Snowflake.

So, they'll call me a 'special snowflake' with scorn in their voice. They'll imply that I am someone who demands to be handled with exquisite care and sheltered from the harsh reality of the world. They'll say that I am over emotional. Some will even insist that my 'delicate nature' is due to my gender presentation. You want to call me a snowflake, go ahead.

I would like to remind you, though, snow is lethal. The ice it is made of will suck the heat out of you and leave you helpless. It will steal your breath, rendering you voiceless. You will die from the cold and think that you are overly warm, hastening your demise with your confused deeds. You will in your last moments, hide like a feral animal, utterly divested of your dignity. Snow can kill you and you will not realize you are dying.

From Wikipedia

Ah, but some would say that the snowflake is simply a weak thing that can be destroyed with warm breath and warded against with proper precautions. You are a fool to assume this is the case, though, because the snow does not come only in ice. It also comes in stone. And the stone is not something weak and fragile. Oh, it is beautiful. It is also born from the fires at the core of the earth. Snowflake obsidion can be fashioned in to razor sharp blades. Many a person has died from crude weapons fashioned from a hunk of raw stone. A higher number has perished from weapons made with skill and deliberate action.

The other thing you must remember about snowflakes is that there is never only one. They always come in significant numbers. And they're silent until they reach a point that you are unable to do anything about the danger posed by the weight of their presence. Call me a snowflake. Know that I am coming and there is an avalanche at my back coming for you as well.

NaBloPoMo # 7: Spreading Love!

So, I have been in a lot of pain due to what ever is going on with my ovaries. Yesterday, I had no writing done because I was at the hospital. After some investigation, the conclusion has been reached that I can not have any form of narcotic pain relief due to allergic response. I am not pleased with this development. As an attempt to distract myself from this, I have been knitting.

This hat is really simple. And it is pretty small, because I'm making it for one of the kids in the neighborhood who doesn't have a hat for cold weather. I started out with crochet for the top of the hat. I used a size H hook (5.5mm) and sport weight acrylic yarn. I am actually using one of Caron's Simply Soft Paints. I forget what the colorway is called. I lost the ball band in the course of cleaning last week. Using the magic ring method, I made a circle of twelve single crochet stitches. I then increased in each stitch (slip stitching the last stitch to the first at the end of the round) before proceeding in the usual manner until I had 36 stitches in total. I then picked up each stitch onto a DPN needle that was sized 9 (also 5.5mm). I started knitting in the round until the entire affair was 9 in long. I bound off knitwise.

I'm not pleased with how tense my bound off edge is. I can't quite manage to get the hang of casting off loosely or with a stretchy one. I think I need to watch more Youtube tutorials or something. Maybe I can talk my MiL into showing me how to do it. She knits socks all the time, so I know she knows the trick for that one. I am stalled on the duckie scarf. I am, however, going to pick that back up and work on getting it done.

NaBloPoMo # 6 - Slow progress.

I had my morning sucked up by paying bills and such. But, my afternoon and a good portion of my evening was spent writing. I added around 1.5k today. My hand aches a little but whatever. I got some writing done today. Thus, today was a productive day and a good day. Maybe tomorrow I will hit something closer to 2k. I think, however, I am going to switch back to being powered by coffee, mostly. While the tea helps me reconnect with the mental place this stuff is coming from, the coffee has more kick and helps make my thoughts flow better. If this makes any sense.

Word Count: 14500
# hours writing: 2.5 approx
# cups of tea drunk: 6
page count: approx 50

NaBloPoMo # 5

Well, I got some more done today. Despite the kids distracting me. Maybe I can get this damn thing done after all.

Word Count: 11500

NaBloPoMo Post #4 - Words good?

So, I've spent the last hour writing. I am taking a brief break because my hand feels somewhat crampy. I have added 1k to the manuscript. I am not entirely pleased with what I have produced. It feels shallow and contrived. That, however, is part of what happens when you write a rough draft. That bit of uncertainty will get polished away when I edit this thing. I am trying to keep hope that I can finish this thing somewhere close to on time. If 1k is written in an hour, I may be able to get up to 3k on a given day. I suppose the lack of distractions from the children makes a big difference in my word count. I'll try to get more done in a little bit.

NaNoWriMo Word count: 10,000
Writing Time today: 1 hr (thus far)
Page Count: 39
# Chocolate Covered Espresso beans consumed: 10
# Cups of Coffee: 0.5

NaBloPoMo Post # 3(?)

