#when success seems to mock u by its absence

[yourheartinyourmouth]

i fucking hate my life.

one of the other tenants has been constantly turning the heat up to EIGHTY even though it hasn’t dipped below 40. this lead to the heating bill for the unit being like, $300 more than the rest of the boarding house.

so, since we are apparently untrustworthy children and not adults who can be reasoned with, the landlord came while tenant was at work and put one of those plastic locking boxes over the thermostat. tenant came home ranting and screaming, calling husband and me bitches repeatedly, yelling abt how he always gets the mail (?), screaming about how we went behind his back to the landlord (we didn’t), and then SLAMMED his door as hard as he could.

screaming and door slamming are so fucking triggering for me. i had a melt down verging on anxiety attack.

i absolutely Do Not Feel Safe Here.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Day 7: Free Day / AUs - Lies

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Awkward “family” dinner time~

jnjadaafiabasd I was not built to do timed prompts... Everything felt rushed or not fully proofread, but I tried my best with what little time I had! 🎉 This last week was a bit of a struggle, but I’m proud of myself for pulling through in the end!

A flurry of footsteps reverberated through the Crowley household. Raven hurtled down a stairwell and practically threw herself at the front door, flinging it open. Beyond the door, a masked man and his suitcases awaited.

“Uncle!! You’re back!!” she cried breathily—tired from the dash from the attic to the front porch.

“Hohoh.” Crowley lowered the golden key in his hand. “You’ve beaten me to the punch, it seems.”

“It helps when I’ve got a big window to spy from.” Raven grimaced as talons wove themselves into her hair and raked along her scalp. Her head was left a mess, hair sticking up at odd angles. “How was your trip?”

“There will be plenty of time for stories—you do so love those, don’t you? Just give me a moment to get settled back and have a bite first, little black bird.”

“Okay!” Raven chirped. She eagerly reached for a suitcase. “Here, I’ll he—”

“Please, allow me.”

Her fingers met only air, for the suitcase was snatched up before she could make contact. The other was claimed just as quickly, ending up in the hands of a slimy, smiling eel.

“... Jade Leech-kun.”

“Headmaster.” Jade lowered his head in mock deference. “It is a pleasure to have you back with us. I do hope your conference fared well.”

Crowley’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “You’ll not hear a single peep from me!”

“My, my. You’ve entrusted me with handling your home and your niece in your absence, but not with casual conversation? Truly, I am hurt.”

(Raven shot Jade a warning look, but it went ignored.)

“Leave my bags, and leave us be. Your services are no longer required,” the headmaster crowed. He dug into his pockets and produced a (wrinkled) checkbook and gold-plated fountain pen. “Name your price.”

“I believe that is a value that would be best negotiated with Azul—but worry not, I am not personally interested in your madol.”

... That’s obviously a sketchy thing to say, especially for Octavinelle. They always collect what they’re owed, Raven noted. What does he have up his sleeve now?

Jade’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and a sad smile made its way onto his face. “It is a shame, though... to be chased out before I was able to share my cooking with our esteemed headmaster. It brings a tear to my eye.”

Crowley’s ears perked up—while Raven’s stomach sank.

“Cooking, you say?”

“U-Uncle, don’t fall for it...! He’s baiting you!!” Raven hissed, tugging harshly on his cape.

“I had plans to prepare an extravagant feast, too,” Jade continued, “to welcome you home. A hearty wild game stew, garnished with garden herbs. Fresh baked bread, with a thick crust, perfect for mopping up excess stew. Braised duck in a bright citrus sauce, so succulent and tender that the meat falls off at the bone. Mint gelée on the side—”

“I’m listening...” Crowley’s beady eyes narrowed with vague suspicion. “And just how much would this hypothetical feast cost me?”

“Don’t listen to him, Uncle!!”

“Fufu. There is no need to concern yourself with such trivial matters. Consider it a gift from myself to you.”

“UNCLE!!” Raven screeched—but her frantic calls no longer reached him.

The headmaster was far gone, lured to the water’s edge by a siren’s song. Plastering a wide grin on his face, Crowley spread his arms.

“Jade Leech-kun, why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Raven slowly lowered her face into her hands.

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Raven glared into her platter of food, refusing to look at either of them. She poked at a slab of meat with her fork, watching the shine of fat dance. Did that glisten belong to a tasteless poison, or to a savory glaze?

Well, the other meals he prepared were safe. This should be fine too... right? Raven carefully inserted a corner into her mouth and tore off a chunk.

Crowley let out a delighted laugh from his seat. “Delicious! Simply delicious!! You’ve outdone yourself with this meal.”

