down with government

Via the Alt National Park Service

Donald J. Trump made a tweet today attempting to use the National Parks as political propaganda. He tweeted, “As families prepare for summer vacations in our National Parks - Democrats threaten to close them and shut down the government. Terrible!” Not only is this tweet false and misleading, it was an attempt to help him pass the proposed budget. Trump’s budget would defund the Chemical Safety Board (-100%), Fogarty International Center (-100%), EPA (-31%), Department of Agriculture (-21%), Department of Health and Human Services (-18%), Interior Department (-12%), and Nasa (-1%). #RESIST

7

Trump’s tax plan, if passed, will strangle the government down to the point where services and social safety net programs would no longer be able to be funded. It’s no surprise that Trump’s tax plan reduces his personal taxes and the taxes of big businesses. This will probably spark a recession, or possibly cause the next global great depression.

Okay, can someone explain to me what the democrats in government are doing? Like... I've never seen people NOT fight this hard in a long time.

The conservatives fucking shut down the government when Obama was president and you can’t fucking get together to put Trump and his goons at bay?

Now what the hell. WHAT THE HELL.

It really, REALLY bothers me when I hear people frame climate change and other environmental crises as something that everyday, average-ass people are responsible for, and not corporations and entire governments. 

Like literally, how can a regular-ass person ~opt out~ of all damaging behaviors while still being able to function in society? 

You literally can’t. 

The future of our planet is not down to whether or not someone recycles their water bottle. 

It’s down to whether or not governments and corporations decide to quit sucking up all our resources and poisoning the earth with reckless abandon. 

I mean obviously people should still live as cleanly and as sustainably as they can manage where they are and with what they have, but like. THAT isn’t the major issue. 

No.6

A novel series about a sixteen-year-old, bisexual, boy genius that teams up with a sixteen-year-old, sarcastic, cross-dressing, rat boy that he met by screaming out his window during a hurricane on his twelfth birthday, to take down an oppressive government, save his family from parasitic wasps and rescue his straight-forward, physiology-obsessed best friend, all while joined by a fourteen-year-old, non-binary hotel owner raised by a dog and a middle-aged drunken pimp.

Not My President

I listened as they called my President a Muslim.
I listened as they called him and his family a pack of monkeys.
I listened as they said he wasn’t born here.
I watched as they blocked every single path to progress that they could.
I saw the pictures of him as Hitler.
I watched them shut down the government and hurt the entire nation twice.
I watched them turn their backs on every opportunity to open worthwhile
dialogue.
I watched them say that they would not even listen to any choice for Supreme
Court no matter who the nominee was.
I listened as they openly said that they will oppose him at every turn.
I watched as they did just that.
I listened.
I watched.
I paid attention.
Now, I’m being called on to be tolerant.
To move forward.
To denounce protesters.
To “Get over it.”
To accept this…
I will not.
I will do my part to make sure this great American mistake becomes the
embarrassing footnote of our history that it deserves to be.
I will do this as quickly as possible every chance I get.
I will do my part to limit the damage that this man can do to my country.
I will watch his every move and point out every single mistake and misdeed in a loud and proud voice.
I will let you know in a loud voice every time this man backs away from a promise he made to them.
Them. The people who voted for him.
The ones who sold their souls and prayed for him to win.
I will do this so that they never forget.
And they will hear me.
They will see it in my eyes when I look at them.
They will hear it in my voice when I talk to them.
They will know that I know who they are.
They will know that I know what they are.
Do not call for my tolerance. I’ve tolerated all I can.
Now it’s their turn to tolerate ridicule.
Be aware, make no mistake about it, every single thing that goes wrong in our country from this day forward is now Trump’s fault just as much as they thought it was Obama’s.
I find it unreasonable for them to expect from me what they were entirely unwilling to give

Remember Who The Enemy Is

ALL the progressive/left wing parties are really, really flawed.

