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Topics - Q. G. Pennyworth

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Or Kill Me / If I Die
« on: August 04, 2019, 11:50:32 pm »
If I die it's white roses.

If I die it's First Parish and Timshel. It's "Oh You" and "Live While You're Alive" and "Breathe." I thought it would be Murder In The City but fuck telling people not to avenge me. Avenge everything. Burn this whole thing to the ground.

If I die everyone knows where they should land, and no it isn't fun but there's no question marks, no what ifs and whys. Everyone knows why by now. Everyone knows I don't want to wait around to get cancer or something.

If I die you keep my name on that fucking ballot. If I die you make them talk about it on the news. If I die you say my fucking name and you say his too (because it will be a he, it's always a he). Make them look in his face. Make them uncomfortable with how much he looks like their brother, their uncle, their kid. If I die warn people before you air it, but air the goddamn video.

If I die it's on my feet.

Aneristic Illusions / QGP's Antifa Thread
« on: July 05, 2019, 02:18:30 pm »
Ways to be an Anti-Fascist

Attend Events that Promote Anti-Fascist Causes

Show up for events organized by unions, immigrants, LGBTQ+ activists, women's groups, anti-racism organizers, and others. Listen to the organizers and stay on topic, especially in your signs and if you are questioned by the media. Do your best to not be a burden, including educating yourself ahead of time to the best of your ability and bringing basic supplies to take care of yourself (and your party, if applicable). Make noise, help clean up, don't pick fights.

-  Handle yourself in a crowd
-  Monitor your own mental health and physical well-being
-  Tolerate loud noises

Bonus Points:
-  Enthusiasm
-  Exceptional bladder control
-  Sign making skillz
-  Knowing how to pack for the event

Financially Support Anti-Fascist Organizations

Donate to things that upset fascists. There are lots of them and they make it pretty easy to give them money. Try to do a little research first, just to make sure you don't accidentally give to a nazi front.

-  Have money

Create Anti-Fascist Propaganda

I'm pretty liberal with my definition of propaganda, you can use another word if it makes you feel better. Anyway, make memes that make nazis cry. Images, articles, movies, YouTube videos, literally whatever. Joke about fascists and their stupid tiny faces *coughcoughCharlieKirkcough* or whatever. Try not to hit other anti-fascists in the process, especially by belittling their efforts. Remember this is a war on infinite fronts.

If you want, you can specifically assist anti-fascist organizations with their media. Flyer design, video production, social media images, letters to the editor, protest signs and more all need to be made by SOMEBODY, why not you? Make sure you engage with organizers about their messaging BEFORE you make things for them, or you may fuck up their shit.

-  Some flavor of artistic and/or writing skill
-  Appropriate materials/software

Bonus Points:
-  A functioning sense of humor
-  Ability to take criticism
-  Ability to spread propaganda on your own

Flyer Raiding

Passing out flyers by hand or posting them in public spaces.

-  Some goddamn flyers to pass out
-  People skills (if handing out)
-  Tape or thumbtacks (if posting)

Bonus Points:
-  Being able to make your own flyers
-  Printer access
-  Access to spaces with high traffic

Volunteer as a Marshal at Anti-Fascist Events or Events for Anti-Fascist Causes

Marshals assist attendees and generally make sure events move smoothly. Marshals may be called upon to block traffic, distribute supplies such as water, direct marchers, keep an eye out for people in need of assistance (lost children, people having medical issues, etc.), wrangle speakers, direct press to spokespeople, and more.

-  Able-bodied
-  Handle yourself in a crowd
-  Have good mental health or crazy you can turn to your benefit
-  Follow guidance from organizers

Bonus Points:
-  Excellent bladder control
-  Doesn't afraid of nothing
-  Know how to pack light

Volunteer as a Peacekeeper at Anti-Fascist Events or Events for Anti-Fascist Causes

Peacekeepers are used for internal crowd control, monitoring for counter-protesters, protecting members of marginalized communities from unnecessary exposure to police, and creating physical barriers between protesters and those who would harm them. Some events combine marshal and peacekeeping duties, be sure to ask when you volunteer if that will be the case.

Peacekeepers must not start fights, and should always try to de-escalate any situations that arise.