“I am glad to hear that you enjoy it, headmaster.” Jade was handling his silverware a little too deftly for Raven’s liking, driving a knife into his steak with the skill and precision of a predator digging its teeth into vital arteries. And still, that polite smile remained.

She stared—and it did not go unnoticed.

While the headmaster continued to gush, Jade lifted his eyes to meet Raven’s. His smile turned decidedly less kind for a few moments, taunting her. How easily he had infiltrated the home and gotten her guardian wrapped around his finger. It was maddening.

“Miss Raven, you haven’t touched your food,” Jade pointed out.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I am merely advising that you look after your own health and wellbeing,” Jade insisted. “And to think you were so eager to consume my cooking when it was just the two of us...”

“Sh-Shut up...!! I... I can’t help that I’m not used to unwanted guests at the table!”

“Now, now, Raven-kun!” Crowley waved his fork at his niece. “Jade Leech-kun has provided a number of useful services during my absence. We should be more grateful to to have such a helpful young man with us!”

“Do I need to remind you that this same ‘helpful’ young man also ‘helped’ Azul enslave over 200 students?”

“That was then, this is now!”

... You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Yes, I do believe the headmaster is correct. Let us leave the past in the past.”

“As soon as you leave, I’ll gladly purge the events of last week from my mind.” Raven turned to Crowley. “Uncle! I’m no longer a child. The next time you need to leave, you needn’t call for a babysitter—I can take care of myself!”

“Hmm...” The headmaster glanced helplessly between his half-eaten dinner and his niece’s pleasing eyes. “We shall see what comes, given the circumstances.”

Raven sighed—still not fully satisfied with the answer, but unable to wean anything better out of him.

She jabbed her fork into a cherry tomato and chomped down hard on it. Her fangs pierced the red skin, sending some juice squirting onto her cheek. Raven wiped at it with a napkin, then continued to angrily munch on the tomato to vent her frustration.

The clinking of silverware filled the dining room. The air, stiff as stale bread. Crowley coughed—attempting to alleviate the tense atmosphere, but to little success.

“So,” the headmaster began, “did anything interesting happen while I was at the conference?”

“... We argued a lot,” Raven replied flatly. She tactfully left out several details, knowing that she would turn as red as the cherry tomato if she elaborated.

“I did learn quite a few interesting facts during my stay.”

Crowley glanced up from his plate, arching an eyebrow at the eel. “Such as...?”

“Oh, a great many things. For example, how a glittering object catches Miss Raven’s eye, the messiness of her quarters, her midnight musings, the odd manner in which she sleeps...”

Crowley (who had been peacefully inhaling his dinner up until that point) almost choked on a piece of bread. “E-EXCUSE ME?! I don’t recall granting you permission to enter the attic—”

“Wait, you didn’t?” Raven’s brows furrowed. “Then why...”

... Oh.

Another lie.

All along, it had been a lie.

Crowley’s panic, Raven’s confusion—neither seemed to faze Jade. He simply smiled, as collected as ever. Like he had planned this all along, she realized.

“I’m afraid that Miss Raven allowed me in of her own accord. Fufu. I am pleased that she has grown to trust my presence within her private quarters.”

“Is this true, Raven-kun?!”

“Er...” She shrunk back into her seat, wishing she could vanish into her feathered shawl. “I-It was an honest mistake... I didn’t mean to...”

“You know better than that, young lady!!” Crowley chided. “How many times must I warn you to keep shady characters out of your room?!”

“But Jade said--”

“Headmaster, you cannot blame her entirely,” the eel cut in smoothly. “Part of the fault lies with me, as well.”

He’s... confessing? That’s weird.

“I had to deliver her meal, since she refused to eat at the dining room table. Once I saw the state that the attic was in, I sought to return in the subsequent days to assist with cleaning it up. There were also times when I came to check in on Miss Raven, as she has a habit of staying up late into the night. They were all measures I took to ensure her health and comfort, at the cost of breaking a rule--and for that, I must apologize.”

“Oh?” Crowley rested his chin in a taloned hand. “Rule breaking aside, I must commend you for taking action. Putting others’ wellbeing above your own... Perhaps I initially misjudged your character, Jade Leech-kun!”

“I live to serve.”

“How very admirable of you! Yes, yes,” Crowley nodded enthusiastically, “I can rely on such a responsible youth to look after you in the future, Raven-kun!”

“H-Huh? No, no!! He’s definitely still every bit as shady as you thought he was!!” she protested, leaping to her feet and thrusting an accusing finger at Jade. “He’s just lying again...!! He always lies!!”

