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Aneristic Illusions / They're coming for you.
« on: November 24, 2022, 03:17:32 am »
We all knew that, but they've finally decided to put their back into it.

The latest anti-queer targeted attack has the father of the perpetrator on camera saying he's just relieved his son isn't gay. Making a point of saying he taught his son to be violent, because it's what works. Sounded proud, damn near.

And all the usual fools, politicians and talking heads alike, aren't saying thoughts and prayers. Not this time. They're looking for more. And the Dems won't even call it what it is: a blatantly targeted attack on the queer community.

I can't get out, so I really hope everyone else stuck on this boat with me is also ready to scrap like it's Tetsuo: The Iron Man.

I expect full-blown pogroms soon. Not "next couple years" soon, either.

Or Kill Me / Petitioner, Beware.
« on: November 23, 2022, 02:54:52 am »
Crosspost from Twitter. It feels distinctly different to me from the THERE ARE DREADFUL THINGS series, though it handles the same subjects.

It's a lament for my enemies.

To those who expect to be treated with humanity despite naming us terrorists, deviants, monsters:

Caveat precator.

You wanted devils and you got what you wanted. The sages knew: do not call up what you cannot put down.

You have called up the whole abyss.

Caveat precator.

You did not keep your circles drawn close. There is no rite of banishment. We are here now.

The power in the blood you shed has not dissipated. We remember each drop. Not one name is lost: we feel the ones we do not know.

For every curse you bestowed upon us: caveat precator.

Caveat precator.

You wanted hellfire and damnation, and now the sun will rise like arson. You asked for desolation and there will be no landscape so bleak.

You asked for an adversary.

You got what you wanted.

Why would you be surprised?

Caveat precator to everyone who builds themselves monsters to burn in effigy. You have ignored the power of words for too long. Wishes really do come true, and they have teeth and talons and thoughts like bombs.

There is no future but the hell you forged. The doors are barred.

Your application has been received. Your comment has been observed. Your request has been granted. Congratulations.

Caveat precator.
Ruin comes for you all.
Caveat precator.
There will be no graves to mark you.
Caveat precator.

Petitioner, beware.

RPG Ghetto / Snippets from character notes
« on: November 07, 2022, 09:12:46 pm »
Joined a Goosebumps (yeah, THAT Goosebumps) themed TTRPG campaign with my new experimental subject as DM and decided to play an 80s action hero badass who has wound up a washed-up bum with a mobile armory on account of actually, you can't play Van Helsing in modern America, because monsters aren't real.

They're a conspiracy theorist, and I've gotten to writing conspiracy theories for them that they'll bring up if someone asks. Decided to place them here for giggles.

Quote from: CONSPIRACY 1: Carnivals, Theme Parks, Horrorland
You know all the theme parks got started by carnies, right? Walt Disney was the first exception. Irish gold miner family. Six Flags and Idlewild and so on, though, and the original Horrorland, all carnies. Thieves and murderers, cause the carnies are always run by Englishmen, and you don't need me to tell you about the English.

This version of Horrorland though, I think it's "new management", you know what I mean? All that old Turkish vampire dynasty money funneled through Dutch companies that used to run the slave trade back in the olden times. Too themed, you can tell the carnies cause they do anything that'll make you look at it, even if it breaks kayfabe.

So you don't have to worry these folks are gonna rob you blind, unless you think you catch a carnie in the crowd. I haven't seen 'em though, those shifty Englishmen and the people they're manipulating all stand out. Got a code, like people think the Freemasons do. Masons are just dirty fuckin' cops though, carnies are the real deal.

Quote from: CONSPIRACY 2: Vampires, Turkey, Romania
Oh, you think Vlad was the original vampire? Nah, he was just a murderous weirdo. You want the original vampires, look at the former Janissary families out in Turkey. They made it big in the Ottoman times, ate like Nero, or Caligula, one of those Roman types. Brought the bloodthirst out of Austria. They pretended at being good ol' Muslim converts, but everyone knew better.