-  Able-bodied
-  Handle yourself in a crowd
-  Have good mental health or crazy you can turn to your benefit
-  Follow guidance from organizers

Bonus Points:
-  Excellent bladder control
-  Doesn't afraid of nothing
-  Know how to pack light

Volunteer as a Street Medic at Anti-Fascist Events or Events for Anti-Fascist Causes


A street medic may be called upon to handle a wide variety of extreme emergencies in less than ideal conditions. 99 times out of a hundred, only mild issues will arise, the most common of which are dehydration, heat exhaustion or heat stroke, mild mental health events, low blood sugar, scrapes (band aid level), and sore throats from yelling. In the event that Shit Gets Real, street medics may be called upon to assist people exposed to pepper spray or tear gas, major bleeding, breaks, trauma, and mental health crises. For any number of reasons, it may be impossible to get an ambulance or EMTs to the person or persons in crisis, and the street medic must be ready to fill that "until we get to the hospital" void. Being able to direct bystanders to assist in moving an injured person to safety and/or assist with less critically injured people is an important part of the job.

I'm not going to get further into the specifics of either the job or the supplies needed, because I'm dead serious about the getting trained first part.

-  Appropriate medical supplies
-  Able-bodied
-  Handle yourself in a crowd
-  Have good mental health or crazy you can turn to your benefit

Bonus Points:
-  First Aid and CPR certifications
-  Previous medical experience, especially trauma
-  Excellent bladder control
-  Doesn't afraid of nothing
-  Know how to pack a ton

Provide Emotional Support for Organizers, Volunteers, and Others

Doing this shit is exhausting, and literally kills people. I'm not being dramatic here, activists have a dramatically lower life expectancy than their peers. You can help by listening, validating, and generally being nice to people doing the work. Anti-fascist activists often feel invisible, like people don't see how important the fight is and why it's worth what they're putting in. They may feel drained after an event, especially if there was a lot of confrontation. They may feel hopeless because there are still nazis running around. Ask about what happened. Tell them you see them. Bake them cookies.

-  Patience
-  Active listening
-  Willingness to be uncomfortable
-  Ways to diffuse your own stress

Creating Consequences for Fascists

Help dox nazis. Call their places of employment and make sure their bosses know what they get up to on the weekends. Let their moms know. Report their posts online. Get their crowdfunding shut down. Deplatform them at every opportunity. Get them kicked off dating apps.

-  Internet access
-  Time to independently verify dox
-  Vindictive streak

Bonus Points
-  Experience doxxing
-  Significant social media presence

Punch a Nazi

Or, you know, throw milkshakes or whatever. I'm not gonna tell you what to do.

-  Willingness to deal with the consequences

Apple Talk / Guess What Time It Is!
« on: June 07, 2019, 04:51:47 am »

Or, for those who prefer games of order to games of disorder:

There's over a thousand set to go. I've got a bunch of stacks pressed between books overnight. The most exciting new addition is Helen Rose's "Blessed Are The Queer" which is the first explicitly UU work I've done up Holy Nonsense style, although this is only authorized for use in Pope Cards for the moment. Still, it's really pretty and on point.

This is my favorite thing.

Or Kill Me / Awakewalking
« on: May 28, 2019, 12:48:08 pm »
I walked about eleven miles on Sunday. I didn't plan on it, things just happened.

Grief, and transition points in grieving, can be a real slap in the brain. That shit can keep you out of the Daily Grind mindset for days at a time. It sounds great until you remember that the Daily Grind is how we conserve resources and keep ourselves out of trouble until such a time as we want to get into trouble, autopilot serving its proper function saves lives. I'm spending a lot of time Awake. A lot more than anybody should. It feels weirdly like dreaming.

Decisions like what to eat are hard and choosing not to do certain stupid things is nearly impossible, but large decisions are easy. I'm running for office, I have to. My kid is switching to full time living with her dad, it's the right move for her. I'm choosing which people from my past to reconnect with, because if they die I would be sorry we lost this time. It's easy right now to see what matters, and so many things matter. There is so much worth doing, worth seeing.

Tarot was my first foray into cold reading, and is still my favorite. It works by putting the reader and subject in a symbol rich environment, inviting them to make connections with the symbols and the stories of themselves. I'm living in a symbol rich environment right now. Everything has significance I can't seem to ignore. When sailors die they come back as seagulls. The daffodils bloomed when we took each other back, they were in full bloom when he died. A rock was sitting incongruously on the street where I shone like a star that winter, where just for a second I could have smashed every window in the world. The compass rose at long wharf, pointing to his home, and to the sea where I sent him to rest. The cereal he left in the house. Every inch of Boston we walked together.

