hi there’s a new mariah carey single it’s AMAZING–hitting the charts on monday. hoping fr a big debut w this 1 bc mariah rlly cld use rn. & me 2. i spent a lot of time the other day thinking abt how good it is 2 follow someone’s output ur entire life u kno “ships that pass in the night.” but like mayb my ship is like come back mariah & sits in the dark thinking of her impending return so u kno im just like dislodged safety boat of the good ship mariah
“Common sense is a compendium of slanders like “We’ll always need bosses”, “Without authority mankind would sink into barbarism and chaos” and so on. Custom has mutilated man so thoroughly that when he mutilates himself he thinks he is following a law of nature. And perhaps he is chained so firmly to the pillory of submission through suppressing the memory of what he has lost. Anyway, it benefits the slave mentality to associate power with the only possible form of life, survival. And it fits well with the master’s purposes to encourage such an idea.”
Raoul Vaneigem, The Revolution of Everyday Life, p. 97.
“A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another.”
“During the spring of 1914, the European nations began the turmoil that would eventually lead to World War I, and the Russians were engaged in the Bolshevik Revolution. There was a small political uprising of Armenians against the oppressive Turkish leaders. The Turkish Government used that movement, which was only a small insurrection as an excuse to bring about the massacre which began on April 24th of 1915. To this day the Armenians remember that date as “Yeghern”, the Day of Destruction.
When violets bloomed on the along the hillsides and fields, when the Armenian people were busy with spring planting – those were the times that brought the barbaric deeds. The Turks came in and took over the Western lands of Van, Bitlis, Sassoon, Khars, Ardahan and Harbat. Upon command of the Turkish president Talaat Pasha, the Turkish troops killed one and a half million Armenian men, women and Children
During that massacre many Armenians committed suicide, throwing their children and themselves into the rivers rather than allowing themselves to die at the hands of the Turkish soldiers.
The Turkish troops greatly outnumbered the Armenians, and they set fire to homes, churches and castles, burning alive many women and children who were hiding in the buildings. The few Armenians who survived this terrible holocaust found themselves homeless overnight; they fled wherever they could, finding sanctuary in other lands, lost orphans from their mother country. Thousands of years of accomplishment, culture, art and architechture –all was burned down and reduced to ashes.
Many troubles plagued the small band of refugees . Wolves and packs of wild dogs, roaming the plains, attacked those who were so exhausted from their hurried flight that they could not escape or defend themselves. They wandered, not knowing where to seek refuge, whether to traverse the mountains or go into the valley. Many of them attempted to cross the DerZor Desert, and perished from the blazing heat and exhaustion. Dead bodies lay all across desert and plains – birds of prey swooped down, and with the jackals and other wild scavengers, those vultures ate the carcasses.
Although many people died from hunger and disease, many Armenians were able to reach the countries such as Russia, Persia, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq, France, USA and others. But the death toll was staggering: nearly every family lost one or several members, especially among the fathers and sons who had gone to battle. Many of the surviving villagers were compelled to live on the streets in front of churches and barns because their houses had been utterly destroyed in the burnings.
The Armenian people have endured through many changes. In early times, the religious beliefs were pantheistic – worshiping the sun, fire and spirits in nature. Later, around 40 AD., Armenians were converted to the Christian faith. But beyond any of these various beliefs, the Armenians have always felt a great love in their contact with earth, water, air and sunlight. Most importantly, they are a strong people and have always valued learning and working for a better future with hope in their hearts
When man is exposed to much iniquity he is driven to becoming either a misanthrope or a sage. When man harbors a great torment in his soul, and experiences a miraculous rebirth, out of ashes as have the Armenian people, he cannot forget his successes and his failures, or the suffering and sacrifices of his people. A people do not consist only of the living.
But life needs to be optimistic. The conduct of living and working does serve to recall the past, with wholesome memories, not the bitter ones too.
Rebirth is not possible without love, beauty, hope faith, and persistent toil. It is with such a philosophy that the Armenian People have been guided, and have flourished.”
Words and images by Varaz Samuelian, Armenian Artist and survivor of the Armenian Genocides.
In memory of those who perished 100 years ago. May Yeghern not be forgotten and may it receive the full recognition of the tragedy that it truly was.