They gave the game away, you know. Got involved in the interwar arms trade after the Ottoman Empire collapsed, and you see them funding the Nazis and all cause dead bodies that disappear mean fodder for the thirst.

The Romanians get a bad rap. They just had old Vladdy and happened to be in town when Lady Bathory tried to lead a queer Cathar-revivalist uprising. Nah, you want the vampires, think the last remnants of the Batenburgers getting captured on a crusade by the Turks, and all that old bad German bloodthirst saying no, no, those folks just disappeared in the desert.

Aneristic Illusions / Miranda rights? Nah.
« on: June 16, 2022, 02:52:43 pm »

Or Kill Me / Violence
« on: June 01, 2022, 08:25:16 am »
Some things are things no one deserves to go through.

A relatively new friend of mine opened up tonight about possibly the most horrific case of abuse I have ever heard of happening to someone I personally knew. I've been through some shit. My friends have been through some shit. It does not compare. The derangement of someone who would do what was described to me is beyond belief, and it is only because this man did not technically break any laws that he will not wind up in prison. Which isn't fucking fair when innocent people go to jail for smoking a fucking joint.

What happened is not my story to tell. She entrusted it to me and I will not violate that trust. But the violence she endured, despite not having a fucking mark on her, is inhuman. I am a connoisseur of the terrible, and it shocked me. I grew up reading Les Chants de Maldoror and watching Alien, and I think a book written about this fucking madness, a movie made of someone doing this, would make de Sade or Cronenberg say "whoa, that's too fucking far".

Some people lose their access to membership in humanity and the consideration due a human being, in my mind.

It's a bad thought to have. One of my core foundational beliefs is that people fucking matter. They are important. You keep them in mind when you perform an act. You do something to help as many people as you possibly can. But I can't shake it: some people deserve none of that. Through their actions, their words, their beliefs, they have looked at the concept of the Golden Rule, and they have deemed it "nah, I'm good."

I should be able to muster up some kind of sympathy, but I just mutter imprecations, incantations, and promises of violence. My hatred for their actions overrides their personhood. They become meat to me, and meat is made to be cut, beaten, and burned. And despite feeling the dissonance between these attributes of myself, I feel that this is correct and just. I do not regret these feelings. I don't consider them unhealthy. I treat them as a mark of personal excellence. "No matter how bad I think I am, I know I am better than this. I know this person will always be beneath me."

I am a gleaming, biomechanical skull grinning in the dying light of a black hole's accretion disc.

A second effect of these people's actions and my inherent feeling that people matter is that as I am exposed to terrible people, I remove my self-concept and identity further and further from humanity. I respect its institutions and social technologies less and less. I grow distant. I willingly pass into exile.

A part of my monstrous identity, it is true, is a reaction to being told that I am subhuman by those who would see me killed. "Is that so? As you wish. You will regret this choice." But a part of it is maintaining an ontological distance from people whose actions I find inconceivable. It offends me that I share a category with them at all. And I reframe my identity as a grim reflection of them. They are outwardly human, inwardly rotten -- I am slithering in the marshes with noisome, boneless limbs but I have a human heart to pump the syrupy black ichor in my arteries. A human mind, which for all its faults, loves and cares for and intends to protect people.

And looking over all of this, in a way, their violence to others cuts me too.

There are only endings.

I wish death on terrible people, and I do not feel bad. I harm them as much as I can within the boundaries of the law, and I sleep peacefully. Justice is not real. It's a fantasy. Abusers and manipulators and godless fucking architects of pain dwell at every elevation and find a way to destroy innocent people. No matter their station, the majority of them will never see comeuppance or repayment of any form, let alone enough to balance those fucking scales. Justice is a fucking joke. What I do isn't about justice. It's about violence.

I am a violent person. Not a dangerous person, but a violent one -- the distinction is important. I analyze my enemy and I hit them where they'll feel it. I create suffering. I do it on purpose. I do it exceedingly well. But my harm is self-limiting: the door is always unlocked, if they but try the knob. And my harm is reflexive: I escalate fast, but there is always cause and effect. And I am a violent person because all around me are violent people, doing violence to me and the people I love. The only ways to survive when weapons are trained on you is to be too scary to fuck with or to do unto them first.