It has been a long day. I got almost 2k words written today on my novel. Part of my challenge was the kids distracting me much of the day. Anyone who is writing and has small children about knows this feeling very well. The other part of my challenge today was just getting out of my own way. I am finding that my novel is not as fun as other things I have written in the past. I don't think the problem is that I am writing this thing by hand. I will say, however, I have had mild hand cramps this evening. I don't think I will be doing any knitting tomorrow morning after putting the kids on the bus.

I think my biggest problem with this project is that I am sitting here quietly afraid that something horrible is going to come out of this thing. I'm writing a fictionalized memoir. Some of what I put down on paper comes from things I have actually experienced. Some of what I put down is invented to fill in the gaps with what is too uncomfortable to write down or to serve as a mask to keep some of the demons at my back. I wish that I could say that my novel is something that is going to end in happiness and light.

It isn't. It is grueling to write. It is filled with darkness and agony. Mashing together five separate stays in the psychiatric ward due to illness and all of the trauma that lead to it happening is proving exhausting. Still, I feel like I can't put this project down. I find that I would love to set this thing aside but I feel compelled to keep working on it. The more I write, the more I feel I have to write. And it is uncomfortable and disturbing things that I am writing. Presently, there is more fiction than there is fact but it is also a case where the fiction is illuminating more than I think the fact would have.

The time span this novel covers is a single month. I am half considering dragging out my journal from when I was last inpatient to compare it to what I am writing now. I think, however, that would rob me of my authenticity in this piece. I don't know how that actually works, but my gut says that it will be the case if I started referencing past material. Even doing some research to make sure that I am describing something properly made me feel like I was on the path of losing this character's voice.

It wouldn't be such a big deal if it wasn't for the fact that I am writing this thing in first person. The book is the character's journal. I don't know if I am going to accomplish 50k this month. I am going to try, but gods only know if I am going to get close to it. A part of me says I should spend some time on a second project, something lighter than this, but I can't shake the feeling that I must see this manuscript to completion before I do something different.

NaNoWriMo Word Count: 9k
Total Writing Time Today: 3 hrs (approx.)
Page Count: 35

A Sunny Spot on the Wall.

Perhaps you are familiar with Margaret Atwood's novel A Handmaid's Tale. If you are not, I strongly advise you read it. Consider as you do so that it was written in 1985, a little over thirty years ago. Also, consider how closely those themes run to that which is espoused by the supporters of Donald Trump. The parallels are fundamentally disturbing. I could devote a whole post to this, an analysis of the book, and how it seems that people have taken it as an instruction manual. (I feel as though similar arguments can be made regarding George Orwell's 1984.) This, however, is not the purpose of my post this evening.

I have spent my day attempting to make sense of the apparent madness that is unfurling. Yes, some would argue that I am presenting a hysterical (in a decidedly unfunny sense) picture of things. Many who would decry my position as hysteria would have declared a woman who was of a mind to exercise her rights as suffering from hysteria back when it was considered a legitimate diagnosis. I pay them little heed but I do give them a small bit of time in my thoughts, to consider them scornfully and with great loathing. Given a casual assessment of what has been reported via social media alone, there has been a stark uptick in violence in both word and deed on the basis of racism, sexism, and xenophobia. I have not seen much in the way of reports of such things against people who are disabled but I would not be surprised by this.

This behavior does not behoove us as the descendants of statesmen such as the ones who ironed out the principles that lead to the development of the Consitution of the United States. Or does it? Thomas Jefferson, famed for penning the cherished Declaration of Independence, argued that a white man was of greater value than a black man, specifically slaves. It was known as the 3/5ths compromise. It is a shameful chapter in the history of this nation, among many. Just because our ancestors (both ideological and literal) behaved in a manner that denied the humanity of their fellow people and promoted hatred against them, it does not mean that we can do so as well.

We are supposed to improve upon what was done by they who came before us. The Civil Rights act of 1866 was supposed to rectify the gross errors of our government and people. The Civil Rights act of 1964 was supposed to rectify yet more of those gross errors. This is but one example of how we were supposed to improve and propel our nation towards a more just place wherein all citizens enjoy the protections and liberties explicit and implicit that came by virtue of being part of this nation. And yet, what have we done in electing Donald Trump? We have taken a step backwards.

Still, perhaps we were not as forward thinking as we wished to tell ourselves and present ourselves to the world at large. Donald Trump tapped into a deep vein of hatred that runs through this nation. I can not say this is a great nation. I have not been able to say that for over a decade now. And I think that when I said it when I was younger, it was out of ignorance and believing the pretty stories we told ourselves about how good we are. I suppose one good thing to come out of the horrendous train wreck that has been this election cycle is that the seething, putrid wash of hatred that was fermenting beneath the surface has been revealed.