“By fighting the police, taking over the streets, and squatting the universities, anarchists can inspire people, ignite passions, capture the national attention and raise the fear, which everyone immediately smells and is intoxicated by, that things can change. By spreading anarchist ideas, turning the universities into free schools, setting up occupation committees, organizing strikes, and preventing the domination of the student assemblies by the political parties, other anarchists can provide a bridge for more people to be involved, make overtures for solidarity to other sectors of society, and strengthen the movement that has provided a basis for the possibility of change.”
perhaps to be quelled
in a few days
but the scars stay,
we do not learn.
resistance, shower of bricks turns to firestorm
thin line crossed,
while those holding
on to love
are taken aback,
brought to tears
in burning light.
Will this be the year to one day be discussed in basements and classrooms?
When it all fell apart, with too many bodies needed to kick start the public’s heart to be the light in the midst of darkness.
Hollowed out cop car, has become a symbol of the first quarter century’s retaliation to evolving police state.
Old tactics only serve to perpetuate, as peace eludes us for yet another day.
“The 2nd Amendment to the Constitution isn’t for just protecting hunting rights, and it’s not only to safeguard your right to target practice. It is a Constitutional right to protect your children, your family, your home, our lives, and to serve as the ultimate check against governmental tyranny – for the protection of liberty,” Cruz wrote to supporters in a fundraising email on Thursday, under the subject line “2nd Amendment against tyranny.”
This “insurrectionist” argument, as Second Amendment expert and UCLA law professor Adam Winkler calls it, is popular among passionate gun owners and members of the National Rifle Association. But major party candidates for president don’t often venture there.
Indeed. Relatively few lawmakers are fans of the notion that our guns exist in case everyday American citizens decide they need to start murdering government officials. It is a theory most popular among lunatics and people on FBI watch lists, though the NRA embrace of this central doctrine of the far-right militia movement has given it new prominence. This speaks, however, more to the retooling of the now fully conspiracy-addled NRA into the overt political arm of that militia movement than it does to any new mainstream embrace of the theory.
Which is why Ted Cruz so far finds himself rather alone on this particular party plank, with other potential presidential candidates wanting nothing to do with it.
[Sen. Lindsey Graham] demurred. “I’m not looking for an insurrection. I’m looking to defeat Hillary,” he said. “We’re not going to out-gun her.”
Perhaps, but that’s why Ted Cruz is going to get the NRA’s endorsement in the race and you’re not, Lindsey Graham. The NRA doesn’t know if it could out-gun her, but it knows its members should be allowed to try.
Punch cartoon depicting “Justice” suppressing the Indian Rebellion of 1857 UK (1857) [Source]
I slagged off a little on Marx and Engels yesterday for their comments on Oriental despotism and the Asiatic mode of production. But they really did care about Asia, as is evidenced by the numerous essays he wrote about their colonial subjugation.
Here’s a link to their articles for the New York Daily Tribune on India, which they began writing in 1853. Marx was particularly vocal about the First War of Independence in 1857.
However infamous the conduct of the sepoys [the native Indian troops rising up against colonial rule, who were accused of atrocities], it is only the reflex, in a concentrated form, of England’s own conduct in India, not only during the epoch of the foundation of her Eastern Empire, but even during the last ten years of a long-settled rule. To characterize that rule, it suffices to say that torture formed an organic institution of its financial policy. There is something in human history like retribution; and it is a rule of historical retribution that its instrument be forged not by the offended, but by the offender himself.
condemning the economic violence of colonialist capitalism:
[T]he cheapness of the articles produced by machinery, and the improved means of transport and communication furnish the weapons for conquering foreign markets. By ruining handicraft production in other countries, machinery forcibly converts them into fields for the supply of its raw material. In this way East India was compelled to produce cotton, wool, hemp, jute, and indigo for Great Britain. […] A new and international division of labour, a division suited to the requirements of the chief centres of modern industry springs up, and converts one part of the globe into a chiefly agricultural field of production, for supplying the other part which remains a chiefly industrial field.
and foreseeing colonial industrialisation as a step towards eventual liberation:
“I know that the English millocracy intend to endow India with railways with the exclusive view of extracting at diminished expenses the cotton and other raw materials for their manufactures. But when you have once introduced machinery into the locomotion of a country, which possesses iron and coals, you are unable to withhold it from its fabrication.[…] The railway-system will therefore become, in India, truly the forerunner of modern industry. This is the more certain as the Hindus [Indians] are allowed by British authorities themselves to possess particular aptitude for accommodating themselves to entirely new labor, and acquiring the requisite knowledge of machinery.[…] Modern industry, resulting from the railway system, will dissolve the hereditary divisions of labor, upon which rest the Indian castes, those decisive impediments to Indian progress and Indian power.
