Already planning a hunger strike against the inhumane draconian right winger/neoliberal gun bans. Gun control is also one of the worst forms of torture. Without guns/weapons its like merely existing and not living.

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Messages - Q. G. Pennyworth

I'm not completely in love with the body font on this one, it might get another revision
I know, I know, it's a Star War, just fucking watch it. This thing won a a Peabody ffs it's not Revenge of the Skywalkers all over again I promise.

There is so, so much I need to chew on with this thing. They gave us a tiny little manifesto-writing idealist, and while a bit sophomoric the writing is there and the character is recognizable to anyone who's ever had a Socialist Tim in their social circles. He said freedom is free and tyranny constantly has to work for it. Out loud. We got slightly problematic yet effective granny rebel, who finally stopped giving a shit and started a riot at her own funeral. The FUNERAL. You guys, they did a riot at a funeral. In occupied territory. They did the whole march and the instruments played badly and the SWAT shield walls and the scrum and what happens when people cross the line, it was all there and it was all right.

The corporate management, which is not the Empire but is contracted by the empire, and their shitty uniforms and their body armor that follows the lines of the real vests I have handed to our own rent-a-cops working in the dangerous part of town, the bad speeches, the brown faces doing this work and getting killed for it and the brown faces trying to keep a potential riot from getting out of hand and getting killed for it and the brown face of Our Hero who gets profiled just walking down the beach near some other people running from the cops and is sentenced to six years for walking while brown. You GUYS.

They show, over and over and over, how miserable everyone is under fascism. How extracting raw materials for glorious fleets and skyscrapers and That's No Moon destroys environments and communities and real people's lives that were worth living. How the fascists at the bottom toil away under miserable delusions that someday the Hero's Journey will be THEIRS, how someday they might WEAR THE BOOT CRUSHING THEIR FACE, the misery of climbing the ladder, the misery of the glamorous spotlight, the misery of hiding your truth, the misery of training for six months in complete secrecy away from everyone and everything waiting for the moment to strike knowing that you do not have the manpower but committing to the fucking bit anyway because anything is better than doing nothing. The quiet bits of respite people find with each other, and how those things are stripped away one by one. The erosion of a culture by forcing people off their land in perfectly legal ways.

YOU GUYS. THE JAILBREAK. Because yes it's a jailbreak in the literal sense but ALSO there is no jailbreak until you can break through the bars in your own goddamn head, and the difference between removing yourself from the equation and getting enough accomplices to get EVERYONE OUT. The inevitable losses, the fear, the cracking under pressure, the doing it anyway.

I was really, really toast. I cannot emphasize enough how done with everything I was. I was ready to pack up everything and move to a quiet place where the rent was covered and I could just sit in the sun and not. And it would have killed me, in a different way than I'm dying now. But sometimes art is the thing you need to light yourself back on fire. For me, this show was the thing.

I know, it's very specific to me, but I know one of the writers. The Husband worked with Beau Wilimon on House of Cards. We've done brunch together, he's great and he genuinely wants to make things better. And I saw his name on the credits, as I'm sitting here reeling that someone got it right and someone knows the things, and realized that he knows the things BECAUSE WE FUCKING TOLD HIM. And he took that and he ran with it and got motherfucking DISNEY to pay to spread what he could of OUR PROPAGANDA, and here I am consuming revolutionary media while I'm calling over the PA system to ask homeless people to get out of the overhang and back on the sidewalk in the rain acting like I'm making a difference by not being RUDE about it!

I have never been an accelerationist. People die with accelerationism. A lot of them. There is no guarantee that things will get better after, only the certainty that things will get worse, and there will be suffering that I will have to answer for if I advocate for it. This thing makes the most compelling argument for accelerationism I've ever seen. And yes, it does have the benefit of not being in the real world, and occupying a place in a known timeline where we know without doubt what happens next. Things have to get worse. The senate will be dissolved. War will break out, and only through war will the Empire be defeated. A whole planet is going to blow up and there is nothing we can do to stop it. But we CAN stop doing the work to make it happen more efficiently and we CAN use our voices to lift other people up and we CAN break shit and make shit difficult and we might die along the way but again WE ARE ALREADY DEAD.