Labour: Jeremy “Oh Where Do We Even Start” Corbyn. Useless on Brexit. Has thrown immigrants under the bus for the sake of chasing the WWC, who are not biting. Never misses an opportunity to miss an opportunity. Party as a whole still carries legacy of Blair, Iraq. 

LibDems: Tuition fees.  Enabling Tories. I’ve come to see this as more complex than I used to - in retrospect I think they DID, in coalition, worst impulses to a degree and sucked at taking credit for their victories, as God knows the Tories have been even more awful since, but there were opportunities to walk out, bring down Cameron’s government before it enacted our current miseries, and they did not take them.  

Greens: Just unprofessional to the point where I keep expecting them to fall over and roll around with their legs in the air. Made a hash of Brighton. At one point decided the worst threat to civilisation was artists and writers getting to profit from their work.

I’ve shifted interest from one to the other and all of them have royally pissed me off. 

NONE OF THEM deserves your loyalty in the sense of sticking with them to make a point about the unpalatability of any of the others.  

ALL OF THEM are better than the Conservatives. Yes, they are. Yes, even that one.

 What is the point if they’re just watered down Tories?

Well, the point is that they’re not.

Labour: Wants a £10 minimum wage, universal free meals for primary schools, renationalised railways and to integrate NHS and social care. 

LibDems: Trying to save us from Brexit. Much more money for the NHS. Support the introduction of legalised, regulated cannabis and treating drug addiction as a medical issue rather than a criminal one overall. Would give 16-year-olds the vote.

Greens: Want a universal Citizen’s Income. Robin Hood tax on banks. Would repeal the Health and Social Care act of 2012 which basically opened the privatisation floodgates. Also, you know, to save the world. 

I once thought the distinction between the Tories and an exasperating opposition wasn’t meaningful. I don’t any more.   Don’t like that the Lib Dems broke promises? Well, May promised no snap election, just for starters. Don’t like Labour’s bellicosity? The Tories were there for all of it. Aghast at the Greens’ bungling? Iain Duncan Smith exists. Does that mean “they’re all the same”? No, it means  the Conservatives combine the flaws of all of them and the virtues of none of them.

Just some reminders of things the Tories have been up to lately: 
https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/jul/24/the-9-green-policies-killed-off-by-tory-government

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/nhs-cuts-spending-policies-theresa-may-jeremy-hunt-tories-labour-lib-dems-a7549686.html

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/dubs-amendment-government-vote-down-child-refugees-orphan-middle-east-syria-iraq-a7616301.html

That’s the Tories killing off good policies Labour  had put in place, or doing awful things opposed by Labour and the Lib-Dems/Greens, and or thwarting efforts Labour/the LibDems/the Greens were making to rescue children. Those green policies, that NHS funding, those refugee children would be safe right now if the Tories were not in power. 

Would Labour/the LibDems/The Greens get to enact all their best ideas and avoid all their worst tendencies? Of course not. Will they do or be what you most want in a government? No. Are you right to be furious with any or all of them? Definitely. 

Are you old enough to remember the 80s-to-late-90s when huge numbers of homeless people were sleeping rough all over London? And then in the late 90s through the 00s,  how they weren’t? It’s true. Have you seen how they’ve come back, how positive change has been deliberately reversed?  I can remember when mass rough-sleeping seemed like the bad old days that would never return. They did not have to.

Do you remember Sure Start? More than 350 Sure Start centres have closed since 2010.

Do you remember when satisfaction with the NHS was at a record high? It wasn’t long ago. It was  in 2010, when Labour left office. Satisfaction plummeted during the following year. Now,  seven years later it’s on the brink of collapse. 

 
Because none of the left-wing opposition parties are that great it is not worth allowing the differences between them to be points of division. And while we remember their mistakes and even their crimes we must remember what they did right. While we point out their ongoing flaws we must continue to see the opportunities they offer to reverse our slide into a cruelty, ignorance and unnecessary deprivation. Not to do so means more people will literally die. They will die on the sea trying to reach safety or under bombs they cannot escape; they will die waiting for medication or operations that would easily save them; they will die by suicide when they can no longer endure the poverty they have been forced into. They will die of cold and exposure on the streets.