It was Memorial Day weekend and I remembered so much. Sat on the Parkman Bandstand where we waved our flags and danced like idiots, where he smashed our terrible homemade pinata to bits, where I stopped last year after sneaking out of his cousin's apartment in the early hours, reclaiming my space after the nazis had sullied it. Walked through the spaces where I'd led protests, participated in them, where I'd handed out flyers and wrangled assholes. After the one last June I ducked out to meet him on Charles street, exhausted and sunburned and hoarse from yelling. I think he took me somewhere to get some water and food, god I can't even remember that. Just a moment with the bright sun ahead of us and my feet sore in the shade of old buildings, so glad to see him just for a bit, so glad he could see me like this.

There should be some kind of punctuation mark. Something I can say or do that will wrap up this part of the story, this part of the grieving, so I can go on to the next thing. There has to be some way to go back to sleep. But I am Awake and aware of things. I am wandering the streets feeling like time is fake and very thin, and if I could just find a way I could smash through to that moment when he was standing on that spot, looking at the moon from Beacon Hill in the cold night air. If I just leave the lights off in the room where he slept, I can imagine he's still on the couch, dreaming. It seems like those delusions should be a sign of mental sleepiness, but awareness isn't sanity. Being Awake means knowing what's happening, even in your sad and broken head.

I put my feet in the Charles and walked around town barefoot until they dried, caught all kinds of strange looks from people who aren't aware how clean that section of Boston is. No needles or nips or gravel to avoid, just the occasional gooseshit and stray rock. The brick sidewalks feel amazing underfoot. I put my shoes back on by the statehouse, the spot where I froze just a few weeks ago at a protest as the ghost of an earlier one slammed into me. That hill was the site of the last protest I would ever tell him about, and the first one I would never get to share with him. Every stone of that city means something.

It's exhausting, being awake like this. Remembering everything. Being terrified of the day you inevitably start forgetting. People look at you like you're crazy when you walk around all day like this.

« on: May 09, 2019, 07:16:40 pm »
I'm running for office. Please don't spag up my shit on facebook too bad until after November 5th.

Also nobody tell the rubes what the Golden Apple is, you'll ruin the joke.

Or Kill Me / Turns Out
« on: April 19, 2019, 03:28:26 pm »
I was once something else entirely
I was part of something bigger than myself
Something new, and dark, and exciting
And we were loud and intentionally outrageous
We were the internet personified

And I said
I don't care who you are or what you believe,
Your opinion matters.

But it turns out I do fucking care what your opinion is
If your opinion is that Jewish people are untrustworthy
If your opinion is that transgender people are insane
If your opinion is that women and people of color
Are in anyway inherently less than a white man
I am done with your shit.

If your opinion is that closing our borders to refugees
Is prudent, acceptable, or humane
You do not have my support

If your opinion is that the greatest threat to this country
Is the fact that you can't drop an n-bomb in public
Kindly stop breathing my air

People are dying for your dumbshit opinions
There is suffering greater than your political inconvenience
We are on the brink of terrible things
And you dumbshits are screaming at the top of your lungs
For the world to jump

I am done with you.

I do not forgive
I do not forget

Literate Chaotic / Some Gonzo Shit
« on: April 14, 2019, 10:15:06 pm »
Chris wasn't a discordian, but his attitude sure as fuck was

Apple Talk / You Are Enough
« on: April 12, 2019, 04:44:49 am »

The world may come at you with knives
and try to cut away the pieces of you
that do not fit their vision
of who you should have been

The voices may pile up one atop the other
screaming your inadequacies
Rehashing every loss and sorrow
You never learned to grieve

And you may spend your whole life fighting
And never seem to make ground
You may lose your friends
And see your enemies in power

But know this

You do not have to fulfill any prophesy
You do not have to avenge the girl
You do not even have to get your shit together
To be worthy of this love

You are enough as you are now
With your failures and your fears
With your dreams unaccomplished
With your weaknesses and doubt

You with every goofy grin
With your scars and addictions
With the weirdness to your walk
And your terrible fashion sense

You are loved

Apple Talk / The Future Is Bad For You
« on: April 11, 2019, 06:11:46 pm »
The Future is Bad For You

I have some bad news for you folks. The Future isn't coming, it's already here.

And you're not halfway ready for it.

The Future has all the Wrong Values, and doesn't regret anything. The Future thinks "profit" and "nationality" make about as much sense as hats with buckles on. The Future doesn't have any fucking time for your business model, because it already chewed up and spat out five other companies like you last week and it's SO BORED with that now.

The Future doesn't need flying cars, because it has phone watches and 3D printers and never needs to be alone or ignorant again unless it chooses to be. The Future already has an improvement on the improvement to your greatest achievements, and it was released last week open source.

