and affiliations with the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation army. Being written more than 30 years after this picture  was taken, the poem summons me to think about the trauma that many Black women face and how much of that trauma gets passed  down to their children. The black and white photo of a mother and daughter provides a nice visual to the poem. “The image of a Black  mother and child sitting on their luggage reflects the little-discussed history of segregated transportation in the northern United States. Through the 1940s, Penn Station officials assigned Black travelers seats in Jim Crow cars on southbound trains” (Brooklyn Museum). The photograph of train passengers waiting outside of Manhattan’s Pennsylvania Station especially echoes the verse “I don’t want you  hungry or thirsty or out in the cold.” The overall optimistic tone of Shakur’s poem alters our relationship to the image as we imagine  the mother pictured above hoping for the exact same things

— Zaria W, Teen Programs intern Ruth Orkin (American, 1921-1985). Mother and Daughter at Penn Station, NYC, 1948. Gelatin silver photograph, sheet: 13 15/16 × 11 in. (35.4 × 27.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mary Engel, 2011.22.3. © artist or artist's estate

Crunch.  By Kailyn Gibson 

I retch as a mass of sinew lies between my lips.  The sensation is unbearable.  Fortunately, the jar of flies has gone missing again. 

Slowly, surely, and yet never sure at all,  the quiet of buzzing rings through the in-between. 

It is a symphony wrought from blood and bone. 

Saliva drips from bleeding, hungry gums,  And the crunch of glass echoes the grinding of molars.

If I proffered a sanguine smile, would masticated shards look like teeth?  Would they gleam just as prettily?  

The flies ring,  and the rot calls. 

— Kailyn Gibson Edgar Degas (French, 1834-1917). Portrait of a Man (Portrait d'homme), ca. 1866. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Collection Fund, 21.112 

Excerpt from Autobiography of Red A novel in verse by Anne Carson

7. If Helen’s reasons arose out of some remark Stesichoros made either it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) or it was not.

8. If it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) either this remark was a lie or it was not.

9. If it was not a lie either we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way we are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros or we are not.

10. If we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros either we will go along without incident or we will meet Stesichoros on our way back.

11. If we meet Stesichoros on our way back either we will keep quiet or we will look him in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen.

12. If we look Stesichoros in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen either he will tell the truth or he will lie.

13. If Stesichoros lies either we will know at once that he is lying or we will be fooled because now that we are in reverse the whole landscape looks inside out.

This excerpt comes from Appendix C of Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red, a novel in verse. A translator and classicist herself, Carson mixes fact with fiction in her unconventional retelling of the myth of Geryon and Hercules, beginning with a roundabout introduction to the poet Stesichoros. Autobiography presents a captivating example of recent Queer projects that take up Classical material as their basis. A fascination with the Classical past has pervaded our modern conception of sexual identity politics, down to the very etymology of the word “lesbian.” In this fascination, I see the same desire to capture Classical imagery as cultural heritage which has also pervaded American museums, albeit with significantly different aims. The fresco pictured above comes to mind, which passed through many collectors and was even purchased by the museum before anyone pegged it as a modern piece—not an original Roman fresco. John D. Cooney, a 20th century curator of our Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art collection, wrote that “the unclad and somewhat winsome charms of the lady [probably] diverted objective glances.” Both in the case of the fresco and Carson’s novel, the “unclad and somewhat winsome charms” of the Classical past shape and reshape our understanding of history.

— Kira Houston, Curatorial Intern, Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art Modern, in the style of the Roman Period. Part of a Fresco, early 19th century C.E. Clay, paint. Brooklyn Museum, Ella C. Woodward Memorial Fund, 11.30.

Late Fragment by Raymond Carver From A New Path to the Waterfall, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

— Shori Diedrick Brackens (American, born 1989). when no softness came, 2019. Cotton and acrylic yarn. Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by The LIFEWTR Fund at Frieze New York 2019, 2019.12. © artist or artist's estate

Jaguar By Francisco X. Alarcón

some say                                    dicen que ahora                  I'm now almost                           estoy casi extinto       extinct in this park                      por este parque    but the people                            pero la gente who say this                               que dice esto don't know                                 no sabe that by smelling                          que al oler   the orchids                                 las orquídeas in the trees                                 en los árboles they're sensing                          están percibiendo  the fragrance                             la fragancia of my chops                              de mis fauces  that by hearing                          que al oír the rumblingc                            el retumbo of the waterfalls                        de los saltos  

they're listening                         están escuchando          to my ancestors'                       el gran rugido   great roar                                  de mis ancestros

that by observing                      que al observar     the constellations                      las constelanciones     of the night sky                         del firmamento 

they're gazing                           están mirando at the star spots                       las motas de estrellas    on my fur                                  marcadas en mi piel that I am and                            que yo soy always will be                           y siempre seré the wild                                     el indomable

untamed                                  espíritu silvestre living spirit                               vivo de esta of this jungle                            jungla

While the author of the poem speaks about animals, their words can also speak on behalf of the erasure of indigenous peoples in South America. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions and culture are very important to life in South America. Despite their marginalization, Indigenous peoples throughout the Andes used coca leaves to help with the altitude. The use and cultivation of coca are criminalized throughout most of South America despite it being essential to indigenous cultures. This vessel was used to contain lime which would activate the coca leaves.  Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions are also faced with endangerment despite being woven into the fabric that is Latin America. Through the opposite man and woman figures, the vessel shows the duality that is important to the Quimbaya people which is still relevant to Colombians today.

Aunque el autor del poema habla sobre los animales, sus palabras también comunican el sentimiento común de la supresión de los indígenas en Suramérica. Con la mención del jaguar, se puede entender en el poema que la cultura y las tradiciones de las personas que son indígenas son sumamente importantes para la vida en Sudamérica. A pesar de su marginación, los indígenas en Los Andes utilizan la hoja de coca para ayudar en la altura de las montañas. El uso y el cultivo de la hoja de coca fue criminalizado (penalizado) a través de Sudamérica, aunque su uso para los indígenas era vital y esencial para su cultura. Este recipiente que se utiliza contiene limón lo que activa la hoja de la coca. Similarmente al jaguar, las tradiciones de los indígenas siempre estaban en peligro aunque estuvieran entrelazadas en las telas de lo que sería Latinoamérica. A través del hombre opuesto y las figuras de mujeres, el recipiente muestra la dualidad de lo que es importante para las personas que son Quimbaya, algo que todavía hoy es relevante para los Colombianos.

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas Quimbaya. Poporo (Lime Container), 1-600 C.E. Tumbaga. Brooklyn Museum, Alfred W. Jenkins Fund, 35.507. Creative Commons-BY 

[queerlennon]

Lesley-Ann Jones Is Untrustworthy

So I’ve seen some people in the fandom reading and citing Lesley-Ann Jones’ biography The Search For John Lennon recently and to be honest it’s concerning to me. Lesley Ann Jones has proved in the past to be an extremely untrustworthy source for info about the people she writes about. I understand that it’s exciting to have a book about John that’s not written by the typical “Lennon biographer” type (aka an ageing straight man) and for said book to also promise to shed light and focus on his bisexuality but, if we’re going to analyse John respectfully and accurately, it’s important to identify sources that are biased and untrustworthy, even if they’re technically within our favour. Especially when it relates to his queerness. And seeing as LAJ doesn’t have the best record when it comes to writing about rockstars’ sexualities in a respectful manner, it’s best to treat her words with caution.

Info about exactly how she’s a bad source is under the cut

Firstly, it's key to talk about LAJ's journalistic background when discussing what sort of writer she is: she's worked for papers such as The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Mail On Sunday. Essentially, the bulk of her work has been for tabloids and traditionally the writing style for those kinds of publications place an emphasis on sensationalism and gossip. Now obviously that doesn’t discredit her work immediately, authors are usually able to write in more than one style so it doesn’t necessarily mean the tabloid style is going to carry over to her biographies; but it’s good to keep in mind when discussing and analysing the legitimacy of the narratives she creates and the stories she recounts in her work. 

