Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.

Topics - Q. G. Pennyworth

Pages: 1 2 3 4 [5] 6 7 8 ... 22
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.

« on: November 19, 2017, 11:19:19 pm »
Once again, when presented with the means and opportunity to do so, I did not punch any nazis.

Principia Discussion / Saints
« on: September 29, 2017, 04:17:33 pm »
Oh Blessed St. Petrov
Patron of Keeping Your Cool
Who did not push the Shiny Red Button
No matter what protocol said
We beseech you, help us to breathe

You did not falter when the lights were blinking
And the soldiers were panicking
And the sirens blared
The end of the world was at your fingertips
And you left it there

Oh Blessed St Petrov
Let us follow in your footsteps
Let us refrain from burning the house down
At the whim of petty drama
Or malfunctioning technology

Oh Blessed St Petrov
Let us remain bipedal
In moments of crisis and desperation
Let us consider what is likely
Rather than what is frightening
Let us choose the path of uncertainty and reprimands
Over certain catastrophe

Oh Blessed St Petrov
Averter of Apocalypse
Let us not romanticize the collapse of civilization
Let us value the world
You preserved for our sakes

Oh Blessed St Petrov
Hear our prayer

Aneristic Illusions / He Will Never Be President
« on: September 29, 2017, 04:04:27 pm »
He will never be president. He will never be the hero the world needs but does not deserve. He will never pose dramatically on the barricades, never deliver the speech that propels the resistance to glorious victory from the wing of his f-15. We will never follow him to the gates of hell. Whatever "it" is, he does not have it.
It is 2017 and we are all struggling to breathe. We are all looking ahead, to the midterms, to 2020. We know we need to foster the talents of the rising stars, to lift up the people who will save us, who will right the ship of state in the nick of time, if it's not already too late. We put our love and our time and our energy into resistance, into the daily grind, into the campaigns of our future heroes.
He is no hero.
What he is, who he is, is smaller, and simpler. He is a man who cares about the intersection the pedestrians fear to cross, the sidewalks that are impassible to wheelchairs. He cares about public transit and bike lanes and lead pipes and innovative ways to pay for the mundane things a city needs to function. He cares about affordable housing and engaging the renter class in local politics, he cares about neighborhood beautification and neighborhood character and how systemic racism plays out in the local schools. He cares about the wild diversity of language and culture and religion and political thought in the crowded little postage stamp of the city limits. He cares about showing up.
He is unsuited for the revolution. He would collapse under the weight of a state or federal office, would falter in high stakes debates, would turn off voters in the vast swaths of Red America.
But he is perfectly right for the city council office for which he is running.

Will you be there when he needs you?

Aneristic Illusions / The Work
« on: August 17, 2017, 03:11:25 am »
I go home exhausted every day.
My brain checks out sometime around 9pm and it's just gooooooone.
I have an acute case of resting existential dread face.

It's 2017 and I am doing the work.

My state rep connected to me on facebook to personally explain why he can't be at the nazi punching, and it's a perfectly good reason and I'm glad he told me, and I'm glad that he noticed I kept blowing up his social media and calling his office.
It's work.

I chewed out some poor woman who was only doing her job, because "if it's not on her schedule the Representative won't be able to go" is not an appropriate response to NAZIS AT OUR DOORSTEP and it is not particularly brave or politically dangerous to publically appear in opposition to alt-right fuckwits in the bluest blue state, and how many more times do I need to call before standing up to nazis becomes a priority for the woman elected to represent me and my brown neighbors.
And I told her I was sorry for unloading on her and she's not at fault, and it's scary because I have kids and I don't want them growing up in a world like this, and it's frustrating making these calls all day, and it's hard when it feels like nobody's listening and I keep getting the run around.
It's work.