“Oya, Miss Raven... It’s not healthy for you to become so worked up.” Jade hid his mouth behind his hand--no doubt that his teeth would otherwise be on full display in a cruel grin. “Here, have some more mashed potatoes--I’ve infused them with garlic. This should help temper your blood pressure.”

“I don’t want your stupid mashed potatoes...!!”

Oblivious to the tension in the room, Crowley lifted his glass up and laughed. “Hohoh! It’s nice to see Raven-kun socializing with her peers.”

[ecotone99]

[RO] The last times

I was woken up by the rustling of the sheets. I had an urge to reach for my phone, but I knew it wasn't next to me. Had I slept at home, it would have been. I rolled over on my back and observed the ceiling. I had never noticed how white and dirty it was. Today was going to be a day full of lasts. I had known and had dreaded it for months. As always, time slips by inconspicuously. It seemed that everything had only started yesterday. Only yesterday that I had met him. Tears welled up in my eyes and my throat started to clog. I held it in. I didn't want to wake him up with my sobbing. I sniffed as quietly as possible and heard him shuffle in bed next to me. I rolled over to my side to watch him sleep for one last time. There he laid, sleeping peacefully, or so I thought. He was wearing his sleeping mask with his set of earplugs to prevent my snoring from bothering him. They didnt really work. My snoring is practically unbearable, but he had bore it. It was the last time. He didn’t look nervous, sad, or stressed. He just looked asleep. The calm before the storm I figured.

I was often taken aback by his good looks. He had a full set of hair that he wore the buzz cut I had given him days before and a full beard and a mustache that I loved on him. He had a hard time sleeping recently, so the odds were that he was awake. I slowly rubbed my hand on his to test him. He hinted that he was awake but didn’t take off his mask. I pulled myself closer to him and put my arms around his chest. I wanted to envelop him, keep him tightly close to me. I don’t know how many more times I would get to do it. I slowly separated myself from him to give him some time to rest. I put on my pants that were lying at the foot of the bed and grabbed my phone off the table. Then I pussy footed out of the room. This day would be harder on him than it would be on me, and sleep was not something to scoff at. I settled on the couch in the living room and played on my phone. This was without a doubt a procrastination tool. Not on any tasks, more so on my feelings. I wanted to keep them buried as long as I could. With no success in getting more sleep, he joined me in the living room in his loose, flowy boxers.

We discussed a plan for breakfast. He hated wasting food. Especially the organic kind he bought. He had some leftover eggs, eggplant, lentils, and tempeh. I never had tempeh before I met him. We decided to throw in a bit of everything and made the final meal we’d share together. As he was cooking, I couldn’t help but hold him in my arms. So I could feel his warmth, the texture of his skin, the smell of his neck. I pressed my cheek against his head. I wanted to breathe him in. I needed to keep with me whatever part of him I could. We shared our final meal together, as if it were just another day. As if it did not mark anything important in each others lives. I kept stealing glimpses at him. I wanted to save the perfect image of him. As I see him truly: his essence. The kind, generous, open minded, and open hearted individual that he is. With the hurt and uncertainty, and insecurities he had shared with me.

After breakfast, we continued the packing he had started the day before. One by one, everything that belonged to him went in his luggage. And with every piece that got put away, I could feel a part of my heart breaking. Me breaking down then would not make it any easier for him. I secretly wiped my tears as they came up and only spoke when my voice was stable. I tried to keep the façade alive as much as I could. I think he noticed and appreciated the. As we were putting things away, we talked and reminisced about our meeting and our journey together. It was a pleasant one. He had come into my life when I had needed him, and had given me what I craved.

By the time we were done packing, his usually messy room looked awkwardly empty. Aside from the bed, the table and the shelves, everything was in his luggage or in the bags he was leaving behind. I kept a pair of his shorts that I liked and a scarf. It was getting harder for him. I could see it in his face. He expressed his fear that his luggage might weigh too much. We had no way of ensuring that, so we left that to luck.

We waited for his roommate. He was on his way home to see him off. I caught glimpses where his eyes welled up, but I didn’t show that I noticed. He was the kind of person who would express himself if there was a need to. But today was too hard. His roommate showed up on time. They exchanged a couple of words when I got the notification that the Uber we had ordered arrived. I packed the trunk with his luggage as he said his farewells to his soon-to-be ex-roommate. We checked one last time to make sure nothing was forgotten and I took the front seat. He sat right behind me.

The Uber driver was a talkative one. He maintained a conversation with my boyfriend and I glanced at the side mirror to read my lover. I felt his hand reach for mine on the right side of the seat. I reached for his in return. We held the contact until we got to the airport. He checked in and got his tickets. We weighed the luggage, and luckily for him, it is within the accepted range.