LAJ has received criticism in the past, particularly from the queen fandom of often overexaggerating, or just straight presenting false information in her bios about Freddie Mercury. She is the champion of the claim that Freddie was bisexual and not gay. Her evidence for this is over-exaggerating and (seemingly intentionally) misinterpreting the nature of the relationship between Freddie and his friend, Barbara Valentin. LAJ claimed that the two had a relationship and even lived together:

“Barbara was very open with me about the sexual relationship she had with Freddie.”

(x)

(x)

However, no-one in Freddie’s life has ever corroborated that Freddie and Barbara were anything but friends. As for the claim they lived together, according to Peter Freestone, an extremely close friend of Freddie’s:

In the event, Freddie never actually lived there although Barbara fulfilled a huge role in Freddie’s life at that time... Freddie became very disillusioned when with more and more frequency articles were appearing in the German press’s gossip columns... about the relationship between him and Barbara... After one article claiming to have knowledge of him and Barbara getting married, Freddie... concluded that it could only be Barbara who was providing the information.

(x)

This exaggeration of their relationship and the insistence LAJ has on presenting Freddie as bi because of it has attracted criticism from queen fans for obvious reasons. For one, it’s borderline homophobic to essentially lie about a gay man having a relationship with a woman while downplaying his relationships with men. No, she’s not portraying him as a straight man, however it’s still erasure of the specific struggles Freddie would’ve faced being a gay man in his time, therefore those who want to analyse him would be missing some of the picture when trying to understand him and his life

LAJ’s research methods are also... questionable. This is a post from Crystal Taylor (one of Roger Taylor’s roadies) about her methods for her David Bowie bio which, if to be believed is particularly concerning.

(x)

LAJ is also known to greatly exaggerate her own relationships with her subjects. She often claims to have been friends with the people she writes bios about (coincidently the people she does this with are dead.) Back in the day she would meet with artists while on tour so the idea is convincing enough. However besides her word there’s nothing to suggest that she had close friendships with Freddie or Bowie, two people she claimed to be good friends with. There’s also this comment from Brian May which actually goes against the idea that she was close with Freddie:

(x)

So with all of this in mind, let’s look at the quote from The Search For John Lennon that’s been circulating around Beatles tumblr:

That Bowie worshipped Lennon is no secret. He'd banged on about it often enough. The ex-Beatle had gone to his hedonism. They'd met in Los Angeles, during John's Lost Weekend. I lunched from time to time with David in New York while working there as a music journalist, before he married Iman. He lent me his house in Mustique, to write the first draft of my first biography on Freddie Mercury.

The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May and far away from Yoko. They genderbender-ed about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his. What larks.

They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends'.

I’m suspicious of this story for several reasons but first I want to make it clear that none of them have to do with John having sex with men or being bisexual. I’m a very firm believer of John’s bisexuality (my username is literally queerlennon lmao) but once again I think it’s good to examine the legitimacy of sources, even when they favour our position.

Firstly, LAJ’s source for this story is the claim that David told her, which considering I can’t find any info about them being friends besides her word, combined with the fact that she’s lied about having close relationships in the past raises a lot of flags.

But even if we assume LAJ isn’t lying and did know Bowie, the quote is still suspect, particularly the line “John was on yet another break from May and far away from Yoko.” According to May in her book Loving John, her and John had only one break from their relationship (the phrase “yet another break” implies multiple) that lasted a week, and for the entirety of that week, John was with Yoko. (x)

Finally, the language LAJ uses to describe John and David’s sexualities not only puts me on edge but very much makes me question her intention. Phrases like “the genderbender-ed about,” “indulged his ‘inner fag,’” and “ambisextrous,” all come across to me as fetishisation. Bisexuality is already very highly fetishised and sexualised and LAJ is most definitely not concerned with deviating from that representation. That phrasing combined with the way she also discusses Freddie’s sexuality, where she’s alleged highly sexualised claims about him having threesomes:

And quite often that involved other people as well. Other men, other women. There would be a number of them in the bedroom at any given time. In fact they were raided by the police once and the police stormed in and they found more people than they were expecting to find in the bed that morning.

(x)

— leads me to believe that LAJ is an author less concerned with exploring John’s sexuality as apart of his life, something that made him who he was, and more concerned with including details about “bisexual threesomes” as shock value, as a sensational point she can use to to promote her book in press tours and interviews. Like a tabloid writer. And this sort disrespect representation of John’s queerness, imo isn’t that much better than the biographers who dismiss or underplay it. I totally understand that for a lot of us, finding out new info about John’s queer identity is exciting, especially for those of us who are queer and identify with a lot with John for that reason, myself included. But we shouldn’t be giving credence and legitimacy to someone who firstly, isn’t trustworthy and secondly who’s reason for talking about it is gross and exploitative at best and biphobic at worst.

tl;dr, LAJ is an incredibly untrustworthy source of info and in her own over exaggerations, treats discussions of queerness in an extremely problematic and exploitive way so please take anything you read from her with a massive grain of salt.

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble. 

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas. 

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and  together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.  

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context. 

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists. 

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age. 

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in. 

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’. 

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters. 

Wait, what? 

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.  

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage. 

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this. 

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake. 

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way. 

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’. 

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom. 

[missanthropicprinciple]

A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies. 

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far: 

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios. 

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.) 

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose. 

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study. 

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC. 

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm. 

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.” 

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot. 

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.” 

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else. 

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.” 

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream. 

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about. 

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts. 

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278). 

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature. 

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself. 

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start. 

Works Cited (WIP) 

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

[comrade-meow]

‘Sex work’ advocates and the Nazi propaganda playbook

Last month Nordic Model Now! was asked to participate in a University of Exeter student debate on the proposition that “This house believes that sex work is real work.” As a group, we are ambivalent about taking part in such debates. On the one hand, they are seldom a conducive forum for understanding nuanced and complex issues – but on the other hand, if we don’t participate there is a risk that the audience won’t hear the feminist analysis of prostitution. No one else in the group was able to take part that night, so reluctantly I agreed.

From the comments on social media during the debate, it appears that most of the students were won over by the arguments of the two proponents of the proposition – even though it was clear to me that they both had powerful vested interests in a booming sex industry, that much of what they said was palpably false and much of their argument relied on ad hominem attacks on myself and the other speaker against the proposition.

I was awake much of that night wondering why the students at one of the top universities in the UK appeared to be so unable to see beyond the self-satisfied veneer of the two speakers for the proposition. By the morning I’d resolved to analyse the arguments for the proposition and place them in context, with the aim of providing some help to those coming to similar debates in the future. This article is the result.

The Nazi Manual of Propaganda

Yale professor and expert in the history of fascism, Timothy Snyder, talks of the 1924 Nazi manual of propaganda that advised finding simple slogans and repeating them over and over and framing opposition as disloyalty or worse. Many people, he says, have taken up these tactics in recent years, leading not only to an erosion of the understanding that politics should be about reasoned debate leading towards constructive and informed policy, but also to politics being viewed as a battleground between ‘friends’ and ‘enemies’.

You would need to be blind to not recognise that these tactics have become increasingly common in the UK and US in recent years, and how they have been used to manipulate the public into support for policies that are not in their best interests and that might have catastrophic consequences. Depending on the arena, dissent is framed as hatred, ‘anti-science,’ or not ‘evidence-based,’ and this acts as a powerful silencing force that shuts down critical thinking and coerces acceptance of what is often little more than hot air.

These tactics obscure who are the real beneficiaries of the propaganda – usually people who gain power or who benefit in financial or other ways from whatever is being promoted. Bizarrely, we can observe these practices on both the right and left of the political spectrum.

These tactics were on display in the University of Exeter Debating Society debate. It was by no means the first or only such debate I have taken part in or observed, and nor was it the first time that I saw those promoting the idea that ‘sex work is real work’ consciously or unconsciously using tactics from the Nazi propaganda playbook.

You don’t have to take my word for it. You can read the transcript of the debate and I’ll illustrate my claims through an analysis of the key arguments used by the two speakers for the proposition.