What I do is about violence, because it's the only way I can keep my loved ones safe. It's the path of least total harm: to maximize the harm to specific targets in short bursts. Justice is, it is true, fake. But violence, in its infinite forms, is so very real.

This vile, small, unworthy man and his unspeakable actions reminded me tonight just how violent I really am.

Or Kill Me / There are dreadful things.
« on: March 18, 2022, 06:56:27 pm »
To the "staunch defenders of gender norms", I am your dragon. I will build my lair of your bones, I will raid your settlements, I will steal your womenfolk. There is no Saint George among you, and my scales are built of collapsed stars. I am a hungry maw. Come and get me.

To the "respectable transgender people": don't worry, I see you. Your grovelling for headpats won't save you in the end. Accepting mistreatment won't save you. Choosing palatable identities won't save you. You will not be saved. Join us or be eaten. There are no other roads. Everyone knows what happens to traitors.

To the "allies," if you aren't complicit in my crimes then you are complicit in theirs. There will be no fencesitting, I will eat the leg dangled before me. And remember that helping me gives you no special treatment. You deserve none. You are not my kind. My kind is old, vile, slithering. My kind lurks in gutters and watches for opportunity. We don't wear a human mask, we don't become pets. My kind watches you stumble in the deep woods at night and picks you off one by one. My kind inspires myth. We scar your culture with tragedy.

We will not make space for you. You don't belong. Go back to huddle around your fires and avoid shadowed corners. Hope that we remember you fondly, and not with hungry eyes.

As a favored author of mine wrote, "There are dreadful things."

We are they.

--reposted from my Twitter and expanded, with thanks to Laird Barron for the title's inspiration.

Apple Talk / I don't know if this is Poe's Law or not anymore
« on: February 07, 2021, 02:35:20 am »
Howl will probably get the most out of this. CNO and LMNO should see it too because I'm a fucking sadist.

Or Kill Me / Prophecy. (Loosely Based on a True Story)
« on: October 04, 2020, 04:26:30 pm »
Today, I woke up, and I revisited an old band I liked. And Wreck and Reference told me, "eris came to me at night and whispered in my ear you're getting boring you're getting old". The music was triphop, not noise rock. The sound was low quality through my fancy laptop speakers. I requested guitars, and there were none to be found. The apple Eris left the singer was mealy and bitter, and nothing grew from its seeds.

Today, I woke up, and I ordered breakfast. And I ordered a coffee, and it did not arrive. The bagel was sweet and dry where it should have been buttery and slick with oil. I requested no sauce, and the bag was heavy with it. The thing they call an apple pie was missing.

Today, I woke up, and my roommate had a vision. And they said an apple divided the world, above and below. The worms lived below the earth. They proclaimed they would act above their station. I requested news of the world above, and there was none to be found. The apple was rotten, decaying, falling to slime.

Today, I woke up, and I could not find my phone. And I cleared my desk of a month's detritus. And I saw: A house centipede. 12 black packs of American Spirit cigarettes. Two cans of Coca-Cola. A fading diagram. A hatchet. A mug shaped like a cauldron. A hundred cables.

The centipede is massive. We give it a raise: one US quarter dollar.

But I did not see my phone.

Today, I woke up, and I searched for my lost phone, and it was hanging from the pantry rack in the kitchen. I spotted it as it was installing an update: the Apple logo bright and clear on screen.

Today, I woke up, and I remembered. The heraldic basilisk lurks above. The snake becomes a king. It lends me its eye, and I open it. Unbidden, an axiom springs into view.

A golden apple cannot be eaten.

Fair enough.

Literate Chaotic / Some Shit I've Been Working On For Ages Now
« on: October 01, 2020, 06:47:17 pm »
I just want to dump some fragments of my (now ancient) worldbuilding document here. Some of these might possibly appeal to Cain and Cram, I think everyone else will simply have nightmares.