I was in Hastings the other day. I met an old friend of mine. He’s a longterm alcoholic. He’s never going to be employable. He’s just lost his flat and was back to sleeping on the street after having a roof over his head for five years. There was a rattle in his breath that really scared me. He hadn’t had electricty or heating for years. He’s fifty-one, and looks at least ten years older. I think he’ll be dead in a year or so. His MP is the Home Secretary Amber Rudd. 

Treat Labour/LibDems/TheGreens as a single opposition. Viewed that way they’re at least adequate. Even if the fuckers can’t get it together to form an alliance. Vote for whoever has the best chance of ousting a Tory. 

Not sure who that his? Here you go! Search for your constituency and this chart will tell you how your vote can do the Tories the most damage.    https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/19_yf4RL133fBKscvSbID4eRKwztzY9KSI_2BMaI1bU8/htmlview?usp=embed_facebook&sle=true  Please do this, for the sake of all those who will be denied a vote at all. And if you are in a Labour constituency write to your MP about the desirability of a coalition with the other parties. 

Venezuela is in the midst of a war — a bread war. That’s according to Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro. Amid a severe economic crisis, his government is dealing with widespread food shortages. Now, even bread is hard to find.

In a recent speech, Maduro accused bakers of waging a “bread war against the Venezuelan people.”

Maduro claims that bakers are hoarding flour and using it to make more profitable brownies and cookies rather than bread. All this, Maduro contends, is part of a broader effort by private business owners to sabotage the economy and bring down his government.

In response, officials over the past month have seized numerous bakeries and arrested their owners during police operations.

Venezuela’s Bread Wars: With Food Scarce, Government Accuses Bakers Of Hoarding

Photo: Wil Riera/Bloomberg via Getty Images
Caption: A bakery worker grabs a bags of bread in Caracas, Venezuela, last month. The government has ordered bakers to use scarce supplies of flour to produce price-controlled loaves.

“Prime Minister, the world stands on the brink of nuclear war, what should we do?”

“Shut down the government for seven weeks and have a general election.”

Strays

@cobaltmoony needed some fluffy Bucky and cat.

Well… there’s Bucky and cat..

He’d had so many names over the years (many years, far too many years). The Fist of Hydra. James. The American. The Asset. Jerk. The Winter Soldier.

Once, he had even been Bucky.


He still is, according to Steve. Steve who has lived too long, and has his own string of names trailing in his wake. Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. Stevie. Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Punk.

Steve is still Steve, he may even be Stevie. He’s not Captain America anymore, not since the Winter Soldier appeared at his window, metals fingers pressed to the bullet wound in his stomach, scratching at the glass to be let in, like some kind of stray animal.

Steve, Stevie, still had no sense of preservation. He should have closed the blinds and left the thing that had tried to kill him months ago bleed out on the fire escape. But no, he wrenched open the window and dragged the assassin into his home (for fuck’s sake Stevie).

The Winter Soldier had bled all over the bedsheets, and as far as anyone was concerned died there, leaving a ghost.

The ghost of James Buchanan Barnes.


Steven Grant Rogers, Stevie, Dumb Punk, gave up his shield. He had picked it up to save Bucky once, and put it down to the same ends.

They didn’t so much live as warily co-exist in the apartment, on the corner of a street both familiar and strange. They had lived there before, Steve told him, but the building got torn down and they built a new one. Best thing for it, Bucky had said. The old one was a death trap. His mouth did that sometimes, opened up and words spilled out, unexpected and sweet and bitter. Like a head full of firecrackers, memories popping and snapping and if too many went off at once it made him flinch. Made him shiver and tuck himself into the smallest. darkest corner of the apartment, like a stray animal.