Jerry Barnett

The first speaker for the proposition was Jerry Barnett, who’s the author of the book, Porn Panic. He regularly writes on sex and the ‘economics of sex,’ and runs a YouTube channel called ‘Sex and Censorship.’ In other words, the sex industry indirectly provides his daily bread and butter.

After introducing himself, he defined work as: “A voluntary exchange of time or labour for money or some other payment.” He didn’t mention that this definition deviates significantly from the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition, which is based on mental or physical activity, and he didn’t explain how you can exchange time for money.

One of the key arguments against prostitution being considered normal work is that although it involves some mental and physical activity (pretending the punter’s a great guy, cleaning up afterwards, etc.) the core feature of prostitution is that he uses her body – he gropes and penetrates her. This is not about her being actively engaged in mental or physical activity but someone doing something to her.

What other work involves someone doing something to you while you lie back and endure it? The only thing that I can think of is participating in medical trials – but that’s not considered work – even though you might be paid for taking part.

So, he sneakily expanded the definition to make it easier to argue that a man penetrating your orifices is a normal form of work – although of course he didn’t mention penetration because, like most sex trade lobbyists, he buries such fundamental realities in euphemism and obfuscation.

Interestingly, he did admit that it is invariably men who are the customers (or punters as we call them) and nine or more times out of ten it is women who are being penetrated – or earning an income from ‘sex work’ as he euphemistically described it.

His arguments hinged around two key contentions: First, that ‘sex work’ is well-paid, enjoyable work that has short hours and is particularly suitable for anyone who needs flexibility. I will leave aside the questionable ethics of promoting such a skewed reality to an audience of impressionable young women and men.

Second, that opposition to ‘sex work’ is based on false statistics, the conflation of trafficking and consensual ‘sex work,’ and moralistic values from people who are anti-sex and who attack women’s rights, and refuse to “listen to sex workers who say it’s empowering.”

Most of the time, he expounded on one or other of these claims, all presented with utter conviction, while implicitly framing anyone who disagreed with him as the enemy – the enemy of women’s rights, of rational debate, of men, of more or less everything that he considers good in life.

He dismissed my arguments as “anecdotes” even though most of his were based on wishful thinking rather than hard evidence – while at the same time claiming they were “evidence-based.”

For example, I mentioned that the murder rate of women involved in prostitution is the highest of any group, including in the UK, and that where prostitution is legalised, the murder rate of women in prostitution usually remains high.

His immediate response?

“Anna is good with anecdotes but when she tries to use statistics, they don’t seem to add up at all. I think the last time I looked, the professions with the highest [murder rate] were police and fast-food delivery people who are overwhelmingly men. But yeah, the anecdotes stack up, the statistics don’t.”

I didn’t manage to respond to this until much later in the debate, when I quoted a senior police officer who, when giving evidence at a Home Affairs Select Committee inquiry in early 2016, said:

“We have had 153 murders of prostitutes since 1990, which is probably the highest group of murders in any one category, so that gives the police cause for concern.”

I didn’t have the stats for police murders at my fingertips but I looked them up later and found data that suggested there had been about 28 murders of police officers in the UK during the same period (1990-2015). So, there were more than five times as many murders of women involved in prostitution as police officers. I couldn’t find any data on fast food delivery drivers other than a few isolated press reports.

So much for his grasp on statistics. But the damage had been done.

Charlotte Rose, the other speaker for the proposition, compounded the damage by asserting more than once that there had been no murders recorded of women involved in prostitution in New Zealand, where the sex industry is fully decriminalised.

But again, this is untrue. The German women who run the Sex Industry Kills project have documented 10 murders of prostituted women in New Zealand since the sex trade was decriminalised in 2003 along with a number of attempted murders. That is a significant number given New Zealand’s small population (currently less than 5 million).

One of my key arguments was that the sex industry normalises and eroticises male dominance and one-sided sex, and feeds men’s entitlement and reduces their empathy – which are the very attitudes that underpin the current epidemic of rape, child sexual abuse, and other forms of male violence against women and children.

Jerry’s response? That there was not an epidemic of male violence against women. He based this assertion on another made-up definition centred on “a steep sustained increase” – unlike the Oxford Dictionary, which centres the definition merely on a disease being widespread.

He said that not only was there not an epidemic of male violence but that the prevalence of such violence has been on a steep decline for 50 years.

But this is not true. Research has shown that male violence against women has risen significantly in the UK since 2010 and that new forms of gender-based abuse are increasingly prevalent. Even the UN describes male violence against women as a pandemic – which is an epidemic that has spread to cover multiple countries.

I mentioned that the judge in a judicial review about Sheffield Council’s relicensing of Spearmint Rhino (a lap dancing club) had castigated the council for rejecting a large number of objections from women and community members who said that the club had made the streets less safe on the basis that these objections were nothing more than “moral values.” The judge was clear that the objections were not about morality but were issues of equality.

Jerry responded as follows:

“There was briefly the anecdote about Spearmint Rhino and that women didn’t feel safe in the area. The fact is I’ve been involved, I’ve got stripper friends who’ve been involved in these campaigns to keep the venues open and these claims are false. They come up over and over again – that the presence of a strip club in an area makes women less safe. This has been de-proved, debunked, using evidence over and over and over again. So, the idea that women don’t feel safe in the area is a different thing.

Unfortunately, if women don’t feel safe, that’s sad but then they should acquaint themselves with the facts that actually the presence of a strip club in an area does not lead to an increase in sexual violence. And yet these kinds of things are continuously claimed to make it look like this is a woman’s rights movement rather than a morality movement, which it is.”

As for his claim that the increased violence in the vicinity of lap dancing clubs and similar has been “debunked” many times, well I couldn’t find any clear evidence that supported that. Rather I found much to the contrary. The Women and Equalities Select Parliamentary Committee in its report on its inquiry into Sexual Harassment of Women and Girls in Public Places, accepted the considerable evidence that sexual entertainment venues, such as lap dancing clubs, “promote the idea that sexual objectification of women and sexual harassment commonly in those environments is lawful and acceptable.”

But that is not good enough for Jerry. He sticks to what he knows is effective, and repeats sound bites that are simply not true while dismissing solid evidence and presenting any opposition as irrational and the work of moralistic enemies.

As to a man telling women they are being irrational to fear male violence, what can I say? I am not sure anything I would like to say is publishable.

Charlotte Rose

The second speaker for the proposition was Charlotte Rose, who was wearing a t-shirt advertising Fan Baits, a new commercial sex industry advertising platform. She introduced herself as, “a former multi-award-winning escort, current radio presenter and advocate for decriminalisation of sex work.”

She went on to say:

“I just want to discuss something that may affect your moral judgement. How do you all feel when I mention people who work in abortion clinics, abattoirs, factory farmers, nuclear power station workers? To name just a few. For me I do not like it. But just because we do not like what these people do, it doesn’t give us the right to state that their work is not legitimate.”

Since when have people campaigned against factory farming or nuclear power because they didn’t approve of the people who work in those industries? Eccentrics aside, the arguments are always around the impact of those industries on the environment, human and animal health and welfare, and other wider issues – and any personal disapproval is reserved for those who, knowing the damage caused, profit from those industries.

The inclusion of abortion clinics in this list is a sneaky attempt to associate our opposition to the commercial sex industry with extreme anti-woman protestors against abortion. This is a classic example of suggesting guilt by association. For an audience of students whose average age is likely to coincide with the peak age for abortions, this is particularly reprehensible.

Charlotte then said that “until you’ve worked as a sex worker, you’ve got no right whatsoever to dictate anything against [sex work].” This is an argument that we hear repeated over and over in true propaganda playbook style, making people lose their critical faculties and the ability to say, hang on a minute, I’m entitled to have an opinion on factory farming and nuclear power and other industries that have a wide impact, why on earth can’t I have an opinion on the sex industry?

And the truth is, of course you can have such an opinion, and indeed as a concerned citizen, you should – but they don’t want you to. Because once you really look at the sex industry, it’s hard to ignore the rampant abuses and negative impacts on us all, particularly young people.