It has revealed how brother has turned against brother and the way that people wish ill upon others for merely existing. Some are concerned that we are a heartbeat away from a civil war. Others are afraid that the country is headed to ruin, with the likelihood of greater warfare happening within months of Donald Trump being sworn into office. In the meantime, no less than eleven people committed suicide within the last 24 hours with fear that they would have been murdered because of their status as part of the LGBT+ community. And this is only what I am aware of through my relatively small social circle. Gods only know what the final tally will be when sunrise comes tomorrow. I have lost count of how many people relating how they have been harassed and threatened with violence on the basis of their beliefs, their apparent racial background, and their gender presentation. This is but the tip of the iceberg that the good ship America has run into.

I will not attempt auguries to divine what manner of disaster awaits us. My heart can not stand that. I have spent my day feeling sick and horrified. I have been afraid for friends of mine who have moved from being in an abstract position of danger to one of real danger because Donald Trump's ascension has emboldened the people who threaten them. I sit here and question what I can do to oppose this rising tide of fascism. Do not let anyone tell you that this mess is something different. It is perhaps by the perversity of the Divine's humor that the election was decided upon the 78th anniversary of Kristallnacht.

I don't know if I will need to make plans to hide friends from some manner of governmental oppression. I don't know if I should carefully consider how to present as something I am not to ensure the safety of my children. I don't know where this leads. I only know that nothing good comes of this. I know this in my bones. I fear for the future. People who are dear to me have tried to assure me that the apathy that has run rampant through this country will insulate us from the greater dangers that lie about us. I question this assertion. When not even a full day after this man has won the race people are having their very lives threatened with impunity, I suspect that apathy will not save us. If anything, it will be further damnation.

I do know this, I will find away to stand against this. I will find away to resist the hatred. And, when the day is done, I will do my best to ensure that my children and the generations that come after them live in a nation that is closer to being more just and humane. Or at least die trying. Because sometimes, the war that is fought is in our hearts and minds, not with guns and forces of might. I will not be silenced.

So, save me a sunny spot on the wall. And I am sure we will have good company to hang in chains with if all things truly go to hell.

NaNoWriMo Post No. 1 - WTF am I doing?

It has been a difficult couple of days. I was struggling with feeling depressed. Now I am in a mixed episode. I don't know how long it is going to persist. I rather dread going to the new psychiatrist on Monday. My first appointment was on Halloween. It was difficult because I talked about a lot of difficult stuff. Next appointment is going to be more of the same.

I've been busy with things like piles of laundry and dentist appointments over the last three days. Now, I sit here at the computer struggling to write. I am having a hard time concentrating. Thus, I am having a hard time putting together words for this blog. And I am at a loss for where to begin with the manuscript this year. I was going to pick up something I started last year for Camp NaNo but I didn't finish. Having sat with it and attempted to work with it, I feel like it is not going to work for me this year. I was going to do a fictionalized autobiography. But that just ... it all is striking too close to the real trauma I've been dealing with. So, I have set this aside. I don't know where I go from here. A part of me says I am mad for thinking about doing this year's novel by hand.

Ah well, time to pick up the pen and at least try. If nothing else, writing 3 pages (minimum) a day will end in this thing being full by the end of the month. Maybe I'll try something fanfiction or something like that. I don't know.

Word Count: 0
Goal: 50,000

Basic Meatloaf & Baked Potatoes

I'd snap a picture of this as it was in progress of being made but I am presently thawing out the frozen block of ground beef in the microwave right now. Also, my kitchen is not exactly presentable for pictures right now. (Namely my tablecloth is rather ratty looking and the pile of kid school papers is approaching the same height as the 1 gallon fish tank where our Betta Ghost lives. And a few knitting projects.. it's just a bit messy. So, no pictures today.) Next week, I'll try to do some with another recipe. I'm going to attempt to update a recipe here on a weekly basis. Maybe it will help me get back into posting on here again.

That said, dinner tonight is going to be meatloaf. It's really simple and fairly quick to put together, compared to some other things I've made. The hardest part is waiting for it to finish cooking. My family is on the small side. Between the boys, Beloved, and I, we've got four people to feed plus at least one serving leftover for lunch the next day. I will most likely make something with the spinach that is sitting in the fridge desperately trying not to wilt though it is 24 hours past its prime sell by date. I don't plan on the kids eating much of the spinach because as Cuddle Bear says, "We hate vegetables!" We're still working on this front.

Everything cooks at the same time and at the same temperature with this recipe. It was one of the first things I was cooking for dinner when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure that the boys will be cooking this in the not so distant future. I start off scrubbing the potatoes and pricking them all over with a fork. Then I set them aside. When they go in the oven, they're going to rest right on the rack. Remember to prick them all over, though, because if you don't the will explode and make a horrible mess. (I made this mistake once. Mom was not impressed and I had to clean the whole stove and oven. You'd be surprised how many nooks and crannies there are in an oven.)