Only about 30 minutes were left before he had to board the plane. We found an empty table and sat there to cherish the last minutes we had together. How fast time had gone by. It had felt like we had so much time left, but now we were dreading every second. He was comfortable expressing his feelings. I was not. He cried, I tried to keep my cool. We hadn't taken a lot of pictures of our times together. This was our last chance. I took out my phone and snapped a couple. Him with his red puffy eyes that weren’t too visible on the picture. We spent time holding each other. This was my last chance to take in as much of him as I could. I squeezed tightly. We shared how much we meant to each other. Said the things we were grateful for. I kept looking at him in the eyes not wanting to miss anything. Secretly hoping to steal a part of his soul and keep it with me.

The robotic voice called out his flight number; the time had come. I walked him to the gate as far as I could. Time was ticking. He had to go. We hugged in the middle of the path. I didn’t want to let him go, and I felt that he didn’t either. I held him tight. As tight as I could. His hot ear rubbing on mine. As our faces sunk as I looked into his eyes. Never had I seen such a sad face. It broke me. I could not control the tears. “Je t’aime” I told him. He repeated the words with a broken voice. His eyes were red, as red as I had ever seen them. I kept repeating that I’d miss him. I didn’t want him to leave not knowing how I felt and how much I’d miss him. He hugged me again. Life was a bitch. Time was a bitch. We broke. Tears were running down my face and my voice cracked. I told him that I loved him one more time, and we split. I could feel every point of contact parting away; the last to disconnect were our fingers. I didn’t have the heart to turn back and watch him leave my life for good. I walked away. But I needed to see him one more time, even if it was for only another fraction of a second. And that was it. I had lost him in the sea of faces.

A love, perfect within its limitations, had come to an end. I would probably never have the chance to see that face in person again under the same context. A face I would never hold in my hands; not in the same way. Lips that would never touch mine. I had already started to forget his smell, how he winked, or how he sneezed. Everything seem to escape from me too fast. Too fast for me to hold on. I felt like everything was slipping through my fingers like water. There was nothing I could do. Every memory would slowly drip away. I would never have this again. This was it. This was the end.

Just as it had begun, it had ended. It all happened in the lapse of a blink. The first time our eyes met to the last. Now I am expected to go back to my life. But the life I led before was no more. He had changed me too much. I was no longer the same person I had been before I met him. I was too different now to live that life. I was to go back to a life that was meant for the two of us, but I was to live it alone. Tears were still rolling down my face. I walked to the bus to make my way back home. What tomorrow would be like was still too unclear, I could not fathom what it would be like. I had to move on, but for now, I had to cry. I had to evacuate the overwhelming sadness. That’s something important he had taught me: not to be afraid of my emotions. I was crying not only because he was gone, but eventually, I’d forget him. Not altogether, but I’d forget the details: the wrinkling of his nose when he smiled, his full set of white teeth when he grinned, the winks he would throw at me when no one was looking, him affectionately mocking my quebec expressions, the way his touch would make me feel, the butterflies I would get every time I saw him, the way he would genuinely feel sad for the unfortunate. I will forget most of it as time goes by, and that saddened me. Never would I have believed in my life that someone’s absence could hurt so damn much.

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[clubofinfo]