Like Jerry, Charlotte expounded on how “consensual sex work” has nothing to do with sexual abuse, exploitation and trafficking. But of course, it does. There is no separate market for trafficked women – they are on the same street corners and in the same brothels and so-called massage parlours as women who may have made some kind of choice to be there. From the outside you can’t tell what led a woman to that place – nor what is holding her there.

As we have written elsewhere, most pimping meets the international definition of human trafficking and most women involved in prostitution have one or more third party (i.e. pimp) feeding off their prostitution. And the evidence of the violence inherent in prostitution is overwhelming.

Charlotte may not be a male chauvinist pig as all the evidence suggests that Jerry is, but she was equally happy to misrepresent our arguments and frame us as hateful and dangerous. She claimed several times that we want to “delegitimise” her work. (What work? Didn’t she say she was a former sex worker?)

In an attempt to convince everyone that her work really is real work, she went into a long explanation of what it entails: dealing with emails (80 a day), text messages (120/day), phone calls (50), notifications, advertising, website SEO, updating her photos, social media and special offers, booking hotels, etc.

She then asked whether that sounded like work – which of course it does. But that was missing the whole point of the debate because she didn’t mention the core aspects of prostitution – sexual intimacy with a stranger who pays you to have his every whim and fetish met with a smile.

She claimed that “delegitimising sex work” damages her credibility and means men won’t see it as legitimate work and means she “can’t get a mortgage by writing down that I’m a sex worker.” But later when she was asked why she was against legalisation of the sex trade (she favours full decriminalisation), she said:

“Legalisation is what happens in Amsterdam, but women, or sex workers […] have to pay for a licence. So, first of all, they’ve got to give a large amount of money to be able to get a licence to give them the ability to work and be in a legitimate premise.

Number one, they cost a lot of money. Number two, their details are known so there’s no anonymity. If someone wants their business not to be known to the government, then unfortunately they won’t be able to work. So, these two massive factors are why we don’t want it to be legalised.”

But hang on a minute… Isn’t she arguing for ‘sex work’ to be considered ‘real work’?

And isn’t one of the things that distinguishes ‘real’ – or legitimate – work from scams, drug dealing and other illegal activity, that when you earn money from ‘real work,’ you fill out a tax return and inform the government about where your income comes from.

So actually it sounds like she doesn’t want it to be regular ‘real work’ after all.

She made other arguments that were equally dodgy. She claimed several times that by expressing our views, we are causing actual harm to sex workers:

“One of my morals is not to cause harm to other people. I would never use my morals to cause harm to anybody. Your moralistic view is causing harm to sex workers.”

She is talking about an industry in which women involved in it have an extremely high murder rate – almost invariably by male punters and pimps – and yet she suggests that the problem is naming and describing this reality.

I explained that our position is that nothing can make prostitution safe and so we need to reduce the amount that happens. Anything that normalizes it means it will increase – it will increase men’s demand for it and more women will be sucked in and be hurt. As her position is that prostitution should be legitimised and become a normal job, you could therefore argue that her position will cause harm – like she claims about us. However, we prefer to argue on the facts and actual evidence.

Conclusion

Judging by the comments on social media, the young audience were swept along by Charlotte’s glamorous and suave act – in the face of which our attempts to focus the debate on the depressing realities of prostitution appeared about as alluring as a school assembly address by Miss Trunchbull on a bad day.

But reality is what we must deal with. Basing public policy on wishful thinking and propaganda invented by those with powerful vested interests is a recipe for disaster. You only need to consider Brexit to understand that.

The Brexit debate was dominated by sound bites and hot air underwritten by hedge fundies and other capitalists salivating at the prospect of looser and weaker regulation of business and commerce. But large sections of the British population were swept along by the propaganda and were blind to the likely dangers. It is only now, four years later, as the actual reality of Brexit is becoming impossible to ignore that opinion polls are showing the majority turning against it and realising it is almost certainly a terrible mistake.

You can’t help wondering in this context why schools and universities are not educating students about the dangers of propaganda and how to recognise and resist it. All of us, but especially young people, need to understand how to identify vested interests, easy answers and soundbites that oversimplify complex subjects, attacks on opponents and unevidenced assertions that they are motivated by hate or worse, and to see these as red flags.

Much of life is complex and messy and inequality and abuse of power is rife. There are no easy answers. Real solutions require hard work and challenging powerful vested interests – not following them like sheep.

[bluesylveon2]

My My, I Could Never Let You Go

Summary: Sasha Zoe just wants her dad to walk her down the aisle. There is only one problem: she doesn't know who her dad is! Sasha invites 3 men in hopes of finding out which one is her father. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairings: Levi x Hange, Sasha x Niccolo, and other background relationships

Disclaimer: This is a Levihan Mamma Mia au. This fanfic is inspired by Mamma Mia which is directed by Phyllida Loyd, written by Catherine Johnson, and uses music from the pop group ABBA. Attack on Titan is a manga/anime series written by Hajime Isayama and published by Kondasha

Author’s Note: NOW EDITED! This chapter and maybe the next few will include character background. I know the movie doesn’t include that, but I am! This story will have some added/deleted scenes from the movie. I hope you like it though! Also, the characters are in their Season 4 looks. The 104 group will be 20-21. Niccolo is 23. The adults:

Hange, Nanaba, Rico, and Mike - 43 | Levi - 45 | Erwin - 46 | Moblit - 40 | Pieck - 37 | Porco - 35

Yes, the adults are mostly in their 40′s, but look young. Let’s just go with it

I will try to keep a weekly or week and a half update depending on school. 

Now let’s move to the chapter where we meet a happy and engaged Sasha! 😁

Need to catch up? Catch up here!

Ch 1: Honey, Honey

Kalokairi, Greece

1 day before the wedding

Two passengers walk out of the docked ferry. Mikasa - the tall one with short jet black hair and dark brown eyes - was grabbing the rest of her stuff while her friend Historia - the shorter one with long blonde hair and blue eyes - searched for Sasha. It didn’t take Historia long to find her. Sasha wasn’t hard to find. Despite her wearing her brown hair in a ponytail and wearing casual clothes; she was running towards them at full speed. Sasha also held a small book with her. 

“OH MY GOSH! YOU ARE FINALLY HERE!!!!” Sasha screamed as she ran towards her friends on the dock. 

Mikasa Ackerman is half Japanese and half German. She originally lived in Rothenburg ob der Tauber in Germany but moved to Kalokairi after her parent’s death when she was a teenager. Mikasa’s parents dreamed of visiting the island one day when Mikasa was older. She used to sit on her mother’s lap as she told her about the island's beauty. After Mikasa’s parents died, her great aunt on her mother’s side reached out to her from Japan and provided Mikasa enough money to move to Kalokairi. Mikasa’s great aunt was unable to take care of Mikasa because of her old age, so Mikasa chose to live in Kalokairi to fulfill her parent’s dream. The only downside was that Mikasa lived alone. Her home is a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom home. It’s enough for a person, but Mikasa felt alone without her parents. It was where she met Eren Jaeger's family. Eren’s mom, Carla, often invited Mikasa to eat so she wouldn’t get lonely. Eren gave Mikasa a red scarf as she was leaving the Jaeger household. He claimed it was a gift, so she didn’t feel lonely. Mikasa, touched by the gift, started visiting the Jaeger family more, and she even met Eren’s freind, Armin. The Jaeger home became Mikasa’s second home, and Mikasa was not alone anymore. It changed after Historia moved the island. 

Historia Reiss came from Munich and ran to Kalokairi to get away from her family. She felt confined in her home when all she wanted was freedom. She had also learned the ugly truth behind her family name a week after moving in with her father, Rod Reiss. Her uncle, Uri, was the CEO of the Fritz company, a conglomerate in Germany with other branches across Europe. The company also did some shady business orchestrated by Rod, but it was hidden from the public. The only plus for Historia staying home was seeing sister, Freida, more often. 