For my meatloaf, I use 98% lean ground beef. Some people say it has less flavor. I haven't noticed too big of a difference between that and the more inexpensive ground beef. The big reason why I use the lowest fat ground beef that I can afford is because it makes for less grease sitting in the pan with the meatloaf. Which makes it easier to serve (and it is healthier with less grease, or so my doctor says). Cooking for four people, I use one pound of ground beef. I add to it an egg, some breadcrumbs (but sometimes oatmeal), ketchup, and mustard. It is probably the most boring form of ground beef you can find. I mix it all together until it is uniform and then pop it into a bread pan. Sometimes I will put it into a muffin tin for individual servings. The reception has been indifferent between the two versions of presentation.

When I've got my meatloaf mixed up and pressed into the pan, I put it in the oven on the middle rack at a medium heat. I set my washed and pricked potatoes beside it on the rack. Let everything cook for an hour and you'll have a nice dinner that just needs a salad to be complete. I like to cut the baked potatoes in half and scrape out the 'meat'. Then I put a little salt and butter on it so it is like mashed potatoes. I also put a little butter into the skins and eat that straight up. My kids look at me weird for doing it, but it's tasty so I don't care.

Basic Meatloaf & Baked Potatoes
Serves 4 - 5

Ingredients
1 pound ground beef                         1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1 large egg, yolk broken                    1/4 cup ketchup
1/4 cup yellow mustard

Step 1
In a medium bowl, mix together all ingredients until well combined. (I use my hands and knead it together like dough.)

Step 2
Press into a standard sized bread pan. Cover with foil (optional).

Step 3
Cook in the oven at 350 degrees F for 1 hour. Allow to cool a few minutes and then slice and serve.

Baked Potatoes

Step 1
Take 4 medium sized potatoes, wash well and cut off any green parts or eyes.

Step 2
Prick all over with a fork, making sure to pierce the skin.

Step 3
Set potatoes on oven rack in an oven that is at 350 degrees. Cook for 1 hr or until fork pricks through the skin with ease.

Fiction - Bad Day.

She reached up and took of the helmet. The man standing before her glared at her with a look of outrage. "How dare you challenge my orders!" he roared. Thyra dropped the helped. The man's expression turned to puzzlement. "You are not my wife," he said in a tone of disgust.

"No, I am not," she answered. She dropped the helmet out of her right hand as her left reached around behind her back to the pistol secured there. "And you are about to have a very bad day, Maxwell Colliers, unless you can answer this question," Thyra continued. Maxwell's haughty expression of offended pride returned.

"You, woman, do not have the capacity to know what you are saying," he said, "Leave my office."

"Where is Zanzibar?" Thyra demanded. Maxwell scoffed and made a shooing gesture.

"You've wasted enough of my time with your games," he said, "Go back to the security officer's suite. Eliot Zanzibar is of no concern to you. Continue and you'll be sent off world on your next assignment." Thyra drew her pistol as Maxwell leaned to the side and moved to push the silent panic button under his desk.

"Eliot Zanzibar is the chemist who can reverse this plague," Thyra retorted, "You had him kidnapped. Release him and you'll live." Maxwell pushed the button. Thyra fired her pistol. It wasn't the elegant, high energy weapons that were issued to the Xenogen security agents. It was actually rather primative with its gunpowder propelled projectile. It did its job magnificently, however, as it punched through the wood verneer of the desktop and the electronics of the call button. As a result, the button was rendered useless and Maxwell had a bullet lodge itself in his hand.

Maxwell screamed. "The fuck is wrong with you?" Maxwell shouted. Thyra readied to fire the next round.

"Zanzibar," Thyra demanded.

Maxwell knew that his screaming and the gunshot wasn't going to be heard by anyone else. His office suite took up an entire floor and everything was automated for convenience. Thus, he was alone with this woman and her dangerously crude weapon. He gripped his left wrist as hard as he could to slow the flow of blood. With great effort, he resisted the urge to continue screaming. His face was pale and a fine sheen of sweat arose, but he managed to speak in something that resembled a calm tone, "Zanzibar is on his way to Anchorport. His lab has been removed," Maxwell said, "I expect he will be reaching his destination in the hour. His work was unauthorized. He has been reassigned."