Expert: Wealth maketh many friends; but the poor is separated from his neighbour. — Proverbs 19:4″ James “Mad Dog” Mattis spoke this week, at a pentagon press briefing, saying, among other things, that it was a time for all civilized nations to unite. The use of this trope ‘civilized’ echoes colonial sensibility. It is part of general shifting of meaning in the rhetoric of Empire over the last, say, 80 years. Never mind that the occasion of this speech, as seems increasingly the norm, was based on mostly propaganda. No evidence for a chemical attack was actually provided. Just as the evidence in the Skripal (attempted) murder (sic) is conspicuously lacking. This is a time when war criminals (unprosecuted, of course) can simply count on the utter amnesia of both the public and the quisling western press. So let’s go back and check a few boxes on Mattis. This is the man who oversaw the war crimes of Fallujah and then helped cover them up. One can read about it here… So how is it that Mattis can so confidently count on the silence and complicity of the corporate press? Mattis is no doubt sociopathic. He is a lizard eyed lisping sadist and yet he is fawned over and described as the ‘the most revered Marine in a generation’ by the same prostrate press. The adoration of the military in western media is at an all time high. And entertainment today is laden with the most jingoistic and nativist rhetoric imaginable. Hollywood today produces fiction that is uniform in its opinions and values. Watch this season of Designated Survivor. I know that is asking a lot, but do it anyway. Kiefer Sutherland is one of those actors who in middle age has begun to take on the tight lipped appearance of an aggrieved or constipated Quaker. The show is so stunningly reactionary that one finds some difficulty in arriving at the right words. But it is not an anomaly. Half of network prime time drama is military-based in theme. And today Hollywood staff writers can count on CIA or Pentagon “advisors” taking an active part in the creation of scripts. The blurring of fiction and Imperial fiction, as it were. There are ongoing themes in this Sutherland show about Russian interference in US democracy and most recently a story built around a tiny Asian nation with an insane dictatorial leader who wants nuclear weapons. The depictions of the Asian characters is only slightly less cartoon like than Charlie Chan. And always there are the requisite evil Muslim terrorist. But back to the disturbing figure of Jim Mattis. His call sign is “chaos”. He is reported to be worth in the neighborhood of five million dollars. This is an absurd low ball figure, but whatever. He is a graduate of Central Washington U. and something called the National Defense University. A quick iinternet search reveals this is a special educational institution on the grounds of Fort Leslie in DC and chartered by the Joint Chiefs. One does wonder what a typical class at NDU looks like. As for the “pacification” of Fallujah. Brett Wilkins wrote… According to witnesses and survivors of the assault, Marines indiscriminately killed men, women, children, the elderly and disabled alike. Civilians waving white flags of surrender were cut down by snipers, who also targeted ambulances carrying the wounded and dying to the few functioning clinics not destroyed by US bombs. “I see people carrying a white flag and yelling at us, saying, ‘We are here, just try to save us,’ but we could not save them because whenever we opened the ambulance door, the Americans would shoot at us,” Dr. Salam Ismael, head of Iraq’s young doctors association, told American investigative reporter Aaron Glantz, who covered the battle as an unembedded journalist. “We tried to carry food or water; the snipers shoot the containers of food. No civilizational norms violated there. Nope. Mattis also was the man who had all charges dropped against the soldiers that took part in the rampage at Haditha. Civilians shot point blank, often women and children, and the elderly — in their homes.  Callsign “Chaos”. Gary Kohls, MD, writing at Veterans Today…. Several of the PEOTUS’ cabinet appointees are high-ranking “lifer” military officers who have an innate disdain for democratic values (as would be expected for anybody whose career has been lived in the bubble of a hierarchical culture whose main junk values are 1) shoot first/ask questions later and 2) the use of dominative power over “enemies” via military violence. Kohls was primarily writing about Jim Mattis. But honestly, even a cursory examination of ANY four star General will yield similar biographical facts and similar personality disorders. You don’t rise through military ranks without a core ruthlessness, and an innate sadism. After the bombing of a wedding party in the Iraq desert, Mattis is quoted as saying… Ten miles from the Syrian border and 80 miles from the nearest city and a wedding party? Don’t be naïve. Plus they had 30 males of military age with them. How many people go to the middle of the desert to have a wedding party? The rank Orientalism of this comment, the arrogant indifference to the history and culture of Islam, to the Arab world in general, is also the hallmark of the successful military commander. Kill em all and let God sort it out. Of course, at the time of his nomination the NY Times published an op ed whose headline identified Mattis as a “pontential force for restraint”. That crazy old paper of record. And Mattis is routinely described as an intellectual, a ‘warrior monk’, and yet he doesn’t know anything of nomadic desert societies and culture. He didn’t even consider there might be a cultural gap here, or consider he might need to check alternative readings of the Muslim world, ones not provided for by that steller education at National Defense U. Mattis is not an intellectual, not even by the standards of that warped sub phylum of humanity that is the military. The media coverage of Syria, in the UK and US, is blatantly