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Messages - Q. G. Pennyworth

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Apple Talk / Re: History In The Making
« on: April 15, 2018, 06:40:05 pm »
Some of the changes I made were to broaden the scope, obviously. Some of the rest was formatting stuff (rewording here and there to get prettier line breaks) but one of the other changes I firmly stand behind is the characterization of the historian. Having spent some time around Queer Classicist Tumblr (which is its own corner of the internet and highly worth poking your nose in for a sec), and spent some time listening to Suu lose her damn mind about the loss of historical understanding in this country, I didn't feel great about the "dry and tedious" line at all.

Apple Talk / Oh You
« on: April 15, 2018, 06:36:09 pm »
Oh you
You rebel
You queer and wayward child
You abandoned and listless
You angry and forgotten
You brown and black and indigenous
You homeless and impoverished
You dreamer
You warrior
You are not alone here
You have never been alone
Not in this place, not in this time
Not in the whole of history
There have always been ones like you
There will always be ones like you
We have always fought
In the papers, in the streets
With paint cans and with pens
With knives and with torches
In your armor inadequate
In your fear and your rage
You have never been alone

Plant your feet like the thousand year oak
Scream like the ghosts of your ancestors
Light your hearts on fire
With the ashes of all the dead suns

Oh you
You rebel
You irredeemable soul
You arrogant and desperate
You immigrant and refugee
You moody and awkward and unsure
You romantic and impossible
You dreamer
You warrior

Take up your arms
Abandon your fears
History is calling you
The heirs of Revolution

Apple Talk / History In The Making
« on: April 12, 2018, 07:20:17 pm »
The public events of the last two years are of the
class which will go into the nation's permanent
history. We have been living in an atmosphere of history
which will be immortally preserved. Even the brief
series of important dates to be collated for the use of
school children centuries hence will contain the dates we
groggily stumble through in our “daily grind.”

To us who have been the witnesses, so to speak,
of the tragic incidents of the times, it seems
entirely probable that future generations will eagerly
scan every feature of our misery.

How accurately will our descendants know the
immense volume of sorrow which has rolled over
the land? Will those who come after us ever be able to
understand the extent of our distress? Is there anything
at all in our history, or any foreseeable event in theirs,
that might be used as a parallel?

Perhaps a careful reading of the daily news of the
present may give some future antiquarian a fine
idea of the feelings of the nation at this time. But these
records are so large, so full of detail, that the coming
American will never find time to read even a relevant
fraction of it, let alone the personal writings we bequeath
them. They will depend on a brief statement, meagerly
compiled by an anonymous and exhausted historian.

W.O. Davis, with edits

Or Kill Me / Re: Two Steps Away From a War Zone
« on: March 26, 2018, 11:40:40 pm »
I am humbled by your efforts QG. I can't think of anything else to say other than that you have my lasting admiration for your courage and will.

I am currently only accepting compliments on the writing :P

Or Kill Me / Re: Two Steps Away From a War Zone
« on: March 26, 2018, 09:25:12 pm »
I am very glad I incorporated a church into my life this past year. Showed up there the day after and just cried like an idiot because adrenaline crash suuuuuucks.

Or Kill Me / Two Steps Away From a War Zone
« on: March 26, 2018, 08:09:48 pm »
If a protest goes well, if the gods are smiling and the sun is bright and everyone keeps their cool and there are no counter-protesters and the government is on board, if everything aligns exactly right, it's a perfectly lovely day on the streets.

But if things go as wrong as they can, it's two steps away from a war zone.

My friend is saying he will volunteer as a medic and I am telling him about the advice I've gotten from other street medics on packing some trauma bags: a gallon zipper bag with 3 4x4 sponges for cleaning, a water resistant bandage for bandaging and a roll of gauze for if the wound is larger than the bandage and a pair of gloves. You know, if someone is hurt and you need to get them out of there fast, you don't have time to mess around with a fancy kit with everything sorted properly. He says if someone is bleeding like that you shouldn't be moving them, you need to call 911 and wait.

Sometimes the bad thing is still happening. Sometimes your choice is to leave them to bleed out on the street or move them when it's risky. He has never been this close to a war zone.

I am talking to the children about what to do if they get arrested, what to do in a stampede, where to go if they get separated and what happens if the police shut down the whole common and they have to make it home by themselves. I am constantly managing my language, adding caveats, calling myself paranoid. "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." I an swearing like a sailor, because active shooter drills are more offensive than any cuss word.

There will be counter protesters. They are saying they will be armed.

At night I lie awake imagining getting shot in front of my kids, making contingency plans to get them out of there safely no matter what happens to me. I am talking with my friends about the optics of my potential injury or death. I am screaming inside, not a wail or a shriek but something battle-hardened and furious and fearful. I have the vocabulary for this. I know what I am doing.

I show them how to make flyers and why you use quarter sheets and how much text is too much and give them permission to demand more, to shout louder, to take a radical stance and let the other motherfuckers negotiate you down. I teach them chants and we talk about intersectionality and how fucking useless the kids in the next grade up are and how they've stopped talking to one of their classmates because he "has mixed feelings about the Holocaust."

"Don't resist if they go to arrest you, they'll be using the zip ties and those really hurt if you struggle."

They brought munchkins to their planning meeting and I've brought donuts to the day of the march. They are smiling and she is wearing her mockingjay pin and every year she looks more like Katniss and the world looks more like the dystopia that needs her, and I know why my baby has a crush on her. We are going over last minute plans and coordination and we are stocking up on water and snacks and we are double checking the maps on our phones to be sure we're talking about the same places.