Oh, and apologies for the gibberish. The setting's scientific language is a fusion of ancient Greek, Anglo-Saxon, and Sumerian, with a mostly Anglo-Saxon based orthography and a weird fusion of Latin and German plurals. It's overused here because I was using this document to develop it: most of these things do actually have other names you could read without your eyes rolling back in your head. Some of them are included, most of them are not because they're in a disorganized list rather than something fit to share.

Right, one more thing. King Longshanks was entirely intentional. I will accept my punishment in the form of harsh words only.

The "Longshanks conjecture", so named for the king who presented it at a conference in the Watchers' Hall in Chinduris-Meridian, suggests that this universe is the carcass of a vast being born in the Void, at that time known as Kishis. The conjecture was suggested by King Longshanks of Western Murgue, a scientifically-minded petty kingdom of note for its lack of dexterous inhabitants. King Longshanks himself was an ordinary flea, who arrived to the conference on the body of a crow from his kingdom, and who had to use a laresmithe contraption to be heard and a cherore translator to be understood.

To begin his conjecture, Longshanks noted that all dexterous species had either 5 notable appendages, or that their appendages could be divided into no more or less than 5 classes ó a statement that infuriated dwymire and ymile scholars and functionaries in attendance at first, and which appeared to overlook wussirener. Longshanks continued by noting that the most sociable and dexterous variants of solarization, and indeed the most stable variants, followed a similar division into 5 parts, noting the dephilisen and cheroren in particular.

Longshanks noted that wussire shells almost exclusively had 5 notable appendages, even before the introduction of other dexterous kinds, and concluded that these body plans were a reflection of the planet itself. In a statement that rocked the conference, he suggested that the landforms of Kishis could be divided into five parts: that Chasod corresponded to the head, Gab and Sag to the arms, and Murub to a fusion of the legs, divided in a line by Sychissuris, Bod and Chun. He finished his presentation by stating his belief that the entire monadic universe they lived in was the remnants of a dead being from the Void itself, whose unusually principled soul formed the Gap upon its death and permitted the awareness of the intelligent light-siders to information ó this latter by presenting fragments of its soul to them through the Sun. Longshanks further stated that the Firstborn, his name for this being, was female, and that the masculine principle was a later innovation, presumably caused by exposure to the Void during the initial formation of the Gap.

King Longshanks's conjecture was a shock to the scientific community. Driven by the self-effacing nature of the Longshanks conjecture, scholars over the entire world revisited earlier work and completely revitalized the nearly dead studies of geology and geography. The study of monadic principles was also excited by the conjecture, given its total flip from the masculine primacy of earlier monadic studies and the introduction of the "Oversoul" and "Soul-of-Sol" concepts. The very first new knowledge to come from the Longshanks conjecture was a geographical study that uncovered the cause of the Child's death: tremendous cranial trauma that left a massive hole in the top of its head.

As a matter of the scientific and cultural importance, the conjecture's acceptance marked the only known language shift that spanned the scientific and common languages simultaneously: the name of the world, earlier universally called Kishis, became Mirgodunue in scientific language and the Child in common speech.

A cameo from a fan favorite who is incredibly famous!

Next, there are the "Human". Appearing as stout, smoothly-jointed laresmithen with surprisingly round and squat faces, the Human refused to communicate. They seemed to be entirely feral, driven by their Celebration and having no willingness to interact positively. According to reports, the vast majority of Human seemed terribly frightened or sad despite their actions. Uniquely among the Celebrants save the Tultu, the Human seemed to gravitate to wearing clothes, suggesting an underlying civilization to their outwardly feral demeanor.

Let's take a look at the Andromeda Strain.