Thyra fired off a second shot. It slammed into Maxwell's left shoulder, hitting him hard enough that he rocked back in his chair. "You're lying to me, Colliers. Now where is Eliot?" Thyra demanded. Maxwell looked at Thyra's face. Her complexion betrayed her sub-Saharan heritage but he could see something of a European lineage in her ice blue eyes. Thyra's expression was something like that of an avenging goddess, filled with wrath but also curiously serene. For a moment, he wondered if he should offer her a position within the Enyo program. Even though she was on Xenogen property, she managed to make her way through at least five levels of security to reach his office. It meant she had a terrible talent for doing very bad things.

Thyra's third shot hit him in his right shoulder. He screamed. The queer distance from the pain that came with shock was ripped away from him at the insult of the third shot. He felt as though someone had plunged a red hot poker into his left hand and shoulders. His ears rang with the noise of the gunfire. "I have already killed your wife," Thyra said, "Which you should have figured out by the fact that I am in her uniform. I have killed three of your security agents on the level immediately below us. I expect that they are running around looking for someone else at the moment, though, because of the image scrambler I used on your cameras when I hacked the system through her uplink." Thyra raised her right arm, turning it so that he could see that the touch pad had been forced open with wires plugged into it. It was an inelegant mess but Maxwell couldn't really focus on that.

His pain was too great for that. The dull realization that the angry black woman standing before him might actually kill him somehow made its way through the pain. Maxwell tried to reject it but when Thyra walked up closer and moved her pistol so that it was pointed squarely between his eyes, he couldn't. "Where is my brother?" Thyra demanded, "Answer me and you'll die quick. Don't and I'm just going to hurt you, really badly. And then I'll let you bleed out while I rifle through your console."

"You can't do that," Maxwell said, smiling despite his pain, "It's keyed to my bio markers. You can't get into the system with out me."

Thyra squeezed the trigger. As the top of Maxwell's head blew off, she said, "I don't need you alive for that, fucker."

Pretty as a Picture!

In the course of my evening today, I made an apple pie. It wasn't something I did from scratch. My pie crusts are functionally cardboard still. And I didn't can the apples for the filling (but getting them off the shelf did free up some space in my pantry so that counts for something, right?) The boys noticed I was up to something when I started getting out the can of pie filling, the wax paper, and thawing out the pie crusts.

They mistakenly thought I was making cookies when I cut the hearts out of the top crust. But, when it was all put together, they realized exactly what I had made. I dusted some apple pie spices over the crust and then drizzled it with some clover honey before I popped it in the oven. It was finished right as Beloved got home from work.

We didn't have any this evening. I suspect it may be eaten tomorrow. But, Beloved may sneak a piece before he heads to bed tonight. Anything is possible. If he has started on the thing tonight, this means that I am free to eat a slice for breakfast instead of a bowl of instant oatmeal, right?

The pie crusts were from Aldi's (The box says their brand is Ginger Evans.). They had been sitting in the fridge for about two weeks. That's a little bit long, but they didn't give me any trouble when I unrolled them and started working with them. The pie filling was also from Aldi's. It was their usual stock pie filling (I believe it is branded as Sweet Harvest). I am looking forward to when they have their apple-cranberry pie filling again. It is a seasonal item that goes magnificently in oatmeal.

Reworking EVERYTHING!

I'm about to do a major overhaul on this blog. I will be changing the look and some of the format. Please bear with me. It is part of a process to making things easier and more effective. Presently I am rather scattered all over the place. I want to correct that. Please note, a name change will be coming along in the near future, but the content will remain the same. I will also be posting more pictures and such soon as well.

Writer's block? Use Generators!

I think I have a new way to laugh my way out of writer's block.

Random transportation disaster generator (best one thus far: hamster powered hovercraft crashes in rural indiana. terrorism 'not ruled out.'

Random story generator. Isn't this the plot of a movie that happened recently?The story is about a traveler who is haunted by a ghost. It starts in a village in Europe. The story climaxes with someone getting lost. Archaeology versus respecting native cultures plays a major role in this story.


http://fantasynamegenerators.com/backstory-descriptions.php#.WAVnLPkrLIU This thing sounds like what some gamers I used to LARP with used to come up with their character's backstory. Hmm...

I had something more I wanted to say but I forgot. Ah well. Cheap laughs all around, though.

Stupid humor.

So, there was this horrific airliner crash on the border between two countries. Emergency crews show up and the scene is just ugly. There's fire everywhere. People are screaming. There's the stench of burning flesh. And the threat that more jet fuel is going to go kaboom. As this crash happened right on the border, the crews are faced with an urgent question.

Where do the bury the survivors?

I got this joke from my late grandfather when I was in my single digits. It took me a second to figure out what the punchline was. In my defense, however, I was seven.

Indigenous People's Day.