Some have read this as a defence of colonialism. I don’t think that’s fair - not only because he did take the time to eviscerate colonialism but also because it’s pretty true: colonial industrialisation really did help us decolonise ourselves.
I’m not sure I ever explicitly mentioned how disturbing it is that the Rescue Bots are deemed “not ready” to join the war, as if there is some rite of passage whereby if you are young (?) or otherwise a pacifist you will evolve to your final form as a bloodsoaked killer, given time and experience It also devalues the work that the Rescue Bots already do: helping people rather than putting down insurrections so that the Council can reinstate rule 669-b and continue to imprison people without trials indefinitely ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I love how you just fucking assume crap. The Rescue Bots have never seen war, and the aligned continuity treats war as a serious thing to get involved in, not a joke. Obviously Optimus isn’t going to be willing to throw young bots into war, I mean ffs, look at what happened to Bumblebee.
And christ, knowing how fucking far you’ll go to pretend the Autobots are bad guys, if Optimus did allow the RBs to join the war, you’d be twisting that into thinking that they’re allowing “child soldiers” or some shit - that’s what you say about Miko, Jack and Raf!! It’s a catch-22 when it comes to you and anything the Autobots do.
Secondly, the Alchemor was likely a prison transport being taken to Cybertron to have the bots be given a trial. Not to mention there’s always extenuating circumstances when it comes to WAR PRISONERS. We DON’T have all the information involved here, and likely won’t until a novel comes out. RiD is a kid’s show aimed at kids and they’re unlikely to go into too much detail about the mechanics of cybertron laws and politics. Because believe it or not, you are not the target audience, so stop being a fucking brony about it and trying to twist canon into thinking it’s much darker than it actually is.
Like seriuosly, you sound exactly like bronies and their shitastic theories about princess Celestia as a tyrant l m a o
Also the RBs sticking to civilian tasks is important, because once the war is over, Cybertron is going to need civilians, civilians whose sparks and processors haven’t been twisted and warped by war, to help rebuild it.
Again, look at what happened to Bumblebee. He may have joined the police force because he enjoyed the work, he may have done it because war and fighting is all he’s ever known, and that’s the only civilian job that would approximate it. Optimus obviously doesn’t want to do that to anyone else if he can bloody help it.
I woke up with a massive headache and the feeling like I had just been punched by an MMA fighter. I groaned as I tried to sit up, only to realize that I was strapped down onto a bed. I weakly fought at the restraints, but it was no use. They were too strong and I was still too disoriented and dazed.
My eyes darted around wildly. This was not my bedroom. Or any room in the mansion for that matter. The walls were a steel gray metal and had pipes running along the top. There was a window on the wall across from me, and through it I could see (Y/N) and another man watching me. I glared at them as best as I could without sitting up. They exchanged a few words before entering the room.
“Good morning, your Highness,” (Y/N) said with mock politeness. “Did you have a good sleep?”
“Maybe if the right side of my face wasn’t pounding,” I grumbled, raising my eyebrows only to hiss in pain at the movement. (Y/N) chucked and leaned up against the wall as the man who had come in with her gently removed my hand from my face and began to apply a cream. All the while I glowered at (Y/N), who just smile cheekily back at me. Of course, she was a Shadow. Shadows had no respect for the rank I held above them and they wasted no time in letting me know that.
“Andrew, I’m going to remove your restraints, but please, for the sake of your life I suggest you don’t run.”
“It’s your Highness to you,” I snapped. The man slowly unbuckled the straps holding me down. My heart pounded as he undid the last one and before he could react I jumped out of the bed and bolted towards the door.
I didn’t get as far as I had hoped. I made it to the door frame before I was tackled to the ground. We landed in the hallway where everyone turned to stare at us.
“We told you not to run,” (Y/N) purred in my ear. She grabbed me by my arm and by the scruff of my neck and hauled me back up to my feet.