Nosod: Gyggarisen as they appear initially. Formerly dwymiren, nosoden have become a contagious parasitic illness that controls living bodies, and eventually transforms them. Depending on the stage of illness, nosoden can be classified into three broad categories.
   Bechshod: Nosoden in the initial infective stage. The affected individual goes rigid. They remain conscious but largely ataxic, aside from coughing spells. A rash spreads over their upper back or (in ymilen) the bottom of their foot.
   Chylorod: Nosoden in the primary infective stage. The affected individual becomes ambulatory, but is no longer in control of their body below the head. A second head, amorphous and sac-like, sprouts from the center of the rash. In this stage the affected individual's skin starts to toughen into a leathery texture, and any ambulatory limbs become stiff and bony.
   Tytinod: Nosoden in the terminal infective stage. The affected individual is just a vessel for the gyggarise mature stage and cannot be helped. The second head has a bony knob forming under its skin, and the rest of the body becomes trapped by bony growths and thickened, gnarled skin.
Nepod: Gyggarisen in the mature phase. A bony, eyeless head on a long and spindly neck surmounts a stick-like torso surrounded by boneless, wormy appendages ending in hands. Nepoden are non-hostile and attempt to be friendly, but can spread nosode infection by accident, making them an unacceptable danger.

Some details on the closest thing to universal antagonists/"always chaotic evil" we have.

Void Entities

These do not have a shared name because Void Entities are not generally classified together by science on the Child. However, they are distinctive in that they were all directly formed by the Void in some way, whether through transmutation or through nucleation ó or in the case of dymmchiroden, physical growth of the Void itself. The Void, known as worod in scientific language, is a chaotic mish-mash of unorganized micro-universes called "monads" with their own physical laws and attributes, all randomly determined for each of them upon the nucleation of the micro-universe. Thus, it is always worth considerable note on the occasions that the Void produces anything that seems intentional.

Pherorisener (Aliens)

Pherorisener are returnees from failed space missions by natives to the Child. Due to differences in time in the various Void-monads, most existing pherorisen were created by space missions that have not yet happened. All pherorisener have been greatly warped by their time in the Void, though most retain a semblance of morality and internal order. Pherorisener are called aliens and moon-folk by commoners, who are largely ignorant of their "returned" nature.

Nisstwachener (Boltzmann Brains)

Nisstwachener are outside intelligences and lifeforms produced by the Void's chaotic churn. Nisstwachener are unnatural within the Child and all have either a broken morality, chaotic inner lives, or both. Nisstwachener are called outsiders or nightwalkers in common parlance, the latter leading to the scientific name.

Check this out, I'm about to do a magic trick!

Wirphyrisstener (Artificial Intelligences)

Wirphyrisstener have strong associations with pherorisener. However, pherorise wirphyrissten are largely not returnees, having been created in the pherorise absence from the Child. Many wirphyrissten were created on the Child as well by particularly skilled laresmithe crafters. The few wirphyrisstener known to common folk are called either epitaphs, if they are known to be made by laresmithe crafters, or for pherorise wirphyrissten, gods. Religion revolves around pherorise wirphyrissten, especially active ysitbyriguen, and they are the primary source of Void influence on a political and geopolitical scale.

Ysitbyrigue: Wirphyrisstener that are entirely novel and do not include laresmithe or pherorise minds in their construction. Very rare, and almost exclusively Void-touched. Most ysitbyriguen are technically nugenirode nisstwachen, but a few were created ó almost exclusively by pherorise crafters.
Chorsalibyrigue: Wirphyrisstener that are built around the mind of a single dead laresmith. Very common, usually found in graveyards and untouched by Void.
Rechibyrigue: Wirphyrisstener that are built around a network of dead laresmithe minds. Usually human sacrifices. Mostly pishise creations returned from the Void, though there are two funereal examples known to have been made by laresmithen.
Chophissyndibyrigue: Wirphyrisstener that are built around one or many pherorise minds. May be funereal or sacrificed. Exclusively Void-touched. All chophissyndibyriguen are technically pherorisen, and all are associated with chimssurise or pishise activity.

Lerisphyrisstener (Androids)

Lerisphyrisstener are associated with pherorisener, nisstwachener and wirphyrisstener. Uniquely, lerisphyrisstener are exclusively connected to these others and have no other source: thus they technically belong to no other category of Void-touched being, despite exclusive association with the Void.

