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``` My Kufiya gives me strength My Kufiya keeps me warm My Kufiya keeps me cool My Kufiya helps me fight My Kufiya shows my stance My Kufiya is not for daily wear I love my kufiya. We will have equality when we win We will have freedom when we win We will have safety when we win We will have healing when we win We will have justice when we win. My Kufiya is not for daily wear I love my kufiya. A Kufiya symbolizes freedom A Kufiya symbolizes justice A Kufiya symbolizes solidarity A Kufiya symbolizes humanity A Kufiya symbolizes resiliance ```
One day -- it had been perhaps months since I'd been travelling with the Orcs -- I saw Jebediah about to speak up, with the now familiar glint in his eyes as he looked at me, the glint I learned to recognize all too well in my time alongside him, that let me know he was going to make fun of me once more. I cut him off. "And you - You're too proud, too _conceited_ to accept that Elves may be good people too! You think you're better than me, but where has your revolution gotten you? You make grand speeches, sure, and you rally people, but what have you *achieved*? You speak of a time past, of your people lost, but worry about the present for once! You think I can't help you, you say you don't need me in the revolution, but you've achieved more with me at your side here in months than you've done in years by yourself!" I yelled out, right in front of him and the council. Jebediah looked at me for a moment, but he showed no emotion. He endured my words. Then he breathed in, and for a moment I thought he might lunge at me for my transgressions. Instead, he calmly turned to one of his friends and motioned for him to bring forward his musket. "Are you going to pick it up?" "What do you mean?" "If you want to prove you have our interests at heart, that this is your fight too, then pick up the musket and join us fully." I looked at the weapon. It's not that I'd never handled a weapon -- I'd used a bow plenty of times before to hunt back in my homeland, but... a musket was a whole different thing. Jebediah challenged my gaze. "I thought not," he said. "You claim you want to help us, you say you are on our side, but when it comes down to what matters, you would never die for us. You will go back to your cozy life in the glades, while we sacrifice our own down in the ditches. And that is why I believe you, but I don't listen to you."
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cross-posted from: https://hexbear.net/post/1752885 > From the article: > > >1. There are a lot of stories already out there, but there can never be too many of YOUR stories out there. > > > >2. Being unique isn’t about telling a story that has never been told, it is about telling a story from a perspective people can both relate to and learn from. > > > >3. No one writes like you write. You may have a style inspired by other writers and stories you love, but there is only one you, and only one voice through which the stories you write are told. > > > >4. If you are thinking about giving up because of something someone else did or said (or didn’t say or didn’t do), take some time to consider your choice. No one technically has the right to tell you which dream you can and cannot follow, and anyone who tries is just not nice. > > > >5. One bad day is not enough of a reason to give up. Not two bad days or two bad weeks or two bad years, either. Life is rough, and it’s tough to handle. But that does not mean you have to stop writing — or that, if you do, your hiatus has to last forever. > > > >6. Just because multiple people aren’t constantly praising you for your work does not mean you aren’t doing good work. Much of the work you will do as a writer will go unnoticed by the masses. This is the way of things. Keep doing good work. > > ---- > > (More of the article in the link up-top.) > > My thoughts: > > Tbh, I might give my writing a backseat. > > I'm doing too many things as it is and I want to do less and just focus on what I want to do (and not what I feel I have to do). > > Plus, what I excel at so far will pay dividends down the road; I don't know if I'm ready to write a novel or not.
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cross-posted from: https://hexbear.net/post/1490209 > Yes, it's the Mormon dude. I know, I know. > > But I was recommended this by a communist friend in PSL who said I needed it and highly recommended it and said that, according to contacts he knew, he's... err, had misgivings about the faith (not sure if I should say it here). > > I'm going to start these now and see if I find them useful. Wish me luck. Just need the advice, is all.
— I’m sad – Gilbert said. — Hi Sad, I’m dad. — No dad! I’m serious! — Serious?! I thought you were Sad! Gilbert frowned. — What’s up, doc? – said dad, biting a non-existing carrot. — I’m gonna miss you, dad. — Why!? Am I going anywhere? He had already gone. Dad laughed. Gilbert cried. Dad wasn’t being facetious. He wasn’t there anymore. The doctor had been clear. Idiopathic Paternal-Onset Jocular Cognitive Erosion. The “Dad Joke Syndrome”. Nobody knows the cause, but since the 1st case in 2028 it had spread to 30% of men over 60. The only known risk factor is being a father.
Was looking for my industrialist song and turned up with this unfinished one instead. Well, here goes: I've got a small problem, most leftists ain't pure The prospect of revisionism is too much a lure China is revisionist, prolewiki has rats It's time to go thermonuclear, destroy those impure brats / I've got almighty Hoxha, the man's on my side They only have revisionist Deng to save their revisionist hides I want to destroy them all, turn them into bloody smears That's my entire life's work, gotta go thermonuclear / Construct some more bunkers to stop the revision army ignore material conditions, now they can't harm me Cower in my bunker all day and night Let the revisionists come and then we'll fight / I'm no revisionist, I'm as left as they come I'm not like those lemmygrad rats who support revisionist Deng Listen to me for a while and then you'll understand Why it's certain that they will be crushed by Hoxha's mighty hand / It was all the revisionist prolewiki's fault they banned me so I made an alt but then they banned those alternates, too exposed my life story like an exhibit at the zoo And then they told fabricated lies designed to smear the name of I and the great anti-revisionist Enver Hoxha, so that they might force me to go... THERMONULCEAR!!!!