The Future is a hypocrite, and it's going to make sure that you know you're one, too. The Future is full of Causes and the ones that resonate with Freedom and Civil Rights and Equality will survive and the ones that come from dusty old books will die with the last generation that knows what a dial-up modem sounded like. The Future is going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.

But maybe it's not all bad.

If you can listen to The Future, it will sing you a song of things to come. Of art and culture and plenty. Ideas bouncing off one another, interacting, giving birth to strange new abominations and games that look like reality and a reality that's made of nothing but games. The Future wants to have fun, and it has the means to make it happen. The Future writes itself.

If you learn to swim with The Future, you will see yourself changing. Old identities -- and even the concept of identity -- are sloughed off and replaced with costumes that are easily worn and removed as appropriate (or amusing). Core convictions that once filled whole mountainsides in engraved text now fit inside a locket, and are worn close to the heart. The Future doesn't believe in money, and you'd be amazed how much that will save you.

So, consider us your ambassadors from The Future, the terrible world that's right outside your door. Coffee and sandwiches are on the wall to your left.

It's going to be a very long week.

Aneristic Illusions / Julian Assange arrested
« on: April 11, 2019, 01:15:55 pm »
Was he always a twat or did he descend into twathood? If it was a descent, where you you mark the line?

Or Kill Me / He Was
« on: April 09, 2019, 05:50:09 pm »
He was my backup husband, because my real husband is so fucking danger prone and headstrong and has such a terrible diet we all joke that I'll be a widow someday. I feel like a widow today. He was tall with dark hair and watery blue eyes and I was in love with him before I ever saw his face. We stayed up all night writing and editing, sharing memes and confessions in the dark. He was alone and cold in the dark when he died.

Our brains came from the same "irregular" bin, we'd say, the same flavors of crazy and creative. He was better at pounding out wordcount, I was better at quips and poetry. We were propagandists, provocateurs. We tilted at windmills and brought down empires and swore to make sailors blush. He loved the Atlantic maritime aesthetic, tall ships and salt water. Loved his city and his country and his island home. We'd give each other shit for using different units of measure, for the slightest differences in accent. We both lived with one foot in politics and the other in activism. Our victories were beautiful and our defeats crushed us.

We'd stay on the phone til all hours and he'd take his breaks here and there for a cigarette after promising me a thousand times he'd quit. He was an addict, and like all addicts he lied about things but none more than his addiction and the state of his recovery. He wasn't when I met him, unless you count the cigarettes. Grief and a sudden influx of cash gave him the ability to fall much further down a hole than most people can before hitting a bottom. We stopped talking for two years because I couldn't watch him self destruct from 400 miles away. I sat on the fire escape and cried my eyes out as the sun set. He preferred chaste little kisses to passionate ones, and wanted his turn as the little spoon. I threw the creative output of our breakup on the table in a real and literal sense when he came back to town. He told me I hadn't changed. He had.

I stayed up with him too late and he soaked up my tears while the world seemed fake and dangerous, like cracking ice I would fall through. He had a roll to his gait and he'd snort when he laughed and had way too many strong opinions about science fiction. He was getting better.

He loved my husband and us as a couple and my husband loved him in the same brotherly way. Co-conspirators, comrades in arms. His mother didn't know what to make of it but she knew he was better when he was with us, knew Boston did him good, knew the relief on his face when I said I would meet with him again and see if I could handle having him back in my life. She said it was too bad I was married, but never when I was in earshot. We rescheduled our wedding in the hopes that he'd make the trip. I was always giving him shit that he never showed up as soon or as often as he promised. He was always over-promising.

He was a fighter and he couldn't give up a losing fight or even admit when he'd found one. He got paranoid and he'd forget that he was loved and who loved him. He saw magic in everything.

He was, and that's the hardest thing to say: "he was." Because thirty eight is not old enough and never married is not old enough and still talked about wanting kids someday, the work he was still doing to salvage his relationship with his mom the work we were doing to patch ourselves back together turn into whatever we were going to be it's not enough and now it never will be because he was.