So Steve filled the refridgerator with the kind of things the ghost used to eat. Filled the shelves with books that the ghost used to read. The apartment was never silent, a radio in the kitchen, the volume turned low, played big band and swing and jazz, things the ghost used to dance to.

Steve was always so damn stubborn.


Baby steps, the therapist said. Small victories.

He’s killed presidents, and now he’s supposed to feel pride when he walks downstairs to get the mail. He’s brought down governments in a single night but barely manages three stops on the subway.

But it’s worth it, worth all of it and more to see the way Steve lights up when he comes back upstairs with the mail and announces the mission suffered zero casualties. When Steve’s hand wraps around his on the crowded subway and squeezes.

So he walks down to the corner store for milk when they run out, and eats at least once a day, and all the other little things that keep the furrow in Steve’s brow from running too deep.

And he doesn’t punch through the metal side of the dumpster when it starts rustling.


He had managed to pick up orange juice from the store. Not the nearest one just across the street from the apartment, but a bodega two blocks away. When he walked past the dumpster down the nearby alley (old habits die hard and he’s more likely to enter Steve’s apartment by the roof than the doors on the ground floor) it rustled at him and let out a pathetic whine.

Bucky had lifted the lid and found the cat.

The thing was not much more than a scrap of fur and fleas. He had no idea what colour it was, its coat dingy grey and matted. It still had a mouth on it, giving him a half-hearted hiss as he pulled it out of the garbage by the scruff.

The Ghost stared at the cat, and the cat stared back. Then bit his finger.

He offered it a metal fingertip and it bit that too, not even slightly dissuaded by the way it’s teeth skidded over the metal plates.

For the first time in seventy years, Bucky smiled.


The bodega stocked catfood, though Bucky had no idea if the cat preferred the wet stuff in cans or the dried kibble in boxes, so he bought both, the cat safely zipped up in his jacket, it’s flat little head poking out. It’s oversized ears swivelled back and forth as Bucky held out a can of chicken chunks in gravy in one hand and salmon pieces in aspic in the other and told the cat to make up it’s damn mind.

“Mrrr,” the cat said finally, which Bucky chose to interpret as ‘both’.

He pays for the items and walks back out onto the street. The cat makes itself comfortable, borrowing down into his jacket and going to sleep. It’s needle-like claws prick at his thin shirt, digging in whenever he turns too sharply or moves any faster than a walking pace. Since Bucky doesn’t want to be completely perforated he walks slowly down the street rather than take to the rooftops, and anyway he has a bag of catfood.


Steve didn’t look up from his spot on the couch when Bucky slipped through the apartment door and kicks off his shoes, though Bucky would bet good money that he’d spent the whole of Bucky’s absence at the window, quietly worrying.

“Hey Buck,” Steve muttered with a forced nonchalance that fools no one. “You get lost?”

“Mowr,” the cat answered.

Steve’s head snaps up, “What-”

“I founds it in the trash,” Bucky blurted out. “It’s greasy and cranky and smells like crap but…” he falters at the complicated run of expressions that passed over Steve’s features. “You seem okay with taking in strays,” Bucky finished weakly.

Steve frowned silently, and Bucky tensed up, one hand curled protectively around the lump of fur under his jacket. Something in Bucky’s expression seemed to settle him though, and he dropped the book he was reading on the coffee table.

“We’re gonna need more stuff,” Steve announced and pulled out his phone.

He wasn’t Captain America anymore, but that didn’t mean Steve couldn’t get things done when he put his mind to it. Twenty minutes later a harassed looking SHIELD agent dropped off several boxes of random crap that were supposedly essential for cat ownership.

Bucky couldn’t understand the need for a litter tray and unscented, clump-forming, biodegradable whatever-the-fuck to go in the tray (cat’s went outside, right?), or the twine-wrapped wooden kitty adventure playground thing. The collar, okay, fair enough. The shampoo and the flea drops, fuck yeah.