I spend my day trying to figure out my new small sewing machine. I picked it up at Aldi's last weekend. It is the Easy At Home Mini Sewing machine. Upon inspection, it is surprisingly robust for its petite size. It seems to work well with most of the generic bobbins I have kicking around here. It also looks like it will take generic standard sized sewing machine needles.

I wasn't impressed with the needle threader. But it is a style of needle threader that I generally dislike. Unfortunately, it is the only one that will fit through the eye of the needle. My vision is such, now, that even with my glasses threading that is hard.

I took the boys out to the park this afternoon. Snuggle Bug picked flowers and gave them to Gregg the pizza guy over at Pizza Pauls (the pizza shop that is right next to the park). I brought my spinning with me. As the boys played on the swings and then played freeze tag with the other kids their age that were present, I did some spinning on my petite turkish spindle. I charmed people with my work and explained how it worked to the curious. I will say, spinning on a suspended spindle is a lot easier to carry with me when I am out and about. I even was spinning as I stopped in the hardware store to see if they had full spectrum light bulbs. (I think I will need to take a trip up to the city to get some. It is my hope that if I set up some lighting with full spectrum light bulbs, perhaps I will have a reduction in the severity of my depression symptoms over the next several months.

I did not do much for activism today. I wanted to do something for the oppressed peoples, especially the oppressed indigenous peoples, but my day got sucked up with domestic tasks and all that went into keeping the boys out of trouble today. Beloved and I, over the weekend, did our best to explain why Columbus Day was not something we celebrated or acknowledged in our house because Christopher Columbus did some awful things to the people that he met when he came to the Americas.

Cuddle Bear was having a hard time trying to understand it. Beloved was doing his best to explain that it was stuff to horrible for him to describe right now because Cuddle Bear wasn't old enough to understand, and, quite frankly, we didn't want him to have nightmares of invaders bursting into our home, killing us, and enslaving him. So, we just said Christopher Columbus was a man who did very bad things and we don't celebrate him. I'm pretty sure that there are going to be a number of discussions and angry conversations with the kids at school.

Who knows how the teachers are going to take it. We even had a discussion, briefly, with the boys why we don't support zoos. (Animal cruelty is not something we condone in even the remotest sense.)

Another day.

I got a little bit of spinning done today. I'm using the rainbow color way fiber that my mother in law gave me for Yule last year. I am working on the little Turkish spindle I have. I am considering spinning the rest on my kick wheel. I'm not decided yet. I feel a bit like I need to do a bunch of spinning before the weather gets cold. I don't know why, but that's been there at the back of my mind over the last several days.

I am almost finished with the scarf that I am knitting for charity. I was going to start one using the last of the ball of eyelash yarn. Then I decided that I hate that yarn and I shoved it back into the recesses of the yarn hoard. I am presently stalled on the ducky scarf. I anticipate, however, getting more work done on it over the next little while. Because I am running out of other projects to use to procrastinate on. I don't think I'm going to do another illusion scarf any time soon. This thing is frustrating me because I keep worrying that I am counting my rows incorrectly. I kinda wanted this to be an enjoyable project but it is not proving to be so.

I had something else that I wanted to share here but I just can't recall what. I suppose that is just how the day goes sometimes.

Fiction: The Meeting.

She walked into the parking garage to the accompaniment of thunder. Some of the people there had a primeval warning of danger as she passed. Maybe it was the way the woman moved. There was something feline about how her body passed through the space. Even with her heavy boots, she was quiet. Her long coat wasn't too out of place, though she looked like she had walked out of some kind of bad science fiction. Her hair was cut in an androgynous short cut and hidden beneath a wide brimmed black leather hat. It could have been a cowboy hat, but it was sufficiently battered that it wasn't clear what sort of hat it was.

The long coat was unbuttoned. Beneath it, there was the suggestion of some sort of vest but the dim lighting of the garage didn't help the viewer to distinguish details until they were far too close for comfort. There was a bit of a bulge on the left side and the coat didn't lie quite right, suggesting something long was there. The jeans she wore were black. That was the predominant color about her appearance except for her skin. That was an eerie white that was almost the color of milk. Her lips were painted black. Her eyes were a dark brown that may as well have been black in the dim light of that place.

A late model car sat idling in space J-33. Beside it, a twitch skinny man stood waiting. His hair was ragged and mouse brown. His clothes looked like they were stolen from a poor man's corpse just before the box went into the incinerator. He looked around himself with a combination of timidness and anxiety that annoyed the female figure approaching him. She stepped into the garish pool of light spewed by the faulty florescent light above. The man jumped a little and dropped his e-cigarette. When his foot came down on the narrow tube, breaking it, he flinched at the sound.