I do not actually believe personally in any of this, you have been forewarned. / I can't wait for the end of the world to come It'll wipe out the dirty poors in their slums The people I hate will beg to be let into my base But I'll refuse them all with a grin on my face / I'll gather all the people that I love We'll hide in my bunker as bombs fall from above I'll have a farm where I grow cattle, wheat and soy To keep away boredom I'll play vic3 and Hoi(4?) / To deter global warming, my base will have an AC I'll have a machine that recycles my pee And then we'll emerge to a nuclear wasteland Where everything has been turned into radioactive sand / I'll have a hundred, no, a thousand kids And any other survivors, in desperate bids to maintain relevancy, will marry their kids to mine Wow, the end of the world sounds fine! / My descendants will form an ethnostate And they'll make the post-human world great Sooner or later, they'll all ascend And that's how humanity will rebuild from the end / I can't wait for the end of the world to come!
Critique and advice are welcome. ~1.2k words. # Chapter 1 - Freedom "Hey! What are you doing here?", yelled one of the guards at the woman approaching the villa, home to his boss, who ran the local crime ring. "Stop right there!", exclaimed the other guard before grabbing his radio to inform his superior of what was going on. However, before his hand even reached it, and before he could perceive that the women suddenly stood right before him, he was already dead. The second guard tried to scream, but Flame killed him long before any noise escaped his throat. She felt a little sorry for the two guards, they had roughly been in the age where they would have had children, maybe seven or eight years old. She hoped they didn't, but nothing would stop her on this mission. She had a hard time feeling sorry for people working for a human trafficking group, even when they didn't really have a choice. This to some extent had been the reason she was selected for this job, she only cared about her people's code of honour, and that made her prioritise stopping the crimes these people where committing over the harm she did to their families and friends. It was a bit cruel, but many things in this world where. The way many people treated her kind was far more cruel than this. And so she continued her work, dispatching the remaining guards outside, and made her way inside. "Heh, you still think you can kill me?" she jokingly asked the squad of guards that was blocking the hallway. The guards shivered in fear at the view of Flame, a person standing at well over two meters tall, with the ears of a wolf, fuzzy long grey hair that became white towards the tips, carrying a long sword stained with fresh blood, and wearing a uniform splattered with blood stains, some new, some old. She was a truly fearful presence, striking her enemies with fear just as much as she did with her blade. "Open fire!", yelled the oldest of the guards, a man that feared little in this world, but now he knew that these were his last moments. The few bullets that were fired failed to harm, simply unable to penetrate her skin, if they hit her to begin with. In the very same second she slashed her sword through the group of enemies, killing them all. As their corpses fell to the ground, they revealed a girl, maybe 19, that had been standing behind them for a just a few seconds. She had many similarities with Flame, she too had the ears of a wolf and she too had a wolfs tail, she too had long fuzzy hair, though hers was black. Her eyes too where a bit odd, the colour different from the colours humans had. "Kill her!", commanded a man standing at the end of the corridor, and the girl attempted what she had been ordered to do. As she started to run towards Flame, she took up her sword, readying to strike. Flame took up her sword, this time in a defensive position. Her sword was a beautifully crafted blade, reflecting and scattering the light shining on through a window above it. The girls sword was far less impressive, it was a rusty, half broken dagger. She knew her sword would probably shatter when it hit Flames sword, but she took her chance. She didn't really know why she did it, she had never wanted to work for these people. They had picked her up on the streets of the nearby city, where her parents had abandoned her. They didn't want to raise a child that wasn't quite human by their standards. A common fate for those like her, Flame herself suffered a similar fate in her youth. Serving these people was an insult to her honour, an insult to her self and to all of her people. She hated herself for this, but she didn't think she could stop either. If she didn't kill her, the other guards would kill the woman, and than probably her as well. She knew it was the right and honourable thing to do, yet she was to afraid to do it. She was scared of the future, and her past, the woman in front of her, the man behind her and her own wrongdoing. Yet she raced to wards the woman, aiming her sword as well as she could, and a mere second later she struck her opponents sword. Her weapon shattered into a cloud of metal fragments, one hitting her face, leaving a deep wound over her left eye, almost taking her eyesight. She fell on her back, hitting her head on the ground causing her fall unconscious for a couple of seconds. "You better lay there until i come back to get you." said Flame, visibly not impressed by the girls decision. She then walked around the girl, and then dealt with the remaining guards and their boss. A task that took her just as little time as getting to this point in the first place, and only a few minutes later she returned. "Get up and follow me.", said Flame, the young girl only answered in silence. She had broken the code of honour, she had let other people use her power for bad, she had not taken her chances to flee, she had even attacked someone who was freeing her. She didn't have honour or pride, she didn't really have a name, as her parents never bothered to give her one, and those that enslaved her where content in using slurs to refer to her. And without her honour. She knew that what she did was not irredeemable, and that she could clear her self, that she could regain her honour, friends and find a mentor to teach her. But she didn't think she ever would. It was possible, but would anyone let her? Could she do even do it? She didn't know, the only thing she could do was follow the woman who had freed her. After a while of walking she started talking: "Whats your name?" "Flame." "That's a really nice name." "What's yours?" The young girl paused for a minute: "I don't have one." The wound above her eye was still bleeding. "We'll need to do something about that...", said Flame with a rather concerned tone in her voice. "Helena should be with the extraction team, she'll fix you up a little." She was sincerely worried about the young girls health, being blind on one eye really wasn't a problem she needed on top of all the ones she already had. They soon after reached the extraction point, Helena and the rest of the team already waiting for them. "Who's that girl?", asked Helena. "I met her in the villa, she's one of my kind, so i will take her with me." "What's her name than?", Flame didn't answer for a second, and then replied: "Doesn't have one. Can you fix her eye?" "Of course!" Helena grabbed her first aid kit, got up and started to do her work: "This might hurt a little... You eye should be fine, but that will leave a scar."