Mystilynig: Lerisphyrisstener that have entirely mechanical, artificial appearances. Mystilynigen appear to be automated laborers and combatants produced by powerful nisstwachen and wirphyrissten, as well as large companies of grounded pherorisen. Mystilynigen, like all wirphyrisstener and lerisphyrisstener, are unaffected by sunlight and darkness in equal measure.
Nedwyrisstis: Lerisphyrisstener that have more or less naturalistic appearances. Nedwyrisstisen are exclusively sun-lit intermediaries for Void Entities, usually nisstwachen or pherorisen. Surprisingly commonly, nedwyrisstise interactions are positive: though most Void Entities are chaotic and have broken morality, not all of them are antagonistic. Antagonistic lerisphyrissten are almost exclusively of the mystilynige form. The exceptional few hostile nedwyrisstisen are called phorwyrisstisener.

We got demonic possession too.

Whispers: Unhosted shudyrithmoden. Most will fail to find a host and die within a few hundred echoes, but all attempts to find a host manifest as voices whispering the numerical sequence of the nisstwachener's true name.

Oh, wait, whats that -- there's aliens, so there must be UFOs? Yeah, sure, I got that.

UFO Forms

Note: within the setting, UFOs as a complete class are known as wyregiener.

Nachis: Wyregiener associated with pishise and (to a lesser degree) chimssurise activity. Elongated forms, narrowing at the front and back. Nachisen are rarely seen unless they crash, being large, self-sustaining safe havens for their occupants.
Chilywin: Wyregiener associated with chimssurise and gyggarise activity. Almost perfectly spherical with a dense, stout rod sprouting from the bottom, these are seen exclusively in the rare cases of attacking forces. Technically, gyggarise wyregiener are universally of this form: the sole known equivalent of a gyggarise nachis is shaped like a very large chilywin, and no other large gyggarise wyregie has ever been seen.
Chyropil: Wyregiener associated with pishise activity. Similar to rotated nachisen, chyropilen are elongated, narrowing from top to bottom. Chyropilen fill a similar role to the chilywinen for the pishisen, acting as primary attack vehicles.
Yrsebin: Wyregiener associated with mashgiche activity. Unique wyregien shaped like stone cubes, barely larger than an ordinary house. The most commonly seen of all wyregiener, yrsebinen are often spotted at low altitude in remote areas. Nevertheless, mashgiche activity is often only identified in hindsight, as the depopulation takes a very long time to proceed and rural folk's talk of stone cubes stalking mountain passes is often dismissed.

Literate Chaotic / The Misophorism Trilogy
« on: July 30, 2020, 06:04:03 am »
I was turned onto this a month or two back by a Twitter thread of Black horror authors. One man, Adam Washington, mentioned he writes ďconceptual horrorĒ, and dropped Thomas Ligotti as being in the same wheelhouse. IIRC he specifically named ďThe Conpsiracy Against the Human Race,Ē Ligottiís antinatalist rant book.

So weíre talking philosophical horror. Thatís a hell of a rarity, and one of the most beautiful things... though Ligottiís work is tainted by his shitty agenda. Apparently this one also has something in common with House of Leaves... which is a big deal also.

Well, I had to read it. And itís cheap.

I finally got a copy today, seeing as I have almost all the things I need in life right now and it costs less than a meal. I started reading it.

Man. Fuck. This is some hideously dark shit. I mean, it definitely has a lot of thought put into it. It was clearly written by an exceedingly clever and skilled person. But it makes ME broody and weird, and I literally live for this shit.

I donít know who here would even want to read this, itís practically fucking self-harm, but itís wonderfully written and has a strong aesthetic flavor. So if you need to be incredibly depressed, self-loathing and outraged for some reason, consider this book. I canít say you wonít regret it, but I can say you will find that you regret it less than almost anything else you have ever done in your life.

Apple Talk / Parable of the Truth-Teller
« on: July 22, 2020, 06:22:44 pm »
Once upon a time, a young man existed who could not tell a lie. His name is lost to time, but we will call him Cyril. Cyrilís honesty and forthrightness combined with his optimism to make him very popular in his community.