The only downside of running away to another country was not knowing the language. Historia was walking around the island when she accidentally bumped into Mikasa. Mikasa noticed how lost Historia looked, so she invited her into her home. Historia spills her entire life story (including her real name) to Mikasa the moment Mikasa sat down in the chair in front of her to eat dinner. Historia was horrified after she finished her story. She just told her story to a stranger who is most likely going to kick her out. Historia flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Mikasa looking down at her with a smile. Mikasa understands what it is like to be alone, so she invites Historia to stay in her home. The girls eventually lived together as roommates until they had to leave for their modeling careers. Mikasa and Historia have even walked in Milan Fashion Week. 

The home is still under Mikasa’s name (originally it was under her great aunt, but it went to Mikasa after her passing). The girls (and everyone in their friend group), use it when they stay on the island. The current inhabitants are Hanami and Mina since they were the first to arrive. Mikasa, Annie, Hitch, and Historia are the only girls from the group staying at the hotel. 

Historia also started going by her real name after an incident with the company. Rod went to prison and Freida became the new CEO. She and Freida keep in touch often via mail to make up for the lost time and update each other of their lives. Historia told Freida about her freinds, her new maternal figure (Hange), and her girlfriend, Ymir.

Sasha met Mikasa and Historia on the island in high school. Mikasa was with her friends, Eren and Armin when Sasha met her. They were often paired up for projects and events that their friendship happened naturally over time. Sasha met Historia when she gave her some bread after Sasha was caught eating in class. Mr. Shadis, their teacher, is really a strict man. He made Sasha run laps around the whole school as punishment. Sasha wouldn’t stop thanking Historia after that. 

“SASHA!!!!!!” Historia shoved her stuff towards Mikasa and began running towards Sasha. 

“MIKASAAAAA!!!! HISTORIA!!!!!!!!!” Sasha continued yelling before glomping Historia. Luckily Historia caught herself without falling into the water.

“And where is my hug?” Sasha heard behind Historia before looking up to see Mikasa smirking at her. Sasha opened one arm out to initiate a group hug.

Mikasa briefly put both her’s and Historia’s stuff down and joined in on the hug. 

“Ugh, it’s been so long! I missed you both so much!” Sasha complained dramatically as she let go of the girls. Mikasa and Historia grab their things and start heading towards the beach with Sasha. 

Sasha looked at the group and noticed someone was missing.

“Is Ymir not coming, Historia?” Sasha asked while tilting her head to the side.

“No,” Historia says sadly, thinking about her girlfriend as she looks down as she walks. “She has caught up with work lately and won’t be able to attend your wedding.” Historia looked up and smiled “She wanted me to tell you congrats on your engagement though.”

“Well we would have been here earlier, but someone” Mikasa glared at Historia “insisted on being fashionably late” Mikasa grumbled. She gave air quotes on the words fashionably late with her free hand. 

“Well are we?” Historia giggled. She waved her hand innocently while ignoring Mikasa’s last statement 

“No” Sasha laughed “Aunt Nanaba and Aunt Rico will be here later on today, and Aunt Pieck will be here tomorrow.”

Aunt Pieck is Sasha’s only known family member from her mom’s side. 

(Sasha also heard about a grandmother, but her mom never talks about her)

According to Hange, Pieck is Hange’s younger cousin. Hange’s mom and Pieck’s mom are sisters, but they weren’t that close. Hange’s mom was more focused on her singing career, and Pieck’s mom wanted to focus on her daughter. As a result, Hange would often visit Pieck’s house in Santorini. Pieck would tell her stories about Kalokairi during one of Hange’s visits. Pieck’s stories of Kalokairi sparked Hange’s interest in the island. Pieck is currently a photographer who lives in Portugal after marrying Porco Galliard. She met Porco after a photoshoot in Spain. 

Porco is a veteran from Portugal. His brother, Marcel, is also a veteran and he was in the same unit as Porco. Both brothers began traveling around Europe after finishing their service before settling down. One day, the brothers were in Valencia, Spain after hearing of the La Tomatina Festival in Bunol. Porco met Pieck during the festival after she threw a squashed tomato straight at his face. Porco had to face her alone (Marcel was somewhere deep in the crowd) and decided to get back at her. It was a battle between speed (Porco) and stamina (Pieck, Porco had no idea how Pieck was not getting tired). According to Aunt Pieck, it was like the others in the crowd didn’t matter to them. It was her vs Porco. The two got to learn more about each other after the festival ended, and they exchanged numbers. 

Sasha has not seen her Aunt Pieck since her high school graduation. Her aunt had moved to left Greece after marrying Porco, so her visits were less frequent. Nevertheless, Sasha enjoyed looking at the postcard and photos her aunt sends every year. Seeing her aunt and uncle’s happy faces puts a smile on Sasha’s face. She wishes her mom had a similar experience. 

“I knew we should’ve waited longer,” Historia complained to Mikasa and threw her arms up for dramatic effect.

“Yeah me too,” Mikasa says sarcastically and rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of guests, are the other girls here already?” Historia asks Sasha and looks around the beach expecting the others to magically appear before them.

“The other girls are here,” Sasha replies “Mina is hanging out with Marco, Hitch is dragging Marlowe around the island, Annie is on a date with Armin, and Hanami is probably trying not to kill Jean. She has been here longer and is working together with Jean on the wedding”

Hanami is a sweet but oblivious girl they had all met in high school. She is known for making rash decisions, and it worried them. Jean usually reprimands her for being rash, and Hanami would fight back verbally. She and Jean used to not get along before, but their friendship has improved over the years. Nowadays, the both of them just like messing with one another. 

“Let’s hope that your wedding does not end in disaster,” Mikasa says with a hint of worry in her voice.

Their friend, Hanami Richter, is Sasha’s maid of honor. She was born in Greece after her parents moved from Cambridge. She is both Japanese and German like Mikasa, but looks more European. Hanami has short dark brown hair, dark brown eyes,  and wears glasses. She looks like she could be Sasha’s long lost sister. (The girls switched places once, but Hange figured out ‘Sasha’ was not Sasha. Luckily Hange didn’t get mad, but she was impressed).  Hanami is currently attending the University of Vienna to study International Business Administration. 

“Oh!” Historia exclaimed in an attempt to change the subject “Show us your ring!”

Sasha laughed before stopping their walk to extend her left hand. She showed Historia the beautiful ring on her ring finger. The ring consisted of a 2-carat diamond glistened from the sunlight. The ring was not too over the top. It was a white gold ring with a diamond placed in the center surrounded by smaller diamonds to form a halo. 

Historia let out a whistle “Niccolo did really well! Let me take a picture and send this to Ymir. She was expecting a big diamond”

Niccolo is a young chef with wavy blonde hair and green eyes. Niccolo dreams of working as an executive chef after traveling the world. However, no one appreciated his cooking despite working in a famous restaurant. Sasha met him when she and her girl friends went on a summer trip to Italy. During the trip, the group decided to eat dinner at a well-known restaurant in Rome. Everyone, especially Sasha, was enjoying their meal until Sasha started eating her lobster. The girls will never forget how Sasha couldn’t stop complimenting the lobster that she wanted to meet the chef who made it. Niccolo was shocked when his co-worker mentioned what was going on outside the kitchen. Someone was actually appreciating his cooking and he moved them to tears! Niccolo had no choice but to agree. He wanted to meet this person. Surprisingly to the girls, the restaurant let her meet the chef, but only after closing time. Sasha was in tears as she hugged Niccolo, and Niccolo was shocked to see how his food affected her. (Niccolo never told Sasha, but it was love at first sight for him). They met again months later when Jean invited Niccolo over to Kalokairi to surprise Sasha. Sasha and Niccolo eventually started dating, and Niccolo proposed to her after 2 years of dating.

As Historia took some pics on her phone, Mikasa remembered what Sasha mentioned in their group chat before they arrived.

“Sasha, what’s the big news you mentioned a few days ago?”

“Right!” Sasha exclaimed and covered her mouth with her unoccupied hand “I want you guys to guess before the big reveal.”

Historia was pocketing her phone and let Sasha drop her hand back to the side. Historia let out a gasp. She put one hand on Sasha’s shoulder and the other on her stomach. 