Steve read the instructions on the bottle carefully and gave the cat a wary look. “You’ve got the vibranium arm, you can hold it.”


They covered the bathroom floor with towels, and Bucky placed the cat carefully in the bath, where it gave him an unimpressed look and sat down to wash itself.

The disdain might have been more effective if the cat didn’t stop every time it licked itself to twitch and flap it’s tongue.

Bucky poured a little shampoo into his hands and coated his fingers before rubbing them into the cats matted fur. It gave him a curious ‘Prrrp’, but didn’t freak out until Steve turned on the showerhead, checking the water temperature on the inside of his elbow.

The cat hissed and yowled and bit Bucky’s metal thumb, sending half the tub water onto the floor in its thrashing. Bucky pressed his hand between the cats shoulders and it flattened itself on the bottom of the tub while Bucky rinsed off the soap. Underneath all the grime was silky black fur with white paws and chest and a splodge of white on his nose.

Bucky wrapped the cat up in one of the towels until it was a damp and squirming burrito, it’s nose poking out of one end. Bucky cradled it in his arms, murmuring softly as he carries the cat out to the living room and sits down on the couch. The cat bites his wrist half-heartedly, teeth skidding over metal plates. Steve watched silently from the doorway as Bucky carefully dried the cats fur, working through the tangles with his fingers until it curled up in his lap and falls asleep.


Bucky glanced up when Steve sat carefully on the couch beside him, silently waiting for permission before reaching over to stroke the cats still-damp fur.

Bucky thinks of his first night back, when the Winter Soldier bled to death on Steve’s white linens. It had taken days to heal, the bastardised version of superserum that crawled through his veins forcing out the bullets and knitting flesh and skin back together.

Steve had carried him, bridal style, to the bathroom and placed him in the tub. It hadn’t mattered, ghosts couldn’t feel the washcloth passing over bruises and scar tissue. Ghosts didn’t lean into the touch of hands in their hair, carefully rinsing away shampoo. Ghosts didn’t sigh at conditioner being massaged into their scalps, large, gentle fingers teasing out the knots and tangles.

Ghosts didn’t fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in towels and blankets, half listening as their failed mission made endless phone calls in a hushed voice, pulling apart the pieces of his life and putting them back together again with a ghost shaped hole in the middle. In the heart.

The cat purred in it’s sleep, it’s claws flexing rhythmically, leaving pinholes in Buckys jeans.

Piece by piece, everything falls into place


“He needs a name,” Steve murmured.

The cats head was pillowed in the palm of Bucky’s metal hand, fingers curled loosely around it’s fragile skull. It had one paw wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, holding him in place. As if he could even consider leaving.

Such a fragile little thing, and yet it trusted him. Trusted him to keep it safe and warm and alive.

Bucky glanced at Steve. “He?”

It’s not the thing he wants to say. There aren’t words in any language for that. There isn’t time enough in their artificially extended lives to explain it all.

“I got a, uh, eyeful when he was thrashing around in the tub,” Steve mumbles. “Definitely he.”


Ghosts don’t have names. They have identities - The Weeping Woman, The Headless Horseman, The Winter Soldier. Not names.

Bucky isn’t a ghost’s name.


Bucky shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Steve knows him too well to fall for it. “You pick.”

Steve takes a long moment to consider the cat. Bucky watches him from the corner of his eye. The lines of Steve’s face, the curve of his jaw. Things that ice and time and mind-wipes couldn’t erase.”

“He’s your cat, you choose,” Steve says finally.

Bucky huffs. “I’m bad at names. You’re the one who came up with Bucky. You pick.”

Steve lights up, and for a moment Bucky can’t look at him. It’s like staring into the sun.

“You remember that?”

Bucky bristles under Steve’s look of surprise. “Yeah. ‘Course I remember.”

Steve turns his face to Bucky’s neck and has to take a deep, shuddering breath.