biased and pro intervention. The fact that FOX news reactionary Tucker Carlson is the sanest voice in mainstream media is very telling. Carlson hasn’t “woke”…. he just saw a niche demographic that might boost his ratings. Still…he was, in fact, correct. Danny Haiphong wrote… Tucker Carlson understands that he must appeal primarily to Republican voters weary of US interventions they see as products of Democratic Party-led wars even if establishment Republicans are no less hawkish than Democrats. Meanwhile, Goodman and her funders have subtly aligned with the Democrats as the new leaders of the War Party. War is the only tool at the disposal of imperialism, and there isn’t a single voice in Washington or the “liberal” media unwilling to use it. Under these conditions, infantile leftists and faux socialists in the Democratic Party camp have felt compelled to choose a side in the imperial madhouse. They claim that Democrats are “Presidential” while Putin and Assad are villains of humanity. No criticism is thrown at the Democratic Party, which sent a delegation led by Nancy Pelosi to Israel just days prior to the planned gun down of Palestinian resistance forces in Gaza. It doesn’t seem to matter how many Syrians or Palestinians are killed by the forces of imperialism when the so-called left is under the swoon of the CIA. So-called US leftists have caught anti-Putin fever at the expense of all other political questions. This includes the murder of Black people by the police in the US. Barely any attention was paid in the US to the murders of Stephon Clark and Saheed Vassell over the last few weeks. Only community members and the usual left organizations made any noise about these state-sanctioned murders. The same goes for Israel’s wonton massacre of participants in Gaza’s Great March for Return. In the absence of a mass movement, people in the US and West are becoming mere onlookers in a changing a world. This last few months has revealed as never before both the callous cruelty of the ruling class in the U.S. and UK, but also the degrading of education … for lack of a better description. At the UN, British envoy Karen Pierce, mistakenly thought Karl Marx was a Russian. In a prank phone call Nikki Haley, the US ambassador to the UN, thought there was a country called Binimo. And Trump himself noted something or other about an imaginary African country called Nambia. Boris Johnson began an extemporaneous recitation of a Kipling poem (Road to Mandalay) in a temple in Myanmar. And then was told it was inappropriate by an aid, trying to save him further embarrassment, and STILL Johnson didn’t understand. All of these examples are not mere gaffes, amusing mistakes, but rather a general indifference to the cultures of the world, in fact, an indifference to the world beyond their own small corner of it. Indifferent and hostile. Remember when George Bush, now in full rehabilitation mode by his media handlers, mocked Karla Faye Tucker, on death row, who was begging for her life. That is exactly the cruelty one sees across the board in the leaders of the West today. One wonders does Mattis or Bush or Bolton think the use of Agent Orange transgressed civilizational norms? Did Hiroshima? What strikes me most acutely, these last few months, is the extraordinary cultural chauvinism of the U.S., or rather mostly of white U.S., as well as an institutionalized orientalism. Most White Americans, as a general statement, think they are better than the rest of the world. And most Americans have scant knowledge about the rest of the world. So the belief in cultural (and moral) superiority is based on what? The answer is not simple, but as a general sort of response, this trust in “our” superiority is built on violence. On an ability to be effectively violent. Most British, too, think they are superior to those ‘wogs’ south of their emerald isle. But since the setting of the sun on Empire, ‘officially’, the British hold to both a sense of superiority and a deep panic inducing sense of inferiority — at least to their American cousins. They are still better than those fucking cheese eating frogs or the krauts or whoever, but they accept that the U.S. is the sort of heavyweight champ of the moment. Meanwhile, the tragic and criminal fire at Grenfell Towers in London elicited a public discourse that perfectly reflected the class inequality of the UK, but also reflected, again, the colonialist mentality of the ruling party and their constituency. Stephen Brenner wrote of the fire and the government response to it.. There is Sir Martin Moore-Bick,** the former High Court Judge, who has been appointed by May to head a board of inquiry. Fears of a protracted inquiry producing an anodyne report were aroused when Moore-Bick went out of his way to declare that the scope of the investigation would be severely limited to determining the immediate cause of the fire and why it spread so rapidly. Answers to both questions already are known. The Sir Inquisitor-to-be has given the game away in adding that “I do not expect everyone to be pleased by the conclusion of the inquiry” – yet to begin. Moore-Bick’s unprompted utterance shows just how pervasive is the Americanization of British political culture. Unnecessary, embarrassing ejaculations like this have become impulsive – defying the dictates of prudent restraint. No one is confused as to who the “everyone” he has in mind refers to. An impression reinforced by the denial of the residents’ right to ask questions in person as to the scope and form of the inquiry. The only open question is the exact tint that the whitewash will take (stitch-up in British dialect). The first testimony will not be heard until mid-September when panel members, as yet unnamed, get back from their holidays. Graham Peebles adds… Grenfell Tower forms part of the Lancaster Road West Estate in Notting Hill Gate. An area that, like many other parts of the capital, has been subjected to a gentrification assault accompanied