Apple Talk / Like a Prayer
« on: April 04, 2019, 07:13:00 pm »
Is the moment
When you nearly burst into tears
In the back of a cab
Because you want nothing more
Than to plant a soft kiss
On the cheek of the driver
Who has been through so much
And seen so many things
Lived such a complex life
Of joys and sorrows
Across three countries
And sixty years
And has offered you the barest glimpse
In this short time you have together
It is being completely overwhelmed
With love for a stranger
For just being

Or Kill Me / She and I and You
« on: March 05, 2019, 10:41:15 pm »
I am an unreliable narrator you say. I never know what's happening. You are too put together to bother with her. She forgets, she falls apart, she looks at things from the wrong angles. You feel nothing about her. I can't stop feeling things. Life is a firehose I am fighting all the time I don't know how to function without a fight and you are maddeningly unscathed. She is unplugged, malformed, unstuck from time, she is struggling and crying and screaming and I am just trying to hold you together just trying to get you through this just trying to find a light in the distance to point out: we just need to make it that far. You go through motions. Sometimes you forget to breathe. She can't feel her face right. I don't know how to save her. There are no walls between us. You feel the pit in your stomach, the creeping dread. You are where you are. Nothing is right. Her legs aren't real, her body creaks like an old house. She only speaks in metaphor, she only lives as metaphor. I write and write and people say what beautiful fiction and you do not see that it's just reality from another side, that there is no skill here no beauty no trickery or smoke or mirrors just what I am splayed out what she is pinned to the wall where you were and will be and you are walking through like a dream following a script you never wrote. She is chasing butterflies in a field because that's what dreamy girls are supposed to do. She isn't supposed to be there yet. You know what you're supposed to do but you keep forgetting. Everything is out of order. Floodgates rusted shut and a torrent behind. Flat affect. lips sealed tight against anything that would give away the game. She wanted to be something but nothing worked out, biology got in the way the narrative of her life got in the way you can explain it all you can make it sound so rational and nobody questions a thing. Of course she's like that. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not lazy I'm not selfish I'm not manipulating you it's not enough it's too late she can't open her mouth she can't be in the same place twice. She is staring at the hair tie on her wrist, she cannot look them in the eye. I have depression she is trying to scream it but nothing comes out the face doesn't move you can't deal with it right now you aren't going to deal with it nobody can make you and you evaluate your steps did you drink water did you eat food did you sleep like sleep could make a dent in this thing that she is that you are like there's a chicken soup a cure for crazy you're not crazy you are she is I am.

Apple Talk / Serenity
« on: January 01, 2019, 07:53:47 pm »
I never wish for serenity. And knowing that, I should not be surprised that I never get it. But even when I reflect on this omission on my part, I never seem to change my wishing ways.

I see serene people in my life, I know that it is a possible thing. But the people I see who are content bring up bile in the back of my throat: the wealthy, the lazy, the willfully ignorant. Nothing could be further from my heart's desires than to settle for *this*, to set down my megaphone and shake the tension out of my fists, to decide that this is good enough. I am a malcontent, and I know it will kill me in the end.

I never wish for an end to the fight. There are days I cannot even imagine what an end would look like. Other days it's all to clear to me: a boot on the face forever and ever, we all love Big Brother, a tiny upper crust making merry on the backs of billions as the world burns. And to say that all the danger is external would be a lie, I know too that I have my inner struggles, my own dragons to slay.

I wish for a better sword. I wish for a stronger shield. I wish for a pitcher of water and more ammunition, for you at my side at the end of the world. Forever.

Apple Talk / Not Today, Air Conditioner
« on: December 27, 2018, 09:01:49 pm »
One time I was moving out of one apartment and into another one just across the street (there were three apartment complexes all bunched together in this little patch of land just outside of the high property tax college town we orbited). My eldest was a wee little thing in a stroller and I wasn't yet pregnant with #2. It was a nice day and I was free to do some moving work while my husband was out at work.

For some reason, I had gotten the idea in my head that I had to deal with the air conditioner in our old unit. Looking back I can't imagine how I got there, I don't think we bought the fucker and we sure as hell didn't need it at the new place, but here I was sure that I had to get the thing out of the wall before we handed over the keys. There was one of those holes high in the wall for the AC to sit in, the base of it at about 6 feet. Not too high for me to reach, but high enough that it's above my head. And I shuffled the unit out ok, and started to pull it out before I realized that no, I did not have this. And the weight shifted forward and I put myself in the way, the front of the air conditioner mushed into my face and my arms barely holding the thing in place, the edge of its little alcove in the wall the only thing preventing me from losing control of the situation completely.

I did not have this. I could not hold this fucker at the angle I had it. I could not readjust without losing control even further and everything crashing to the ground. So I froze. And it felt like forever standing there, baby sitting quietly in the stroller just in the other room, phone perched above her and out of reach. There was no way out. But I could not stay. I am not going to die here with an air conditioner on my face. So I shifted my weight and pulled it forward and let the fucker fall, keeping my toes out of the way. And I controlled the fall enough that it didn't break and I moved on with my life.

No matter how hopeless the situation, sometimes you just have to decide that you are not going to die here with an air conditioner on your face.

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