"Bradley," she said, "Do you have it?" Bradley winced at the coldness of her tone. He pulled a battered envelope out of his pocket and held it out to her. Her black leather driving gloves were immaculate and somehow managed to gleam slightly in the light despite their matte texture. When she took hold of the yellow stained white #10 envelope, Bradley jerked his hand back as though he had burned his fingers. The woman looked down at the envelope. As he started to move towards his driver side door, the back of her left hand struck him square on the center of his chest. "No," she said, "You're not leaving yet."

"I brought it to you," Bradley whined, "I did what you told me. I'm done." Her hand moved back to the envelope. Bradley didn't go to his car, though he really really wanted to. This woman managed to kill his brutally violent pusher with out breaking a sweat. Bradley watched it all from behind a dumpster. He still had nightmares of how she butchered Howie. Howie tried to fight back, but that just made her angry. And her anger was terrifying.

She opened the envelope and looked within. The forged documents inside looked a bit worn, but that added to their authenticity. The small sum of money was exactly the amount she needed. There was, however, one thing missing. "Bradley," she started in a mild tone when the sound of a vehicle approaching caught her ear. She slipped the envelope into her pocket.

The muscle car purred like some kind of exotic metal monster. She looked over. Sitting behind the wheel was the tall, scarred Italian that she worked with. As she turned to walk towards the black 65 Mustang, Bradley edged closer to his car. She called back to him, "Bring the ring here tomorrow night at this time. If you don't have it, if you don't show up, I'm going to find you." Bradley felt like he was going to vomit out of fear. The woman turned her head and looked over her shoulder. "Don't fuck up," she said before the car rolled to a stop. She opened the door and the sound of deep South blues came out.

The man in the car said, "Watch the leather. I just got it detailed." The woman shifted something under her coat and pulled a sword from beneath it. Bradley shivered as he remembered how she cut Howie to pieces with it. She got into the car and set the sword between her feet. As the door shut and the car rolled away, Howie silently thanked god that she didn't know what he had in his pocket. The diamond ring suddenly felt a lot heavier.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Because I wanted to reminisce about LARPing.

Standing Rock in the News.

Sara Jaffe writing on the website Bill Moyers and Co. gives a very succinct explanation why the matters occurring at Standing Rock are so important. She explains the perspective of the indigenous peoples and gives a glimpse into some of what they are facing in this situation. Her article Standing Firm at Standing Rock: Why the Struggle at Standing Rock is  Bigger than One Pipeline is eye opening if you're not even passingly familiar with what the indigenous peoples have dealt with in the USA.

Now, some would be upset with me for using a source that is not traditionally considered unbiased. I just have to ask one question. Can you find me a source that is traditionally considered unbiased that is reporting this? I've been looking and finding stuff out about what his happening at Standing Rock is difficult. If you look at what is presented on Facebook, you find tumult. Over the last week or so, there is this dichotomy of material. One group presents that the people at Standing Rock are possibly violent and a group of degenerates. Another group presents that the people at Standing Rock are desperately engaged in an attempt to halt more environmental devastation and a continued rejection of their status as a sovereign people.

Given what I know about the history surrounding the way the native people have been treated here in Nova Terra, I am more inclined to believe the second group than the former. When there are reports of private security firms setting dogs on the people at Standing Rock, I am not one to reject it. You see, there are videos being posted of the dogs attacking and videos of the people after the attacks have happened. They are being suppressed. Because it is inconvenient to say that this group of people are having their human rights casually disregarded. Who is it inconvenient to? The people who are trying to make this pipeline happen. The people who want to perpetuate the racial bias against and the subjugation of the indigenous people of the USA.

Why is there so little in the major media outlets about what is happening at Standing Rock? Because it presents as much of a threat to the welfare of the status quo as the growing awareness of insitutionalized violence against people who don't fit the WASP profile. There is an illusion being sold to us that what is happening at Standing Rock is not a major thing. It is being played down and outright ignored.

Things, however, can change. Standing Rock can be the tip of the proverbial spear that forces the nation (and other nations around the world) to honor their treaties with the indigenous peoples. It can be the beginning of the change that effects true racial justice within the USA. But for that to happen, all of the rest of us need to stand up and demand it. We can't just sit off to the side and tolerate the rank injustices happening while we drink pumpkin spice lattes and try to figure out the bitchiest way to describe the millenials.


If you want info about what's happening at Standing Rock or how you can help, follow these links:

News from the Standing Rock Souix Tribe (Official)

Advice from Greenpeace (I'm not a fan of Greenpeace. I actually rather loathe them, but they are a recognizable organization that many others support. My reasons for not supporting Greenpeace is their refusal to treat world heritage sites with respect. They are also questionable with respect to their use of violence. I can not find enough information to make up my mind if they qualify as eco-terrorists. My sharing this link is not an endorsement of them.)