by systematic social cleansing that goes back decades and has intensified over the last 10 –15 years. In addition, the Grenfell affair demonstrates that the United States is not alone in its tolerance for actions that should be a national disgrace but are slighted by a political class incapable of feeling shame. The callous, off-hand treatment given the Grenfell victims is reminiscent of how colonial administrators dealt with expendable natives. If a proper criminal process were undertaken, a reasonable verdict would be Involuntary Manslaughter. But that is exactly it. The colonial template is one etched in acid in the collective imagination of the West. At least the English speaking West. Expendable natives…which is what Jim Mattis sees everywhere that he dumps depleted Unranium and Willy Pete. It is what Madelaine Albright saw in Iraq or Hillary Clinton in Libya or Barack Obama in Sudan, Yemen, and…well… four or five other countries. It is what most U.S. police departments see in neighborhoods ravaged by poverty. As in those old Tarzan films, when the sound of drums is heard, the pith helmeted white man notes…”the natives are restless tonight”. When one discusses Syria, the most acute topic this week, remember that for Mad Dog and Boss Trump, or for the loopy John Bolton, these are just natives in need of pacification. Giving money to ISIS or Daesh, or whoever, as a cynical expression of colonial real politik, is nothing out of the ordinary. It is what the UK and US have done for a long while. It’s Ramar of Jungle handing out beads to the *natives*. Domestically, take the example of Flint, Michigan. At the drinking water. When the unelected state appointed emergency manager switched from the Detroit River to the Flint River to supply water to the residents of Flint, the result was a spike in all diseases of insanitation. Everyone knew this was going to happen. The General Motors plant had stopped using Flint River water because it was corrosive to the auto parts they were manufacturing. But poor black kids, who cares. The U.S. has a long history of such stuff, from Love Canal, New York, to the chemical dump in the Elk River in West Virginia. You will notice a theme here. It is class. You don’t find ash spills like what happened near the Emery River in Tennessee occurring in Mill Valley or Scarsdale or Bel Air. Inflicting suffering on the poor is perfectly acceptable to the ruling class. To them, privilege is a sign of superiority. And the less deserving are only there to serve. The problem with the current wave of propaganda from western sources is that very little, if any, evidence is given. The term ‘very likely’ is much in vogue, probably because it leaves such a huge ‘walk it back’ escape route. Except there is less and less effort to even bother. In one sense the solidification of class power came out of neoliberal policies in the 1970s. The top 1% (really, the top half of one percent) increased their wealth dramatically, with the same occurring in the UK. Clinton pushed these principles even further and then Bush and Blair further still. We are now living the dream of the Washington Consensus economists. And it worth noting the founding statement of Hayak’s Mt. Pelerin Society, in 1947. For Hayak was the godfather of neoliberalism and Milton Freidman his heir. The central values of civilization are in danger. Over large stretches of the earth’s surface the essential conditions of human dignity and freedom have already disappeared. There is that word again. Of course, this was really only justification for the 1% to expand the reach of Western capital. To exploit labor and extract resources. And when recalcitrant countries did not submit quickly enough, the CIA was always available (ask Iran, or Chile, or Angola. The latter more of a symbolic lesson for those uppity nations even thinking about not following orders. It also marked open U.S. cooperation with apartheid South Africa. And in opposition to the troops Castro sent to assist the MPLA opposition to the ruthless US supported Jonas Savimbi). This restoration of ruling class power, though, was and is always looking over its shoulder. For the reality is that such profound inequality means life becomes unsustainable, even for the top 0.1% is repressed. And such repression takes effort. And that effort is giving birth to the madness one sees today. From Grenfell Tower to Flint Michigan, to Gaza or Libya or Syria — the principles driving the violence are the same. And it matters not if the urbane and articulate Obama is President, or if the troglodyte Trump, if it is Blair or May, for they are only reciting from a small financial Catechism of financial laws, and these laws are breaking down in the face of environmental degradation and an inequality so extreme that its almost impervious to calculation. They are only the voice of their class. This idea of civilized man has come to be an almost code-word for class hierarchy. The violence against Palestinians is simply inseparable from the violence that killed Stephon Clark. The violence that makes children sick in Michigan is the same one that causes oil spills or disasters such as the Lac-Mégantic train crash near Quebec, Canada. And, it is the same bigoted smug confidence of bourgeoise identity political thinking. The one that demands Islam rid itself of veils, or that ridicules ANY thinking or practice divergent from Western norms. You cannot expect the system to produce change if the system is based on punishing change. The status quo must be protected. For the ownership class world poverty is mostly the fault of the poor. The admission that neoliberalism has failed in terms of its announced goals has forced its proponents to a tactical retreat—defending the broad thrust of the neoliberal policy agenda under cover of “reform.” The result is an augmented Washington Consensus that blames client states and not international institutions or transnational capital for the failures of