I glared resentfully at all the people in the hall who had stopped whatever they were doing to watch. “Don’t you have something other to do than stare?” I growled. Most of them laughed and returned to whatever they were doing, but a few stayed around, watching the show with amusement.
(Y/N) chuckled and spun my around the face her. She held my arms tightly by my side and stared me down. “I’ll give you a little tip, your Highness,” she said. Her eyes glinted and she licked her lips. “Here, you are not a prince. You’re not going to be treated as a prince. So don’t act like it.”
“Then what am I?” I asked exasperatedly. “A hostage?”
“An asset,” she replied. She released my arms and stepped back. “I think you’ll find that you’d be less useful to us as a hostage.”
I tried to make sense of her words, but it was beyond me what I could possibly offer as an asset. I may be a skilled archer and swordsman, but I would never consider fighting for them. If they thought they could put me in their kitchens to make them food then they were out of luck; I didn’t even know how to work a microwave. “What would I have to offer?” I asked carefully. “My riches? My rank?”
“You’ll see,” she said cryptically. I figured no matter how many times I commanded her to tell me it would get me nowhere, so I kept my mouth shut and scowled. “You know you look like a pouting brat when you make that face,” she teased.
“I do not!” I growled.
She chuckled lightly and placed her hands on her hips. “You’re really not used to people criticizing you, are you?”
In truth, I allowed no one to criticize me other than my father, and that was only because I was too afraid to contradict him. But I wasn’t about to let her know that. “I’m fine with people criticizing me, but only when it’s justified,” I harrumphed. “I have every right to scowl considering you attacked me at my coronation ball, knocked me out, probably gave me a black eye and dragged me to whatever shit hole this is.” (Y/N) watched in amusement as I ranted and I got the feeling that she wasn’t taking me seriously. “What are you smiling at?” I demanded, tilting my head to the side in challenge.
She smiled crookedly and shook her head. “Like I said, pouting brat.”
(Y/N) may have been rough with bringing me here (I did have a black eye in fact, I looked in the mirror); however, the guy who came into the room to pick me up a couple minutes later was ten times worse.
The guy was buff and tall and basically like younger, slightly smaller version of my father. His face gave me the impression that he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but his size could have fooled anyone. He wore a black hoodie and combat fatigues, making him look like a regular teenager crossed with a rogue soldier.
He stared at me intensely before turning to (Y/N). I couldn’t help but notice his eyes lingering on her for longer than they needed to. “Taylor,” she greeted him formally.
“Rafe says he wants us to bring the mereon to the main hall.” Taylor replied, his eyes briefly flickering to me.
“Mereon?” I echoed.
He pointed at me. “Yeah, you.”
“What the hell is a mereon?” I asked (Y/N).
She smirked. “A slightly nicer way of saying ‘entitled piece of shit.’”
I nodded and glared at the guy. “I can do without the derogatory nicknames, thank you very much.”
Taylor just snickered and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just start walking, mereon.”
I stubbornly mirrored his stance and set my jaw. “No. Not until you tell me what exactly is going on here.”
Taylor glanced at (Y/N) with a pleading expression. “Can’t I hurt him just a little bit? I swear I won’t break anything.”
“No,” (Y/N) said firmly, much to my relief. I could handle myself in a fight, but this guy was admittedly more than a match for me.
“But you got to punch him in the face,” Taylor whined.
“Because it was an extraction mission, and we couldn’t afford having him getting away. But here,” she looked at me with a sly grin, “he’s got little to no place to run.”
“Lovely that you’re talking about me when I’m standing right here,” I muttered. Taylor grumbled quietly to himself and I snorted. “I supposed you pout as well when you don’t get what you want?”
Taylor glared at me with absolute loathing. “Listen up and listen well, dear prince. You’re lucky to even be alive right now. I could kill at any time I wanted to. So unless you want me to slit your throat right here, right now, then by all means, says the words.” The look on his face was deadly serious. He pulled out a large hunting knife from his belt and picked his nails with it. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watching it glint beneath the ghostly light from the lamps above us.
“Fine,” I said, finally giving in.
Taylor smiled smugly and stepped aside, his knife pointing towards the door. “And so your dance with death begins, mereon. It’s time for you to meet Rafe.”