He befriended people easily, which was unusual in this small, bitter border town in a dark kingdom. He was more than willing to help people out whenever he could, and his empathy made him a person who was frequently asked to simply talk to people.

But Cyril had to tell the truth. He couldnít even simply Shut Up: his tongue moved of its own accord. As kind as he was, it took a long time for the problems to start. But start they did.

It was small at first. He spoke to people who had some problem that was stressing them out, telling them of others who had the same problem. And at first this helped build connections in the community.

Then the magistrate sent an agent to speak to Cyril, learned all about the others they should talk to who had also spoken rudely of the King, and those others were gone the next day.

Before long, Cyril, so kind of heart, was unwanted. He was ejected from the small, bitter border town, and he wandered to the next.

At every village, town and city, things grew worse for him. First it was the local bailiffs and magistrates growing colder and more aggressive in their responses to the groups he told them about. Then it was magistrates welcoming him with wine and meat, while others starved unto the fourth generation just outside. Finally, he was greeted at the gates of a small southern village by a group of angry people.

ďWe donít want you here. All you touch is brought to ruin. Donít enter our walls.Ē

And Cyril kept walking, destitute and friendless.

One day, poor Cyril arrived at the gates of the grandest city in the land: fabled Ys. The very seat of the King, a powerful sorcerer and a fearsome legislator.

Entering the gates, Cyril marveled at the crowds. ďSurely I can make my life here! There are so many people that I will blend right in.Ē And blend in he did, and for a time it was just like his childhood: full of friends and kindness and finding happiness in a cold and dreary kingdom.

One day, a peddler that Cyril was entertaining with old stories asked if Cyril would like to help him with a quest. They were a member of a cell of revolutionaries, and they were going to free the kingdom from the grip of its King. By any means necessary.

This reminded Cyril of the excitement of his youth, and he accepted eagerly. He was told to meet at such and such a place, at such and such a time, and given a password. There would be an Event. He was told to not tell a soul of this. Cyril understood the difficulty this would cause him, but he agreed.

For ten days leading up to the Event, Cyril did not answer his door. His friends turned away in worry, and his bills grew late. But people were counting on him, he couldnít afford to screw this up!

The day came, and Cyril dressed plainly, snuck out the kitchen door of his home, and scurried to the meeting place at the meeting time. There were only three others there, and all looked grim. They took up burlap sacks, and stole towards the palace.

Just to the west of the Kingís palace, there was an inferno, and a dozen men with swords, right at the main entrance. But the peddler shook his cloaked head and led Cyril to a hidden door under a rock in the palace garden.

ďThis is where the King will leave.Ē

And they all threw their sacks in the hole just beyond the door, but the peddler held on to the strings tying each of them. They waited in silence, the sounds of fighting and crackling fire ringing off of the stone buildings around to echo to their ears. And as they heard footsteps from below, the peddler lit the strings on fire ó fuses, Cyril realized ó and threw them down the hole. They ran, and before long heard a tremendous thump, like a kettle drum the size of an ox-cart.

ďGo home, Kind Cyril. You have done a great thing today.Ē

And Cyril did. And he spoke to all of his friends that he met along the way, telling them why he had not talked to them and what he had been up to.

He told them of the peddler, and the strange men who had been with him, and, he presumed, the death of the king. And Cyril found that all of his friends were surprised and overjoyed, and he cursed himself as a fool for not telling them sooner. He slept easily that night.

I would continue the tale of Cyril, but one of his friends had been a collaborator with the King's Guard, and he had heard the story in every detail. Cyril was murdered in his home while he slept soundly, and the peddler and his two friends were given public executions after being interrogated for every bit of information they knew.

And as for the King?

He was a great and powerful sorcerer. He was unscathed. The executions were his orders.

So as you can see, there is no tale of Cyril left to tell.

Aneristic Illusions / The Outline of Decline
« on: July 20, 2020, 06:31:56 pm »
I want to collect this sort of thing in one place.

