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Topics - Q. G. Pennyworth

Pages: [1] 2 3 4 ... 18
Or Kill Me / Bandanna
« on: October 07, 2018, 04:15:29 am »
I put a bandanna in my purse
on the way out the door
Because if there is teargas
you want to cover your mouth and nose
Because I was going out to an event
and I don't go to events anymore
where we don't worry about teargas
and nazis
There were people spraypainting signs
but there were no cops there
except the ones blocking traffic
and the dumptrucks they used to close the road
were too much like the ones they used
to block off the protesters from traffic
for fear of another Charlottesville
This is my whole life now
Everything is protests or politics or echoes of both
and even the places I escape to
are reflections of the fear and rage
the banshee wail I can't ever get out
and can never walk away from
it's become second nature
Because for two years there has been
a quiet war
And we fight it with cardboard
and bullhorns
and bandannas

Bring and Brag / Favorite Sentences Megathread
« on: September 11, 2018, 10:31:31 pm »
What do you post here? Your favorite sentences from your own writing, or someone else's with attribution. Context is for losers.

Apple Talk / Tinnitus
« on: September 11, 2018, 02:31:33 am »
She has tinnitus
Says it sounds like a symphony
Tones that ebb and flow into infinity
Words drop out she responds numbly
Smiles and nods like a foreigner in her own country
Her body is failing and she can hear

She has tinnitus
Says it's nothing really
Winces when the sound jabs too deeply
Can't stand the radio, hides at the party
It's always too much and she hates to be needy
Her body is failing and she can hear

She has tinnitus
Says it feels like a fantasy
The ambient soundtrack to her every reverie
The howling void outside our reality
The edges are ragged and she rides them fearlessly
The world is failing and she can hear

She has tinnitus
Says it's like electricity
Angels in the wiring screaming in assembly
Incomprehensible, prone to insanity
The simulation's failing and she can hear

Or Kill Me / On Bitching
« on: August 29, 2018, 02:06:58 am »
The first thing you need to do is disabuse yourself violently of the notion that I am here to elevate the level of discourse. Hammers are an excellent tool for this purpose, but I'm sure you can figure something out in a pinch.

I'm not here for you.

Or maybe I am, but certainly not in a manner you anticipated or will enjoy. I spent all my patience today on hookers and homeless people, there is nothing left but teeth and claws and scales and batwings. I spent my afternoon vacuuming up a mummy. Well, to be fair that one was more of a corpse, but there was a mummy the other week I assure you, and the process of disposal puts me in A Mood.

And you would think all the incel, red pill, racial-realist, trans-exclusionary radical feminist, oppression cosplaying, kekistani, alt-right, nazi and nazi-adjacent fucks in the world would be enough of a punching bag for my rage, but it turns out they don't like getting punched in the face and chased around town and laughed at NEARLY as much as their uniforms would suggest, and they hardly show up at all anymore. No, I'm left with a seething rage at the universe and my left shoulder with No. Valid. Targets.

You wanna complain about complaining about complaining about bitching? Sure, you can rub your e-peen raw on it, no worse than self-insert Sonic fanfic. But motherfucker if you are going to SUMMON ME into your circlejerk of who's the better resistor based on arbitrary goddamned criteria on which forms of bitching are producting and valid, when I am already ready to burn the house down? That's the kind of tactical error they write books about. Whole graduate theses.

If the front line fighters of the culture wars do not shit their hate, they will die. If the support line resistors do not shit their hate, they will die. If the slactivists do not shit their hate, they will die. If the people trying to look badass for The Revolution do not shit their hate, they will die too. And if the WHOLE LOT OF THEM aren't vomiting their grievances on every platform conceivable, The Powers That Be will have a much easier time picking out the REAL troublemakers and making them go away.

But you never think about social camouflage, do you? Your intellectual contribution to The Revolution probably consists of several strongly worded letters and an "I Voted" sticker. Which wouldn't be bad at all, you know, if you didn't harangue the people fighting on the other fronts.

I hate you all.