“You're pregnant?!?!?!” Historia yelled

“No no no! You're wrong Historia.” Sasha laughed and held up both of her hands in front of her body

(Historia was relieved. Mikasa considered Niccolo lucky because won’t be sporting a black eye on his wedding day. She didn’t say that out loud)

“So what is it then Sasha?” Mikasa after the girls started walking again.

“Weeeellllllll. I invited my dad to my wedding!” Sasha screams with glee

“What?!” “You finally found him” Mikasa and Historia shouted at the same time and looked at Sasha

“Not exactly,” Sasha replied before sitting down on a rock down the beach with the girls. Their spot at least gave them some privacy to talk.

Suddenly, Sasha’s happy expression turned serious. “You also cannot tell anyone what I'm about to say. You have to promise me that and do the salute to it too?” 

“Yes ma'am. We promise” Mikasa and Historia said before facing Sasha and doing their salute. They put both of their hands in a fist. They placed their right fist over their heart and their left fist behind their backs. It was the secret salute their friend group came up with in high school. Mikasa and Historia sat down on some rocks across from Sasha after they did the salute.

“You know what my mom says when I ask about my father. It was a summer romance, and he was gone before she realized she was pregnant with me. I would accept it and never ask more questions.”

Historia put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder and gave her an empathetic smile. She understood where Sasha is coming from. Historia didn’t know much about her family as a child since she grew up with only her mom. She met them after her first year in high school, but it was not a pleasant experience, and she would rather choose to forget it (except for Freida). 

Mikasa also gave Sasha a smile before motioning with her hand to continue.

Sasha smiled at both of her friends. “Well guess what Hanami and I found while looking through the attic for wedding decorations,” Sasha says before pulling out a leather journal. It was a brown journal that looked worn and had a leather strap to seal the book closed. 

“Is that-?” Mikasa asked

“No way-” Historia began

“Yes!” Sasha squealed “It is my mom’s old diary she kept while she was pregnant with me.”

Sasha set the diary on her lap and opened it to one of the bookmarked pages. She began to read a journal entry. 

July 17

What a night! Levi took me to a secluded beach here on the island. We danced on the beach. We kissed on the beach and-

“Dot dot dot,” Sasha said

“Dot dot dot?” Mikasa asked with a perplexed look on her face.

“What does that mean?” Historia asked Sasha confused

“Who knows?” Sasha replied with a shrug “It’s from the olden times. They had weird terminology back then. Now let me continue.”

Sasha stood up abruptly and walked off from Mikasa and Historia. The girls quickly grabbed their things as they stood up and followed Sasha.

Levi is such an amazing guy! Yeah, he may be short, is always scowling, has a funny way to drink tea, and tells poop jokes, but he is such a sweetheart. He never shows it to others, but only me. Me! I get dizzy looking at his charm and going on new adventures with him. Is he some sort of a love machine? He's practically everything I want in a guy! I really think he's the one.

“Your mom sounds like she’s really in love with this Levi guy.” Mikasa comments (she also starts questioning Hange’s tastes in men. A guy who scowls and tells poop jokes? That baffled Mikasa.)

“I think it’s cute,” Historia says with hearts in her eyes and turns to Sasha “Is Levi your father?” 

“Oh but wait” Sasha stops walking on a cliff that overlooks the sea. She gestures to Mikasa and Historia to sit down before continuing.

All this time Levi tells me he loves me, but I’m doubting that now. He’s been hiding things from me, and I found out about it this morning. He suddenly announced that he was engaged, and had to leave to get married. 

How dare he?! I was too blinded by anger to think rationally. I packed Levi’s stuff, dragged Levi out of my house, and threw his stuff (and Levi) to the nearest ferry while demanding him to leave. I didn’t want to see him again, and I didn’t want him to see how heartbroken I was. 

“Oh no. Poor Hange” Historia says sadly. Mikasa didn’t say anything, but she scowled instead. 

“The plot thickens,” Sasha says and continues reading

I texted Nanaba and Rico to do some snooping for me since the internet can be weak here on the island. I gave them the information I knew about Levi and let them do the rest. Rico managed to find some things about Levi.

How dare he? He lied to me this whole time about his last name, how he is the heir of Ackerman Bank, and possibly his love for me? No wonder he was acting mysterious when we first met. I just want to-

Sasha stops abruptly. She looked at the page again to be sure she was reading it right. The page had her mother’s writing, but there were some scribbles and small crinkles. Sasha knew right away that her mother must have cried while writing the entry.

“There are multiple tear marks and some scribbles here” Sasha comments with a solemn expression on her face.

Historia and Mikasa looked at Sasha with sorrow. It seemed as if her mom went through a lot before she was born.

There was a moment of silence until Historia spoke up in an attempt to lighten up the mood. 

“At least your mom didn’t damage the diary, or we wouldn’t have any clue who your father is. Remember that time Eren and Connie accidentally knocked over that old vase at the hotel?”

All 3 girls shivered at the memory

“Well, at least the journal didn’t meet your mom’s wrath. We got lucky there.” Mikasa says with a small smile on her face

“Yeah” Sasha laughed. It’s rare for her mom to get angry. She has only seen her mother really angry once, and it was after the incident. Luckily, her mom never got mad at her. She showered her with love and affection instead. 

Sasha turned the page to another bookmarked section and looked to her friends sitting nearby. Historia looked as if she was in deep thought. Her arm was propped up on her knee and she rested her head on her fist. 

“Something on your mind Historia?” Sasha asked

Historia perked up at Sasha’s question. She then glanced at Mikasa and then the journal. Historia looked at Sasha.

“You said Levi’s last name is Ackerman, right? What if Mikasa is related to him?”

Historia gasped and turned to Mikasa with a gleeful look on her face “You and Sasha could be related! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I would rather not be related to Mr. Poop Jokes. He hurt Hange and he sounds like an asshole.” Mikasa scoffed and dismissed the idea. It would be nice to be related to Sasha, but not through Levi. 

Meanwhile, Sasha laughed when Historia’s smile turned into a pout. She and Mikasa are really close friends. It would be nice to at least have one of her friends be blood-related to her.

“Wait until you hear this,” Sasha says before standing up and walking away from their spot on the beach. She started heading towards the stairs along a cliff while reading at the same time. Mikasa and Historia stood up and followed her. They don’t want to miss the rest of the story if they let Sasha walk away.

Both of them sweatdropped as they ran towards Sasha

“I don’t understand why she needs to walk off from us. I get that she needs to guide us to the hotel, but couldn’t we have heard the story all in one sitting?” Historia says to Mikasa

Mikasa shrugs before jogging (and dragging Historia behind her) to catch up to Sasha. Luckily Mikasa is still athletic from high school, so it didn't take her long to catch up. 

August 4

I met Erwin Smith - a tall man with blond hair, blue eyes, and the biggest eyebrows I’ve ever seen. He looks like the star of the latest superhero movie - out of the blue when I was walking around town. He looked lost, so I offered to show him around the island. He’s such a sweet and understanding guy. Although I’m still obsessed with Levi, one thing led to another and-

“Dot. Dot. Dot” Sasha says laughing

Mikasa and Historia gasped as the girls made it towards the entrance of Hange’s hotel (aka Sasha’s home)

August 11

Mike Zacharias - a tall man with blonde hair, light green eyes, and has a tendency to sniff people - took me to his yacht for our nightly yacht ride. We spent the night gazing at the stars and telling stories. 

The girls climbed up the steps towards the hotel. Once they made it to the top, Sasha stopped and turned around to face Mikasa and Historia before finishing up her story. 

Mike is so wild and such a funny guy. One thing led to another and-

“Dot! Dot! Dot!” Sasha and Historia squealed at the same time. Mikasa watched her friends excitement with a smile on her face

A door opens behind the girls. Hange Zoe comes in with her full glory wearing her signature white shirt with overalls while carrying a broom. She sets it off towards a nearby wall.

“Here come the bridesmaids” Hange sang with her arms open for a hug

“Hange!” Mikasa and Historia say with excitement and run to get a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Hange. Sasha quickly hides the diary behind her back. She is thankful that her mom was focused on her friends instead of her.