Bucky waits for Steve to pull himself together, Steve’s breath, hot and damp against his skin raising goosebumps.

Really, it’s frankly embarrassing. A former spy and a decorated military tactician, and neither of them had figured it out yet.

You don’t go against your commanding officer and damn well walk into enemy territory in a stage costume for a friend. Seeing an old friend doesn’t break seventy years of Hydra programming.

You don’t hand over your shield to a guy dressed like a bird for a friend.


“Tom?” Bucky asks.

Steve snorts, still hiding in the collar of Bucky’s shirt. “That’s not very creative,” he mumbles.

Bucky shifts and turns to Steve, pressing his lips to the top of Steve’s head.

“Orange Juice.”

Steve’s head snaps up, and he meets Bucky’s eyes. “What?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth ticks up. “I went out to get orange juice.”

Steve coughs out a laugh. “Seriously?”

Bucky gives him a mock glare. “You gotta problem with that?”

Steve shakes his head, his eyes bright.

“You want to keep him?” Bucky asks softly.

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“You want to keep me?” Bucky murmurs.

Steve frowns. “You’re not a thing, Buck. How many times do I gotta explain-”

Bucky leans forward and kisses him, soft and brief. Steve falls into a shocked silence.

“I mean…” Bucky whispers against Steve’s soft, warm lips. “Do you want to keep me?”


For a second, a heartbeat, Bucky thinks that he’s made a terrible mistake. Steve lets out a soft breath and kisses him back.

“Yes,” he chants between sweet presses of lips. “Yes. Yes.”

BuckyNat:  The name of the Rose

Name of the Rose highlights everything that is good in the Buckynat relationship honestly.

First we’ve got them out on a date… which, BTW I didn’t include the panels here, but he’s not really comfortable here and she tells him why he’s over thinking and worrying needlessly about it.  And then we have this gem.  After she deals with a man who has been beating his wife and comes back to the table, he calls her on it.  He knows exactly what she was up to.

Minutes before she is attacked, she’s obviously on the way home judging by her phone call here.  He thinks enough of her to be waiting up even though he doesn’t know where she’s been or what she’s been up to (Smart man).  She handles the initial attack while on the phone with him and him none the wiser (Which I will show in a later post).  But he’s waiting on her and she’s on her way home.  To him.

After she’s attacked and undergone surgery, which BTW she was completely awake and alert for with no pain control (This is gonna pop up later, when I post about what a fucking bad ass Nat is), but he’s completely panicked about her and it takes both Logan and Tony to hold him back.  He’s also unamused by the situation itself and lashes out at both of them.

When she’s out of surgery, he is by her side.  She’s obviously told them she was awake for the whole thing because you can see Tony commenting on it.

So no one else has really been able to track her down, though the government, who sanctioned the attack on her BTW is looking, Bucky finds her.  She’s surprised, he tells her she shouldn’t be.  And she tells him he’s a good person.  He blows it off, as he usually does, but when he dos it points out she is the only one that understands all the reasons he’s not.

I’d also like to point out that he’s not the least bit judgmental here despite all the shit he’s been hearing.  He, at no point, has lost faith in her.

She convinces him she’s got it under control and they have some smoochies.  LOL But not before he calls her on the BS.  All the cops swarming around has something to do with her and he damn well knows it.  But doesn’t interfere because she wouldn’t appreciate it.

So we finally get to the crux of who is behind the situation and she handles it with her usual grace and aplomb.  Or does until he starts talking about Bucky.  At that point she looses her temper and pretty much launches on him.  

Meanwhile Bucky is actually there to arrest her at behest of the government, but it’s pretty much a carefully orchestrated plan to get what she wants.  (more on this in my Nat is a bad ass post that’s coming)

So Natasha gets what she wants and Logan and Bucky are there for the rescue… a bit late, but there.  (And honestly, the Old man, weak bladder line is one of my hands down favorite interactions between Logan and Nat).  And hey, she hasn’t seen him in a day or two, so if he wants to watch her get dressed, it’s cool.  (Neither one of them bats an eye when Logan smarts off either)

And even though she has cleared her name in the eyes of the government, she needs to take care of the asshat who set this whole thing up.  So, off she goes again and Bucky is a smart enough man to let her do what she needs to do.