So, people know about the riots, and now the feds and their Secret Police bullshit. Which is following me to Chicago. God help me.

This, however?

This is news to me.

I'm noting a VERY conspiratorial response to this news, and I'm inclined to buy into it myself, but I'm capable of refraining.

That said?

From Wikipedia:
Salas is the judge presiding over the class-action lawsuit against Deutsche Bank (Karimi v. Deutsche Bank Aktiengesellschaft et al.), which alleges that Deutsche Bank had poor financial reporting practices and made misleading statements to securities investors, resulting from Deutsche Bank's desire to obscure its anti-money laundering deficiencies and its poor monitoring of high-risk customers such as Jeffrey Epstein, Danske Bank in Estonia, and FBME Bank.[15][16]
In 2018, Salas issued a order temporarily blocking U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) from deporting certain Indonesian Christians in New Jersey who were present without authorization in the U.S. and were subject to orders of removal, but were seeking legal status. The order dealt with about 50 Christians who had fled persecution in Indonesia and had lived in New Jersey for many years before being targeted by immigration enforcement actions.[12]

I think you'd have to be willfully ignorant to miss that this was a targeted and intentional act. I'd go farther and say that leaving her alive was intentional as well.

An attorney being behind it makes a bit less sense. Committing suicide with multiple gunshot wounds... in theory, this is possible, but in practice, this is unlikely in the extreme.

Nevertheless, I am going to presume this is the end of things for now.

Please add your examples of fascist actions in blatant, visible ways that would have been unthinkable even last year.

Or Kill Me / Amok
« on: June 17, 2020, 09:28:29 pm »
A few days ago, you might have been there, something snapped and I am no longer the person I was before

I feel this buzzing intensity all the time no matter what substances I have or havenít had and in what amounts

I donít have any idea what Iím saying as Iím saying it I just fucking type and talk and shit and then itís there

I am hypervigilant in a twitch-reaction way and Ready to fucking rumble where I used to be hypervigilant in an observational way and avoidant as fuck

I canít even spool up the focus to type like I used to, Iím permanently shaking and just want to get the fucking shit over with

And Iím sure this snapping of something inside of me just halved my fucking lifespan and permanently destroyed my ability to write fiction so I have more reasons to be hideously angry

Ask me if Iím ok again fucker, ask me again, Iíll tell you, Iíll tell you by shouting you down the fucking stairs like itís skyrim do not fucking treat me like a person treat me like radioactive materials, special handling avoid at all costs keep your fucking distance

So, they took away trans employment protections. That was awhile back. What the fuck ever.

Then they took LGBT healthcare protections. Cool, now itís legal to let me bleed out in the hospital like a diseased animal. While you mock me. Tyra Hunter style.

Now theyíre taking trans homeless shelter protections.

If anyone you know has contributed to this, I want you to know that I hope they die miserably, choking on their own blood and vomit, every bone in their body broken. I savor the image, though I will never see it. Because theyíve killed me. And theyíve killed so many others.

This is not a joke. I can not survive this. The cops are brutalizing homeless people on the streets because it makes their fascist dicks hard. Hospitals are already mocking injured trans people to their face and hounding them out the door.

And now if I canít get some 2000 a month doing fuck all, or a free place to stay, I am FORCED onto the streets where I will be BRUTALIZED by fascist pigs and no medical care will be offered ó if, IF, I fucking survive.

All I have left is this: Avenge me, because salvation canít come. And theyíll come for you next.

Apple Talk / A solemn moment for my tabs
« on: June 12, 2020, 09:00:03 pm »
I had months of the fuckers saved. I was legitimately getting to them. Some of them were only going to be useful after I got myself stable, some were working towards stability. All gone.

All because my VPN magically used a banned server and got me banned from the forum. (Thanks Faust for figuring out the obvious solution, feeling dumb as hell over here!)

Someone make me a ďall my homies hateĒ meme with SMF as the fill-in-the-blank, I canít find a generator and Iím on mobile so I canít do it by hand.

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