“Look at you! You’re both so beautiful and you need to start growing” Hange ruffled their hair and laughed

“You look like you’re having fun” Hange smiled and gave them the proud look only a mother would give towards her children

“I used to have fun” she added with some reminiscence in her voice. She thought of the 3 men who impacted her life as she turned around to pick up her broom. 

“Oh, we know.” Historia giggles before Mikasa discreetly elbowed her to tell her to shut up.

Hange looked at the girls suspiciously and Sasha smiled before motioning to her friends that they needed to go. Hange shrugged before going back to the door she came from, leaving Sasha and the others alone.

The girls let out a sigh of relief before heading to Sasha’s room. Hopefully, no one else runs into them or it would raise suspicion.

Sasha walked towards her bed and sat down once they made it to her room. Mikasa and Historia set their stuff off to the side and stood in front of Sasha.

“So, who is your dad? Levi, Erwin, or Mike?” Mikasa asked

“I don’t know!” Sasha exclaims 

“But which one did you invite?” Historia asked

Sasha didn’t answer and stayed silent. Historia and Mikasa picked up on her silence and immediately knew

“Oh. My. God.” they said while simultaneously stepping back and sitting down on a nearby chest

Sasha squealed as she stood up. A big smile grew on her face 

“Do they know?” Historia asked

“Well, would you write to a total stranger ‘Will you come to my wedding? You might be my father?’ No! They think mom sent the invites and no surprise with what’s in here-” 

Sasha picks up the diary from her bed

“They said yes!” Sasha squealed causing Historia and Mikasa to jump up with glee

The girls proceed to have an impromptu dance party in Sasha’s room to celebrate. They danced around for a bit but stopped after Sasha decided to head out to her balcony with her mom’s diary. Mikasa and Historia stayed behind and sat down on Sasha’s bed. They wanted to give her space to think about everything so far.

“I’ve heard so much about them, and I want to know more about them too,” Sasha says softly to herself. She glances down at the diary and smiles “Once I do, I can know how much they mean to me.”

Skiathos, Greece

1 day before the wedding

Two taxis were heading to the Skiathos port. Both taxis were trying to reach the ferry before it left for Kalokairi. 

Erwin sat calm and composed with his business suit, but he was nervous on the inside. How would Hange react to his sudden appearance? What would she say? Is she still with the other man? He can feel the timer to the meeting counting down in his head. “If only the taxi went a bit faster,” Erwin thought to himself. 

Meanwhile, in another taxi, sat Levi. He was starting to get impatient. Levi cursed his luck before putting his pocket watch back in his shirt pocket. He would have been on Kalokairi a lot earlier if the 1 stop of the flight didn’t take too long. Levi leaned forward to tell the driver to speed up, but it seemed as if the ride to the port was too slow (in Levi’s opinion). 

As Levi sat back, he dug into the pocket of his slacks for a small blue pouch. He untied the knot and dumped whatever was inside the pouch onto his palm. A simple yellow gold ring with a diamond fell out. Levi bought that ring weeks after coming back from Kalokairi and settling his family drama. It was kind of a dumb purchase if Levi thought really hard into it. He broke Hange’s heart and she kicked him out. It’s simple, really. Hange would not say yes if he had returned to Kalokairi and proposed to her. 

Nevertheless, Levi thought yellow gold would look good on Hange’s skin because it reminded him of the yellow shirt she wore when they met. He only kept it because of the memories they had, and Levi will always treasure it. Levi puts the ring back in the pouch and pockets it. He doesn’t see himself opening it again if Hange decides to kick him out for a second time. 

Both taxis make it to the port, and both Levi and Erwin run towards the ferry only to see it leaving.

“Damn it!” Levi yells

“I agree,” Erwin calmly says next to him

Levi looks up to find a tall man with blond hair and the biggest eyebrows he had ever seen, He didn’t notice Erwin’s presence until he spoke. Levi looked at him. He internally prayed to himself that he would make it to the wedding on time and see Hange. 

“When is the next ferry leaving?” Levi asks Erwin. Levi didn’t know much Greek since Hange was the one who helped him before. He hoped the blonde stranger at least knew something

Erwin walks towards the nearest sign and reads it using basic Greek he learned years prior 

“Monday,” Erwin says dejectedly and Levi groans in frustration

“Hey!” they hear from the sea and turn their heads

They both see a tall, blond-haired man with a mustache and a beard waving to them from a yacht. There was another man with him who looked like he was doing last-minute preparations before sailing. 

“Are you heading to Kalokairi?” the man asks Levi and Erwin

“How did you know?” Levi yells. The man is a good distance away from him after all.

The man laughs “I could practically smell the desperation off of you”  Erwin’s face turns red from embarrassment. Levi scowled

“You can come with me. The name’s Mike Zacharias by the way. That man over there” He points to a guy with brown hair styled in a pompadour “That’s Gelgar. He’s been taking care of my yacht since I was away. He can help bring us to the island.”

“Sure,” Erwin spoke up. “My name is Erwin Smith. He then raised a hand and gestured to Levi 

“This is-”

“Levi Ackerman” Levi finishes for Erwin. Levi revealed his last name to them unlike when he first met Hange. Luckily both men didn’t make any connections between him and his family business.

Mike turned to Erwin “Well then, Erwin.” He turned to Levi “and Levi. You better hurry up and board the yacht soon. We are heading to Kalokairi once you are settled.” Mike said and walked off to check on everything with Gelgar

Levi sighed. He had no choice. He might as well go with Erwin and Mike since Mike is his only hope of reaching Kalokairi on time. 

Meanwhile, Erwin recognized Mike after many years. He had some physical differences but didn’t look much different overall. Erwin knew that Mike was the man Hange was with when he came back to see her. 

There is only one question that kept playing in Erwin’s head. Is Mike still with Hange?

©: This is where I insert all rights reserved stuff. This story belongs to me. Do not modify or republish

References used/Notes:

Obviously the salute used in the military

Sasha having the girls salute is a nod to OVA 2 where she makes Reiner do it

Some inspiration from both Mikasa and Historia’s backstories

Hanami is my OC from AOT 2 FB (I posted what she looks like on my Tumblr bluesylveon2)

I added more characters because I want Sasha to have more friends in her bridal party

Levi being the heir of Ackerman Bank is based on list I found of big businesses in Germany. Two were based in Frankfurt and were only banking, hence the name

But Levi owns a cafe in the Prologue? Will be explained later

Sasha and Niccolo’s first meeting is from the recent episode

I decided for Porco to be Portuguese because Porco means pig in Portugese

I’ve heard of La Tomatina and it looks like fun

I base the character nationalities on names/some reddit posts. I saw one where Pieck was Greek so I added that to her character

I picked Santorini because it’s a city I want to visit one day. Also Sootopolis (from Pokemon) is based off of there

Hange’s diary is the same journal as the one seen in AOT (Ilse’s notebook and AOT 2 FB)

The ‘Erwin from a superhero movie’ is because of Chris Evans

Hange is canonically the scariest when mad. I tried to portray this with Levi’s backstory and the vase incident 

I added the ring scene with Levi for future purpose

[otterskin]

Inverted Mobius, Mr. Tesseract and The Avatar of Truth

The mystery of the weird collar has deepened, thanks to @nebulousfishgills​ - by which I mean they totally solved it.

To those just joining me, I noticed this in my previous breakdown of the Loki trailer here.

Mr. Mobius, played by Owen Wilson, has an ‘inverted suit’. His collar is an indentation in his suit, rather than going on top of it.

So, first, a scene from Endgame that I seriously did think of when we learned there was a character called ‘Mobius M. Mobius’ in Loki (played by Owen Wilson). And yet I didn’t put this together. Thanks again to nebulousfish for making me realize that these things might not be coincidences.

When Mr. Stark is inventing time travel, he asks his AI to create a depiction of a Mobius Strip, inverted.

Which gets him this:

Anyway, what is a Mobius Strip, and who is Mobius M. Mobius? (Not to be confused with Morbius the Living Vampire, though wouldn’t it be funny if he was mistaken for Mobius M. if this show gets big first?)