Literate Chaotic / Incel
« on: July 09, 2018, 05:52:43 pm »
How sad it must be
to be a flower
that has never known the touch
of a woman or a girl

To never be taken in soft finger tips
and feel the brush of her nose
the gentle kiss of her breath
as she takes in your scent

To wilt away in obscurity
never seeing a quiet smile
cross her pretty face
to be carried away into the world

How sad
and how utterly normal

Apple Talk / You Could Just Not
« on: June 28, 2018, 06:57:01 pm »
You could fight, you could bleed, you could throw yourself on the cogs of the machine.
You could work yourself to exhaustion and wear the soles off of your shoes.
You could work, you could march, you could pour out the contents of your bleeding heart.

No one is keeping score, no one even knows, no one is holding the fire to your toes.
There is no reward worth having and no punishment in store.


There's so much that you're missing, so many things you've lost
Your time, your cash, your energy, all offerings to the cause
You'll never get it back, and these battles never end

Your family is waiting, your friends you disavowed
The games, the parties, the playground, the worlds you used to know
There's still a space there for you, if you wouldn't yell so loud


Bring and Brag / QGP Arts Megathread - Words with Pictures
« on: June 14, 2018, 08:26:06 pm »

This is for the big artsy things that have words on them. Most of these are also available words-free over in the Backgrounds thread

The contents of this thread are released Creative Commons: Non Commercial, No Derivatives. Technically they're supposed to be attributed too, but IDGAF about that. Cropping does not constitute derivative work, so go nuts with that if you want/need to, just ask if you want to smash things up with other pictures.

In general, I'm open to most other uses of this work, just ask here or email (qgpennyworth at gmail) and let me know what you have in mind.

Bring and Brag / QGP Arts Megathread - Marginalia
« on: June 13, 2018, 07:17:40 pm »
Here's a link to the gallery, I'll be posting as I go. Only a couple uploaded so far, these are ones I made for the multifolds and hadn't exported yet

The contents of this thread are released Creative Commons: Non Commercial. They may be used commercially in any Discordian collection as long as it's vaguely in keeping with fair use principles (you're not releasing an entire book that's just my marginalia, for example). Technically they're supposed to be attributed too, but IDGAF about that.

In general, I'm open to most other uses of this work, just ask here or email (qgpennyworth at gmail) and let me know what you have in mind.

Bring and Brag / QGP Arts Megathread - Backgrounds
« on: June 03, 2018, 09:53:46 pm »
Here's how this works! I'm going to post each image in a reply to this thread as they're made, but there's an imgur album I will try to keep consistent at this link

Imgur thread will be shared with the community, and I'm going to get the links to the QGP site and Redbubble in there.

Apple Talk / Begging
« on: May 30, 2018, 05:42:50 pm »
Hey, here's a thing to fill out and help me be more commercially appealing and shit

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 / 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 / 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

Apple Talk / Sooooooo...
« on: January 25, 2018, 05:17:14 pm »
I joined a church? It's weird. The local UUs are, strange as this may sound, very nearly our kind of people. Like, the chair of the worship committee described it as "the church for people who burst into flames walking into other churches." Nobody talks about an afterlife. At. All. Nobody asks God to cure anybody of anything, nobody advocates being nice and letting sky pixies sort it out. The weekly prayer always includes something to the effect of "give us the balls to go fix this shit." The collection plate gets shared with lawyers who advocate for victims of sexual assault and charities serving Puerto Rico, the meeting hall gets used for meet the candidate events, and there are rainbow flags at the door and next to the altar. They hold discussions about systemic racism and white supremacy, they hold vigils on trans remembrance day, there are pagan-y services and the name tags include pronouns. The minister is a petite trans dude and the first time I saw him was at the pop-up "oh shit Nazis" in our town, and the first time I went in for a service was after those nazi fucks showed up in Boston and I cried like a bitch.
They really, genuinely, care about The Work, and they want to support the people doing it, and they want to do more of it themselves while keeping themselves sane. And yeah, they're not perfect, but they're queer and they're nice and they give a fuck and they fall down and get back up.

It's still super weird, you guys.

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