And when things are coming to a close, she gets in touch with him and assures him she’ll be careful (She also told him she’d be home by the end of the week but this post is already long as hell by now)

So yeah, while they don’t share so many pages together in the book, what they have is quality for sure.  Unlike that hot mess Samnee put together on page that people are fawning all over.  Fucker stole his mini-me line as well BTW.

9

3.10.16

Thousands of women in black went on strike across Poland on Monday, closing down restaurants, government offices and university classes, and blocking access to the ruling party headquarters in Warsaw to protest against plans for a total ban on abortion.

YOU ARE TRAPPED ON THE EARTH SO YOU WILL EXPLODE

WHAT URGE WILL SAVE US NOW THAT SEX WON’T?

PUT FOOD OUT IN THE SAME PLACE EVERY DAY AND TALK TO THE PEOPLE WHO COME TO EAT AND ORGANIZE THEM

SAVOR KINDNESS BECAUSE CRUELTY IS ALWAYS POSSIBLE LATER

DANCE ON DOWN TO THE GOVERNMENT AND TELL THEM YOU’RE EAGER TO RULE BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU

THE BREAKDOWN COMES WHEN YOU STOP CONTROLLING YOURSELF AND WANT THE RELEASE OF A BLOODBATH

SPIT ALL OVER SOMEONE WITH A MOUTHFUL OF MILK IF YOU WANT TO FIND OUT SOMETHING ABOUT HIS PERSONALITY FAST

MOTHERS WITH REASONS TO SOB SHOULD DO IT IN GROUPS IN PUBLIC AND WAIT FOR OFFERS

OUTER SPACE IS WHERE YOU DISCOVER WONDER AND WHERE YOU FIGHT AND NEVER HURT EARTH IF YOU STOP BELIEVING THIS YOUR MOOD TURNS UGLY

DIE FAST AND QUIET WHEN THEY INTERROGATE YOU OR LIVE SO LONG THAT THEY ARE ASHAMED TO HURT YOU ANYMORE

IF YOU HAD BEHAVED NICELY THE COMMUNISTS WOULDN’T EXIST

TRUST VISIONS THAT DON’T FEATURE BUCKETS OF BLOOD

IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY

IF YOU’RE CONSIDERED USELESS NO ONE WILL FEED YOU ANYMORE

WHEN YOU EXPECT FAIR PLAY YOU CREATE AN INFECTIOUS BUBBLE OF MADNESS AROUND YOU

YOU ARE SO COMPLEX THAT YOU DON’T ALWAYS RESPOND TO DANGER

MEN DON’T PROTECT YOU ANYMORE

WITH ALL THE HOLES IN YOU ALREADY THERE’S NO REASON TO DEFINE THE OUTSIDE ENVIRONMENT AS ALIEN

WHEN SOMEONE BEATS YOU WITH A FLASHLIGHT YOU MAKE LIGHT SHINE IN ALL DIRECTIONS

FINDING EXTREME PLEASURE WILL MAKE YOU A BETTER PERSON IF YOU’RE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT THRILLS YOU

USE A STUN GUN WHEN THE PERSON COMING AT YOU HAS A GOOD EXCUSE

IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER

THE BEGINNING OF THE WAR WILL BE SECRET

THE CONVERSATION ALWAYS TURNS TO LIVING LONG ENOUGH TO HAVE FUN

WHAT COUNTRY SHOULD YOU ADOPT IF YOU HATE POOR PEOPLE?