I just... I can't you guys. I applied to another job while I was writing this, it'd be a paycut but I'd be working with people actually helping the homeless instead of telling them to get soaked in the rain. I'm getting out from under this fucking rock if it kills me.
Or Kill Me / The Year Of Our Lady
May 30, 2023, 01:14:25 AM
Yes, you can be deadly serious, but can you be deadly SILLY?
You can wear your pronouns and your politics and you can tell the difference between the two, but can you wear the clothes you actually want? The lipstick that doesn't suit you? Can you shave half your face and leave the other half wild? Can you scrawl on your arm in sharpie just for the look of it? Do you even own a tutu?
Knowing how to fit in and when to fit in is a tool in the box but letting that take over how you act and look and feel when you're not breaking in is the highway to normalcy.
Remember, we become what we pretend to be.
When was the last time you gave yourself permission to be silly?
This is not intended to make light of Current Circumstances. I know what dead bodies are. I know the end result of too much entropy.
But I worry, for me, and for you, that we are eating too much bread and not growing enough roses.
I worry we fell too far into the trap of defining ourselves in terms of our fights, that we forget what it is to exist outside of external purpose.
I tried, for a year, to not be in the fight. Any of the fights. I was exhausted. I was not getting my spoons back. And so I thought I would live simply. I would work a normal job and I would buy things with the money I earned and I would try to see what that dream thing is I keep hearing about. And for a while there was a romance to it. There is something good about being connected to your labor, something special about high viz tee shirts and dirty hands. There is a value in customer service voice, and the theater of work. But I found the deeper I went the more the mud sucked under my feet, and the scrabble to the top brought no joy no rewards but more and worse work, more getting yelled at more unpaid hours more emails to archive more projects and no time and no budget and worst of all no understanding from above that if something is worth doing it's worth paying someone to do, and if you don't want to pay someone to do it you would take if off the damn list of things to get done. My spoon drawer stayed empty, hit crisis. My stress stayed the same but the causes and solutions were stupid. I was more and more powerless.
This is my coming out of the cave. One shaky step at a time. I don't know what I'm doing and I don't know if I'll survive but what I do know is that we all die anyway. I don't want to die contributing to the creep of fascism, I don't want to die making someone else rich. There is no reward for keeping your head down and they cannot hammer every nail that pops up. Let me try. With fully informed consent. Knowing that my chances are next to nil. Let me extract my body from their machine, my labor from their pool. Let me breathe unconditioned air. I will make my wax wings and I will brave their fly swatters and I will sing in the shower and speak to strangers and pick up every shiny rock on my long walk to wherever it is I am going. I will put on my armor and I will find a new sword and I will stand where bodies are needed for something better than what we have. I will break out my bullhorn and I will lead when the chants falter and I will hand the mic to scared neophytes who don't know their own voice yet and I will coax it out of them with sweetness and whispers and whoops and hollers.
And I know, I will fall. I know that recovery is not a straight line. I know that progress is incremental, steps are taken back. I know I will land flat on my face. It's already happened, already happening.
Remember, you will die here. Remember you are already dead. But you do not have to die alone and you do not have to die in service to what you hate and you do not have to die having never lived.
These are omelet making times. And whether you are the one making the omelet or not a lot of eggs are getting broken and chances are you're going to be one of them. But listen to me, really listen. Sometimes an omelet needs to be made. And every single egg that breaks along the way matters. Everything that you are matters. The smell of lilacs in May, the burning pavement under bare feet, the taste of chlorine, of sea salt in the air, the touch of mist on a gray day, of mud between your toes, it matters.
Let the sun shine on your face.
Put down the work.
Find accomplices
Start planning
And for the love of the Goddess, get a little silly about it.
We're going on a jailbreak.
Horrorology / Re: Fear, Loathing, and Horror.
May 21, 2023, 05:44:28 PM

forgot to post this when I finished it
Or Kill Me / Re: Fuck You.
May 18, 2023, 07:30:13 PM
Got another one done while I was at it

Quote from: Doktor Howl on May 18, 2023, 05:59:56 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on May 18, 2023, 05:44:38 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on May 18, 2023, 05:37:50 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on May 18, 2023, 03:24:28 PM
I'm working on crawling out from under a rock. 2023 seems like an auspicious year for that. Or at least an interesting one.

SO glad to see you.  The po'buckers are totally out of control, and we have a ton of black & white film for you to help you manage things.

Good to exist. I may end up using that film this time.

Also you may get drafted to invade somewhere that hits -50. I know you're not for snow but I am not letting fatbergs be the reason the revolution fails.

Sorry, humans cannot survive below 80 degrees.  I will have to insist on a full environment suit, and a prybar.