neoliberalism. It is the poor who are expected to make still further adjustments along neoliberal lines. From this point of view, what comes after neoliberalism must be more neoliberalism. — William K. Tabb, “After Neoliberalism“, Monthly Review, June 1, 2003. This idea of civilizational norms is connected to a deeply rooted assumption about the virtue of Democracy. Israel is described as Democratic but Cuba is not, for example. The reality, of course, is that the CIA and US ruling class spend most of their energy in deterring democracy (to quote Chomsky). Any real discussion of democracy needs to be extended beyond the undemocratic nature of the global economic institutions to a larger discussion of democracy, one that goes beyond whether votes are counted fairly, opposition candidates allowed to participate on an equal basis, and the voices of ordinary people heard by their elected leaders. Democracy needs finally to be discussed in relation to class rule in capitalist societies. — William T. Kabb, “After Neoliberalism“, Monthly Review, June 1, 2003. As Samir Amin pointed out, the “international community” (the G7 plus that bastion of democracy, Saudi Arabia) is utterly unconcerned with the opinions of 85% of the world’s population. So, both on a political/economic level, and on a cultural level, the Imperialist U.S. sees it as an innate right to decide the policies of the global south. It is anti democratic. The ruling class sees the right to enforce inequality as something of a Natural law. The anti Russian propaganda was born when Putin refused to sign off on the Nazi putsch in Ukraine. The US/Japan/NATO alliance is one that demands both economic submission and increasingly a cultural submission as well. And any rejection of this means a military forced submission. Democracy has come to be a shorthand for submission to neo-liberal economic policy dictated by Washington. Freedom is what happens after *we* destroy your country. That Mattis or May or various other servants of Empire can talk of civilzational norms with a straight face is actually pretty remarkable. The list of crimes is so extensive that one barely knows where to begin. We could ask about Gary Webb and cocaine and the CIA. Or about the School of the Americas, or My Lai or the siege at Waco. Or….but I feel this stuff really should be well known by now. I am more concerned in a sense with the small cultural appropriations and the gestures of an Orientalist sensibility that I see almost daily in western media. And the growing anti-semitism which one finds even on the left. And the seemingly intractable racism of white America. I just stop having the ability to keep track of it all. How can the white bourgeoisie demand adherence to their values with such tenacity? Do they really see themselves as somehow representative of some ideal? Tolerance means only adherence to their worldview. To their values. It is this nattering about ecological issues while never questioning the US military machine. But these refrains seem to stick in the collective consciousness of the west…”gas your own people” is one. As if gassing someone else were less objectionable. It is a media universe of entrenched meaningless slogans. It always reminds me of the outcry about steroid abuse. Maybe ask why big Pharma manufacture so many steroids. The medical uses for which are very limited. But no, it is easier to punish this or that athlete who in their desperation is looking for an edge, a way to reach that economic pinnacle so few reach. But question Eli Lilly? Never. The ruling class has always made money, always been ruthless, but again, the 1970s marked the solidification of systematic plunder, a cohesive and seamless river of money upwards. And enforced by the CIA. One should not forget that the CIA was founded by rich white ruling class scions of banking and finance. Allan Dullus, straight out of Wall Street, William Simon, Richard Mellon Scaife, Frank Shakespeare, and Bill Donovan. I mean the CIA calls itself “the Company”…bit of a tip off, that. If one struggles to grasp foreign policy decisions, always look at US business interests in the region. Remember these are ruthless people (MK ULTRA, Operation Mockingbird, etc). And the media was always part of this. The Graham family of Washington Post fame were directly linked to the CIA. William Paley, Henry Luce, Arthur Hays Sulzberger, and hundreds other are all intimate with the CIA. And it is no different now. It was the Clinton cartel that spent inordinate energy and time infiltrating Hollywood. The result is House of Cards, Homeland, Designated Survivor, and all the countless rest. Uniformity of message. Uniformity of values. I do wonder at times the role of Evangelical Christianity as it runs smack into the Catholic stake-outs in the corridors of power. Perhaps they cooperate, I don’t know. Religion is second to money, anyway. And then there is the role of Israel, that anti democratic neo colonial apartheid state in the Middle East. The ascension of the settler fanatic mirrors the ascension of Dominionists in the current US government. Fanatical zealots. Intolerant and profoundly ignorant of most things outside of their narrow set of concerns. And again, anti democratic. Israel serves the U.S. ruling class, not the other way round. There is no global Jewish plot as I keep reading in social media. The feeding of this bit of classic antisemitism is probably sourced by Israel itself. Nothing serves their PR better than spikes in antisemitism. But Israel is, for sure, more powerful than ever before. More influential. There is, best case scenario, a new Cold War in place. Worst case scenario, well, doesn’t matter. The real danger is the generalized ignorance now on display. Ruthless and sadistic one can predict, but irrational zealotry and stupidity…that is harder to deal with. And this is for certain the Age of Stupid. As for civilization, I’m coming to think we might well do fine without it. http://clubof.info/