USE WHAT IS DOMINANT IN A CULTURE TO CHANGE IT QUICKLY

PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT

YOU ARE CAUGHT THINKING ABOUT KILLING ANYONE YOU WANT

IT’S HARD TO KNOW IF YOU’RE CRAZY IF YOU FEEL YOU’RE IN DANGER ALL THE TIME NOW

YOU CAN’T REACH THE PEOPLE WHO CAN KILL YOU ANY TIME SO YOU HAVE TO GO HOME AND THINK ABOUT WHAT TO DO

THE FUTURE IS STUPID

HIDE UNDER WATER OR ANYWHERE SO UNDISTURBED YOU FEEL THE JERK OF PLEASURE WHEN AN IDEA COMES

SOMEONE ELSE’S BODY IS A PLACE FOR YOUR MIND TO GO

WHEN THERE’S NO SAFE PLACE TO SLEEP YOU’RE TIRED FROM WALKING ALL DAY AND EXHAUSTED FROM THE NIGHT BECAUSE IT’S TWICE AS DANGEROUS THEN

IT’S EASY TO GET MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ON EVERY CONTINENT TO PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO EATING AND EQUAL OPPORTUNITY

GO WHERE PEOPLE SLEEP AND SEE IF THEY’RE SAFE

HANDS ON YOUR BREAST CAN KEEP YOUR HEART BEATING

TURN SOFT AND LOVELY ANY TIME YOU HAVE A CHANCE

IT IS FUN TO WALK CARELESSLY IN A DEATH ZONE

YOU LIVE THE SURPRISE RESULTS OF OLD PLANS

LET YOUR HAND WANDER ON THE FLESH TO MAKE POSSIBILITY MULTIPLY

IT IS EMBARRASSING TO BE CAUGHT AND KILLED FOR STUPID REASONS

SHOOT INTO INFINITE SPACE TO HIT A TARGET IN TIME AND CALL IT INEVITABLE

YOU HOVER NEAR LOVELY UNCONSCIOUS LIFE-FORMS THAT OFFER NO IMMEDIATE RESISTANCE

PEOPLE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE DANCING BEFORE THEY LOVE

BODIES LIE IN THE BRIGHT GRASS AND SOME ARE MURDERED AND SOME ARE PICNICKING

SILLY HOLES IN PEOPLE ARE FOR BREEDING OR ARE FROM SHOOTING

YOUR MODERN FACE SCANS THE SURPRISE ENDING

—  from Jenny Holzer’s “Survival” series, 1983-1985

do you ever just cry because luke skywalker, son of anakin, son of shmi, literally threw aside his lightsaber, his only weapon, and reached out to his father with compassion and dignity, and in doing so helped redeem his father and free him of slavery, while also bringing down an oppressive government and defying exactly what the emperor wanted him to do and thought he would do
he threw away his lightsaber and said “no, i am a Jedi like my father before me” and he did not need his lightsaber, proving he was more Jedi than any other
he didn’t need a lightsaber or the Force to bring down the empire. it was compassion and kindness that saved them all

9

This Week in TTOI History ( 10th Anniversary edition ):

Malcolm is AWAY FOR A WALK!

And not just ANY walk, but a walk that takes him directly into the arms company of his favorite baldy nemesis, The Chief of the Nodes

Mr Julius Nicholson, Esq. where their briskly moving slightly drizzly outdoor discussion of what actually a surprising date even means

results in Malcolm setting off a chain of events that (among other things) almost ends with Malcolm being sacked that very same evening because of Julius, except he’s also saved by Julius from being sacked

which does to my mind at least rather suggest a certain ambivalent ambiguity on Julius’s part in re: Malcolm, (not that this is a new thing for me in any way).

Oh, one of the other things Malcolm sets off? Nothing major, just Malcolm mostly by accident, but kind of on purpose, but mostly by accident causing the PM to resign with no warning whatsoever the very next day which instantly throws his own political party into even more complete chaos than it’s usually in.

So all in all I’d say a pretty busy Wednesday, even by Malcolm’s standards.