I'll add it to the budget
Or Kill Me / Re: We've Already Won.
May 18, 2023, 06:28:10 PM
Or Kill Me / Re: We've Already Won.
May 18, 2023, 05:54:46 PM
What's your preferred attribution these days?
just had basically the same experience with my printer. There was absolutely no indication that anything was physically wrong with the fucker, but because it's over 10 years old and was throwing an error code, I had to throw the whole thing out. No buying replacement parts, no bypassing the errors, just huck it in the junk bin. It isn't even planned obsolescence anymore, it's enforced obsolescence. They will literally rip a working object/piece of software out of your hands by any means they can to force the upgrade.

I should have been listening to the right to repair people much sooner.
Or Kill Me / Re: We've Already Won.
May 18, 2023, 05:48:27 PM
I'm churning out some more Holy Nonsense stuff, can I format this one up? Still CC-A-ND-NC

Quote from: Scribbly on May 17, 2023, 01:20:49 PM
You can't undo what we have done.

Oh, sure, you'll fucking try. You'll kill us by the thousand. But that doesn't matter.

You think being alive is some kind of win condition on this fucked up little marble? How stupid are you? I don't know if you've noticed, but shit's bad and getting worse. You think I'm eager to stick around so I can drown in sewage like the rest of the apes? Hah. Pathetic. No, the only thing that keeps me going these days is spite. I'm suffering, but I'm going to make you suffer even more.

No. The thing you wanted to do was preserve the lie. Make us believe that the world fits into neat little boxes. Make your kids think that they're broken for feeling the way they feel, loving the people they love. But they've seen the truth, now.

You can kill every last one of us and it won't matter.

Everyone knows the lie for what it is.

For most of human history you and people like you have done a great job maintaining the lie, and whilst you could stop us talking to each other it worked nicely. But the truth has out. And here's the thing.

We're not content to just quietly kill ourselves any more.

We're going to make you do it. Knowing it won't change a fucking thing. Knowing that all it means is that sooner or later, you're going to throw your own kids on the pyre too.

You've lost. And that? That gives me life.

So fucking kill me, loser.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on May 18, 2023, 05:37:50 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on May 18, 2023, 03:24:28 PM
I'm working on crawling out from under a rock. 2023 seems like an auspicious year for that. Or at least an interesting one.

SO glad to see you.  The po'buckers are totally out of control, and we have a ton of black & white film for you to help you manage things.

Good to exist. I may end up using that film this time.

Also you may get drafted to invade somewhere that hits -50. I know you're not for snow but I am not letting fatbergs be the reason the revolution fails.
Quote from: altered on May 18, 2023, 03:34:37 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on May 18, 2023, 03:24:28 PM
I'm working on crawling out from under a rock. 2023 seems like an auspicious year for that. Or at least an interesting one.

I'll be glad to see more of you again. How are you?

Husband got hospitalized for complications related to long covid, we were genuinely worried that was gonna be it for him for a couple days there. Fortunately he is still The Protagonist in some goddamn story so he's mostly better with the treatment he's on. Work has been grinding me to a paste, I'm trying to figure out how to extract myself from this place but I suck at interviews and there are enough gaps in my general understanding of office politics/professionalism that I am at a disadvantage. Also got documentably sexually harassed by the last head of HR at the place, but there's nothing useful to be done with that. You know, American Dream shit.

Finished Andor and now I have a strong need to DO THINGS. I might want to tag you in on one of the bigger plans if we can secure some moneybags for it, you have exactly the right experience for a couple slots. I'm glad to see you found someone you're clicking with!
Aneristic Illusions / Completely Innocent Gears
May 18, 2023, 05:32:44 PM
There is no sin
In editing
Cleaning typos
From forms
Filled out by others
Tidying language
Making clear what was muddy
Shining light on truth
And scraping away
So long as it is done
With care
And accuracy
We must always strive
For accuracy

And so too, is there no sin
In writing down
What is seen
When you are
Where you have been paid to be
So long as it is done
With an eye for the truth
Ever striving
For accuracy

In the light of all this
How could it be wrong
To pass along
The evidence of something amiss
To someone who knows
How to deal with it?
Someone who is
Trained and equipped
To handle it

And if you do have the authority
Don't you also have the duty
To do something?
To intervene?
To protect a person from themselves
To protect the public
From the deranged?
Or simply from the consequences
Of their own poor decisions?
How can there be a sin
In doing everything you can
In service to your community?
One must always act

And one by one
The pieces of paper
Numbered and notarized
Pile up
Wind up
On the desk
Of someone
Who was given
The authority
Hammer in hand
An image painted
By a thousand blameless artists
Seeking only
To do their jobs
In a mechanical moment
The hammer strikes
A life ground down
By a machine
Made of a thousand guiltless gears