Not fair.

How is it I have the energy to do stuff yesterday and I don't today? Is it really the fact that the day is cloudy? I don't know.

I just feel tired and sad. I feel like I'm making so many mistakes. I try to keep in mind that depression lies to me. That my anxiety lies to me.

But it is really hard to shut up the thing constantly hammering in your mind.

A question.

So, I'm looking around on Facebook and I see people posting these memes about how a person who has committed a crime previously are essentially worthless people. I see memes posted about how if you have ever been charged with something (including things as paltry as parking tickets or jaywalking apparently) that you deserve what ever violence is meted out to you by law enforcement (or people who present as some kind of law enforcement lite - ie private security firms with weapons). I see people talking about how violence on the part of protestors negate their complaint and 'never solves anything'. I see people posting stuff about how if a person has been accused of a crime, not even charged, that if it falls into a certain category they should be executed.

At the same time, however, I see the same people posting things about how we should reject the demands of others to limit our self expression. I see them posting stuff about how they would tool someone up for looking at their significant other in a fashion that they disapprove of (as in the poster, not their partner). I see them posting things about how they have the right to reform the government by force and they need to stockpile munitions in the event of that necessity. I see them posting things about how we need to get all the details about the violence that is done before passing any sort of judgement when the perpetrators are doing so under color of law. I see them posting things about how much they admire the civil rights activists from the 60s and that the activists of today are nothing like those people.

It makes me sick.

Do you support seeing the just application of the law of the land? If someone is accused of something, are they innocent until proven guilty? Is law enforcement to be held accountable for when they break the law themselves? Do people have the rights that are secured for them by the Constitution of the United States as citizens of the nation or not?

If you answered yes to all of the above, why in the name of anything holy or decent do you say that these people who are being killed by the police deserve it? We are protected against unreasonable force and unreasonable search and seizure. We are protected in our rights to free expression and to peaceably assemble and demand redress from the government for our grievances. There's a long list of other things here that we're protected on the basis of judicial precedent even.

Let us not forget the international laws that are supposed to protect us on the basis of simple human rights.

We are a nation of laws. We are not ruled by pedagogy and popularity contests. We are not ruled by a dynasty of monarchs, dictators, or similar figures. Our opinions and feelings on things come second to the rule of law. And when the rule of law is wrong, we are supposed to come together and make changes to it as a people, via a representative system.

Even then, our individual preferences are second to the needs of the people. Or at least, that is how it is supposed to work.

And yet, we have black and other minorities being gunned down in the street by law enforcement (and law enforcement wannabes) because the people with their finger on the trigger are scared. We have families that have lived in this nation for generations being harassed and told to 'go home' by others because they don't fit the white-christian-productive citizen trope. We have a towns and cities with water that is undrinkable because of rampant pollution and government failure to ensure the safety of this most vital of resources.

I am the one who is said that they're wrong because I look at all of this and say it is not right. I'm sorry, but being poor is not a crime. Being black, latino, gay, or of any other stripe of minority is not a crime. Being disabled is not a crime. Not understanding what law enforcement is saying to you is not a crime. My list of things that are not crimes could get very, very long. I think, however, you get the picture.

Stop punishing people for not fitting your stereotype. Stop saying that their problems don't matter because it doesn't disturb your comfortable bubble. Stop saying that these people some how deserve the on going, systematic atrocities being done to them by people who are supposed to be upholding the rule of law. Having a badge and a gun doesn't automatically make you a hero or judge, jury, and executioner.

I am not going to hold up the law enforcement officers as automatic heroes because they're law enforcement. Yes, they do incredibly hard work for the community. Yes, they function under a considerable amount of strain and are called on to make decisions that can cause life or death for others in the community. Because they are in that position, they should beheld to a higher standard. If you are in law enforcement, your rules of engagement should be no less demanding than those for the military. Indeed, I would argue that they should be more so because you are dealing with civilian lives at all times. Even the 'bad guy with a gun' is a civilian. Last time I checked, civilians rated higher than enemies on the list of people to keep alive since armed conflict began, especially when they are the civilians in YOUR OWN NATION.

So, to boil this all down to that single question:

If you are going to claim that you are a 'patriot' and a 'real American', why are you refusing to demand that all of these people have their Constitutional rights protected? Why are you silent and complacent with all of these egregious abuses happening all around?

The 'no true Scotsman' argument isn't going to fly here, folks. Just to let you know.