My state senator is on vacation and one of my US senators is in Korea on business. My governor said he would make it "if he could" and it's on fucking camera because I got myself into the press conference with two hours notice and asked him in front of the whole world, and I was so scared and spent that I did not hear his answer as he said it and I had to watch the replays over again hearing my own strange voice piping up from off screen, and I grabbed the hand of the friend who was next to me, who will probably misinterpret it as a romantic gesture but I was just flailing and needed to hold something for a second, I need to hold something for a second.
But I spoke up anyway, and I nailed the governor and the mayor both.
It's work.

I ruined Thanksgiving. No, I didn't ruin Thanksgiving, my dumbshit cousin did because he posted in my ex's feed and equated nazis to their opposition, and called Black Lives Matter a terrorist organization, and blamed the people put in the hospital and the woman killed by a fucking white supremacist for their own injuries, and it's NOT OKAY and it HASN'T BEEN OKAY and it's NOT RIGHT TO BE PATIENT ANYMORE.
My friend is losing her mother, who was never that good of a person and in fact was always racist, was always okay dropping n-bombs, was always a "war of northern aggression," "heritage not hate" dishrag. And that divide has been growing for years, but there's a difference between "I might have to cut ties eventually" and "this is finally it." So we held her and we told her it's okay to cry about it and it's okay to cut them out and we will be your Thanksgiving, and you have nothing to be sorry for.
It's work.

I spent half my day today explaining to straight white men how to be better allies. And it meant eating my own feelings for a minute and slowing down and not judging too hard. It meant pushing myself right to the point where I knew I was about to burst, and it meant getting to that cliff face and telling someone "if you keep going this will get ugly, please stop" and having him ignore me and plow on anyway, and even as I am getting heated insisting that "this isn't an argument" and not hearing me when I said I did not want to keep going. And another man had to come and tell him to take a break, and I had to play nice when he came back, and pretend that his "I was only..." explanations were enough. And I could have told him to fuck off, I would have been justified in telling him to fuck off, but he has already moved really far and there is good reason to believe he can be fully bipedal someday, and it won't happen if I blow up too hard, and I have an obligation to try and help people get there if I have the spoons to do so and they are willing to do their part.
It's work.

Are you doing the fucking work?

« on: July 24, 2017, 01:41:49 am »

This is the print version, online is next in the pipe


« on: July 10, 2017, 03:27:23 am »
I would like to launch a patreon to subsidize my work on Holy Nonsense and the flyers, QGP art, and related stuff and nonsense I get up to. Nothing is going behind a paywall. I'll still be releasing Holy Nonsense on PeeDee and distributing things as far and wide as possible, and patrons won't get to dictate anything getting into the book. The only difference would be that I get slightly less shit for doing this instead of taking work on fiver or whatever.

In the unlikely event that I get filthy rich on this, money will be thrown at PD costs and other causes the contributors request.

I think this is still within the non-commercial license all HN authors agreed to, but I would feel better if folks chime in and let me know if this is okay.

Apple Talk / Live While You're Alive
« on: July 09, 2017, 07:20:37 pm »
Give everything to this life, because if there is another we have yet to see it. Give everything to this life for your reserves will not serve you past your dying breath. Change while you are in this world of change, for even the most pleasant of other worlds we have been promised after this one are all fossilized and stale. Change this world, change the people and yourself. Breathe the air of this world and do not stop until you cannot draw breath. Smile. Scream. Do not die with anything in reserve.

Death comes sudden to some and slow to others and you never really know which way it'll go for you until it's too late, so be ready. Remember that you are a thing your body is doing, so take care of your body as best as you're able, so it can do a good job of being you. Remember that what happens after is largely a function of the stories you leave behind, so take risks now and then. Get banged up. Get your heart broken. Maybe crack a bone or two. Overinvest in people. Some of them will fuck you over but the ones who don't will likely outnumber them and come to your aid when you're down and out, and even if that's not the case screw the bean counting and overinvest anyway. Because you can't take anything with you and you can't bequeath your emotional reserves to your children anyway. Love catastrophically. Cook big meals. Sing loud. Make bad art and write bad fiction. Make terrible jokes, and laugh your stupid heart to death.

Live while you're alive.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 [5] 6 7 8 ... 22