I am not a quantum theorist or comic book aficionado by trade, so let’s do a Wikipedia-Fu on it.

In mathematics, a Möbius strip, band, or loop (US: /ˈmoʊbiəs, ˈmeɪ-/ MOH-bee-əs, MAY-, UK: /ˈmɜːbiəs/;[1]German: [ˈmøːbi̯ʊs]), also spelled Mobius or Moebius, is a surface with only one side (when embedded in three-dimensional Euclidean space) and only one boundary curve. The Möbius strip is the simplest non-orientable surface.

An example of a Möbius strip can be created by taking a strip of paper and giving one end a half-twist, then joining the ends to form a loop; its boundary is a simple closed curve which can be traced by a single unknotted string. Any topological space homeomorphic to this example is also called a Möbius strip, allowing for a very wide variety of geometric realizations as surfaces with a definite size and shape. For example, any rectangle can be glued left-edge to right-edge with a reversal of orientation. Some, but not all, of these can be smoothly modeled as surfaces in Euclidean space. A closely related, but not homeomorphic, surface is the complete open Möbius band, a boundaryless surface in which the width of the strip is extended infinitely to become a Euclidean line.A half-twist clockwise gives an embedding of the Möbius strip which cannot be moved or stretched to give the half-twist counterclockwise; thus, a Möbius strip embedded in Euclidean space is a chiral object with right- or left-handedness. The Möbius strip can also be embedded by twisting the strip any odd number of times, or by knotting and twisting the strip before joining its ends.

A Möbius strip does not self-intersect but its projection in 2 dimensions does.

Uh....right. Well, that clears everything up, doesn’t it?

Let’s crib off someone else’s work. Thanks to Thomas Wong on Medium, I was able to understand this a little better.

A Möbius strip is just a strip of paper, turned and taped together. It it only has one side, so an ant walking along the strip eventually returns to where he started. If we metaphorically interpret the ant, not as returning to a point in space, but a point in time, then it alludes to time travel.

...

As previously discussed, after a measurement, the quantum mixture (half born and half never born) becomes a definite state (born or never born). Finding the “spectral decomposition” is to find all the possible energies (eigenvalues) and states. Using these, one can determine how a quantum object evolves with time.

Combining this with the metaphoric interpretation of the Möbius strip, it could be that Stark found how to make quantum objects evolve such that they revisit a point in time, hence time travel.

Okay, that’s a little easier to understand. So how does this relate to the character Mobius M. Mobius, aside from him being named after the strip and the (apparently antiquated) ideas about time travel?

Well, he was based on Marvel Comics Legend Mark Gruenwald, a guy known for his passion for the lore of the comics, which he knew in innate detail. He even wrote the Official Handbooks and whatnot. Likewise, Mr. Mobius is a stickler for detail and one of the few members of the TVA even allowed a face - although it is off the rack, as he’s one an infinite number of clones (god I love the TVA so much already, it’s heaven for a Douglas Addams fan like me).

Despite being a clone, he rose through the ranks and is nearly the top guy, serving only underneath Mr. Alternity (and I am not familiar with these comics so feel free to correct me). Mr. Alternity has almost no comics history, but is based on editor Tom Brevoort.

There are several other misters, all of them near-identical to ‘Moby’. Mr. Orobourous, Mr. Paradox, Mr. Tesseract (!) and Mr. Oburos. They are also minor characters, but let’s look at all these names.

Clearly they are named after quantum theories of some-sort or another.

Mr. Mobius: Mobius Strip Theory - the idea that, essentially, is about the shape of time itself and the theory of traveling along that shape.

Mr. Alternity : Alternative universes

Mr. Ouroboros: A divine figure representing the beginning and the end of time in an endless cycle of death and rebirth.

Mr. Oburos - I’m not sure, but I think this is a variant of Ouroboros. 

Mr. Paradox - Temporal paradox, causal loops - ex. The Grandfather Paradox

Mr. Tesseract - An object that exists in 4 dimensions. Time is often called the fourth dimension.

Obviously that last one is interesting, considering how the Tesseract will be the start of our adventure. The Cosmic Cube was renamed for the MCU, and in the comics has no relation to this minor character.

But what if it now does?

What if Tony has caused a change in the very appearance of Mr. Mobius when he inverted the Mobius Strip - literally inverting his clothing because he changed the shape of the Mobius - does that mean that these seemingly human-looking misters are in fact some sort of avatars for aspects of time itself? And if Mr. Tesseract is representative of how space and time intersect in the fourth dimension, wouldn’t a rogue god twisting space and time with the device that shares his name cause him some affect? Perhaps why the TVA noticed something was amiss to begin with.

This would be a departure from the comics, but the characters have almost no history there. They are ripe for new ideas.

Or, then again, since Loki will be working for the TVA - perhaps he’s the one who becomes ‘Mr. Tesseract’?

But continuing with that ‘Avatar of Aspects’ idea, let’s get away from this sausagefest for a second and visit my next newest favourite character -

I’m guessing she’s one of the Justices of the TVA. What gives it away? The imperious look, the giant oaken table, or the fact that I’m suddenly self-conscious when she looks at me? It’s the last one, of course. She’s a natural judge.

Of the named TVA judges, there’s :

Justice Goodwill, Justice Hope, Justice Liberty, Justice Love, Justice Might, Justice Mills, Justice Peace and Justice Truth.

Could they also possibly be avatars of their respective aspects?

If I had to guess, I’d say this is Justice Truth, as pairing up Loki with an avatar of Truth seems like it’d be a smashing good time, similar to how he was paired with Verity Willis in the comics. She might even be a composite character with Verity.

Verity’s power is detecting and seeing through all lies and illusions. I think this powerset will be given to Justice Truth, except instead of deriving it from a magic ring that she swallowed, she’d simply be the actual ‘Embodiment of Truth’ - and let’s get real here, when I said ‘Avatars of Aspects’, I was using that clunky phrase because the more obvious one - God of - is already ‘taken’. So Justice Truth may well be the ‘God of Truth’, as it were.

I think she’ll end up in something of a buddy-comedy with Loki, giving him someone to bounce off against who literally cuts through his carefully crafted veneer.

I’m reminded of a great quote from Taika Waititi when he was talking about what he wanted to do with Loki in Ragnarok:

“(He’s) someone who tries so hard to embody this idea of the tortured artist, this tortured, gothy orphan...It’s too tiring trying to be like that,” he says. “And, most humans, we get over ourselves, we get to that point where we’re like, ‘man, being a tortured artist is actually, like, a lot of work. Maybe I should just be real and present, and just be me, and I don’t have to be a tortured artist to be interesting, I can just be a f*cking weird New Zealander and that’s enough.”

...I think Taika is a living Loki, tbh, ha ha. No wonder he gets it.

Waititi, Yost, Pearson and Kyle did great work to cut through Loki’s illusions, both with dialogue and the visual allegory of his projections being dispelled by handy thrown objects, culminating in the very sweet ‘I’m here,’ scene at the end of the film. Loki seems to be much more open and expressive at the end of that film, and it seems like a weight has lifted off his shoulders.

But while this new Loki (Loki 2.0? Loki’s Show’s Loki? Loki II? Lokii? Lokii.) is shown a clip show of Ragnarok (one I previously theorized will be deliberately incomplete), that’s quite different from actually experiencing it, and he’ll be as performative as he was in Avengers and Thor 2. Instead of processing that ‘lack of presence’ as he did in Ragnarok, which came about as a result of Thor finally seeing through Loki’s illusions (guess he doesn’t fall for it anymore) as a result of their long history together, I suspect the band-aid will be torn off much more harshly by a total stranger who nonetheless simply sees through him.

Loki in general has a bad relationship with the truth (see the famous Vault Confrontation scene), and literally putting him on trial before the Truth Herself would certainly be enough to get him to switch from this phony expression:

To this one:

That’s not much of a facade there.

It’s not the same character arc as Ragnarok, but it does get us to a similar place, albeit in a darker and less healing way for Loki. I mean Lokii.

Anyhow. That’s what I got out of this thing.