"Everybody needs a bandanna or a scarf." I tell them. One of the other moms realizes what they are for.

I forgot my bullhorn and there is someone on the train who has his sign out and ready at our stop and there's more and more at every stop on the way, the doors open to a sea of young faces and sensible shoes and signs with slogans from the internet and memes only a middle schooler could love. We are in pairs. We are not panicking. We know how to move with the crowd.

"If there is a stampede you need to stay up. Move with the crowd, and keep yourself upright. Falling down is how people get hurt or killed."

The sun is shining and it is cold and the organizers could never have prepared for this but they have done an amazing job anyway. We see the politicians and the unions and the street medics and the socialists, the refuse fascism folks and the moms demanding action. We are courageous and prepared and we check in with our home base and we wait for word from the people who went to put themselves between us and the nazis. Because it's 2018 and nazis are a normal part of our political discourse.

Nobody gets shot.

My husband is live on facebook and they are calling him a felon and they are making teenagers cry and he holds his ground and he draws their attention and they stay away from the stage and away from the people who would not be able to take that trolling so lightly, the people who might be goaded into throwing the first punch.

I am in the crowd and the girls are leading chants and a hundred people around us are responding to them and we yell BLACK LIVES MATTER in front of the police station. My son is the only one brave enough to say hello to his Senator, until another mom speaks up and tells him that we're from his home town.

My voice is hoarse from screaming and the other moms did not know I am this person, but they know now.

Apple Talk / Re: Nazi Poetry
« on: February 14, 2018, 10:01:00 pm »
Queers Aren't Weak
Women Aren't Bossy
Fuck Their Assumptions
Curbstomp A Nazi

Apple Talk / Re: Nazi Poetry
« on: February 14, 2018, 09:17:00 pm »
From Interpance!

Whitesups fear unhinged that which befalls
Their race, and so construct big walls.
Entrenched and so strange,
Their ideas you won't change,
So just give them a kick in the balls.


There once was a Klansman called Billy
Whose cape was so long he felt silly.
With sharp scissors he cut
Some length of it but
He messed up and chopped off his willy.

Apple Talk / Re: Nazi Poetry
« on: February 14, 2018, 05:02:04 pm »
Roses Are Red
Jpegs Are Lossy
Break Out The Banhammer
And Smash All The Nazis

Apple Talk / Nazi Poetry
« on: February 14, 2018, 04:58:04 pm »
Roses Are Red
I Like Your Moxie
Lets Get A Beer
And Go Punch A Nazi

RPG Ghetto / Re: Mistborn
« on: February 04, 2018, 01:57:52 am »
Oh look, this again

South to the south there's a place I know
Where the streams run clean and the cool winds blow
Wish I could lay my head down low
But my lady calls and away I go

Said "take your sword and take your spear
And a kiss from the ones who hold you dear
I'll wash away all your crippling fear
And we'll make this the empire's final year"

Skaa to the left and terris to the right
And the nobleman come to make things right
They said none could best the emperor's might
But they're holding strong and prepared to fight

The tower looms, the fires blaze
Our whole world in the balance sways
The inquisition's iron gaze
Can't hold us to their broken ways

I gave my life to the queen's command
So here I'll hold and here I'll stand
Pretty little thing tried to take my hand
But my heart belongs to Direland

We danced and drank as the empire fell
And what comes next no man can tell
But I'll hold you close and I'll serve you well
My warrior queen and my blushing belle

Apple Talk / Re: The Compleat Billy Chronicles (thanks to Zenpatista)
« on: February 02, 2018, 01:34:58 am »
the "looks in boss" are seriously the best part.

I love that you have minions.

Apple Talk / Re: Blessed are the Terrible
« on: February 02, 2018, 12:08:46 am »
Blessed are the Crazy, for their understanding of the human condition and their own selves is beyond the reach of the sane.

Blessed are the Hypocrites, for the internally consistent are not equipped to handle a reality filled with imperfect solutions and enemies of enemies.

Blessed are the Imperfect, Blessed are the Messy

Blessed are those who have an inflexible belief in what does and does not constitute a sandwich, and a flexible concept of reality

Blessed are the Stubborn

Apple Talk / Re: Sooooooo...
« on: January 31, 2018, 09:15:35 pm »
What prompted you to check the church out QG?

In August the Nazis had a rally on Boston Common and I burned myself all the way out screaming at elected officials to jump on the fire. At the event, I was presented with the opportunity to punch a Nazi and chose not to (for what I believe are good reasons that still keep in line with my general "punch the fucking Nazis" political stance). There were 40,000 people and it was tense and there were fights and I needed to process that shit, and the church is right outside the office building where we rent space, and they put up a sign about having a kind of "emergency" service/emotional support thing with all the Nazi shit going on. I'd seen the new Reverend at our local FUCK THE NAZIS IN PRINCIPAL event, he seemed like a good guy and I was falling down pretty hard, so I went.

This past Sunday, he let us know that his partner's father killed himself, and it's a hard thing to deal with. I went to his office hours and gave him some of the stuff I worked up for Holy Nonsense and another project I'm working on, because dealing with grief and depression is kinda all I do some days, and if I'm gonna sit here being a sadsack I'd better be able to sublimate SOME of that shit into something useful for another human.

Discordia is an excuse to Do Things.

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