So, hey, guys, it’s me, commiespammer I think you all deserve a sort of, you know, ironic but also not ironic explanation of my political views. Or, you know, maybe you’re just here for a funny song. I hope this is funny. It’s probably not. Being irony poisoned is probably outdated now. But regardless— / So, I think I owe you guys a bit of an explanation And I figured I could write a song, since I’m big on procrastination. What are my unironic views? Have you ever wondered at all? Am I really an ML? Am I on the left at all? / The truth is that I’m a centrist of sorts I’m a communo-normie, in internet words. Just an overton window shifted much to the left I like basic ideals like hating wage theft. / Yeah, I support AES, sure, but I haven’t read much. Maybe a few short articles like On Authority and such. I’ve got Beyond Pink and Blue downloaded in my files I could figure out how to open EPUBs but I’m too lazy to go the extra mile. / When I struggle session happens I watch from the sidelines I’m too much of a coward to take sides, every time What if the side I support’s really shit? My aesthetic-leftist ego couldn’t take a bigger hit / Why jump into a conflict and risk being wrong? When I could pretend like I supported the winners all along? A centrist point of view may be infuriating to some But I’ll just go deeper into my irony-shell to ignore what I’ve become / I’m not oppressed at all, I’m privileged as a leech I’m drowning out actual concerns with my indifferent speech I’m a self-deprecating irony poisoned piece of shit And I’m too removed to do self crit / (Except as sarcastic, vaguely written slop) / So, have your views on me changed? Do you now think that I’m insane? I hate how I lack humility Just a communo-normie🎵 / Ha ha, I’d better log off for a few days and read a book or something!
It's a lazy boring sunday afternoon Nothing on television but reruns of old cartoons Refresh my inbox across sites again and again Mindlessly checking for notifications I’m so, so, extremely bored Finding tidbits of information for my useless trivia hoard Why can’t anything in life excite me anymore I might be materially well off but spiritually I’m poor I could get off youtube and do something productive I could learn a new skill online or actually be constructive But I’m not doing those things, I’m a procrastination master I just scroll through my feed, ever searching faster I’m so, so, extremely bored Finding tidbits of information for my useless trivia hoard Why can’t anything in life excite me anymore I might be materially well off but spiritually I’m poor Is there anything interesting? It stimulates my brain Then the dopamine is gone and I’m back to numbed down pain An article five paragraphs and then I’m moving on Maybe in the next refresh I’ll find a decent song I’m so, so, extremely bored Finding tidbits of information for my useless trivia hoard Why can’t anything in life excite me anymore I might be materially well off but spiritually I’m poor I look through my email again but it’s just ads and spam I consume the messages online like a docile lamb The posts on my favorite forums haven’t updated at all The same old comments keep me temporarily enthralled I’m so, so, extremely bored…
In an alternate history work of fiction, what would be a good way to rationalize/justify a world in which there is no usage of fossil fuels? I think in this alternate history / worldbuilding idea, the physical matter still exists - there is coal, oil, etc, in the earth, but I am wondering if we can come up with a satisfying reason why humans could not make use of anything more efficient than peat in production. Is there a scientific-sounding explanation that could be given to make a world in which coal and oil are useless in industry? I have been reading "The Future is Degrowth" and "The Origin of Capitalism" and that is what inspired this. The first book says something along the lines of "the capitalism we know, of endless accumulation, is fundamentally a fossil capitalism". The second book makes a very convincing case that what existed in England centuries before fossil fuels was already distinctly (agrarian) capitalist. Interest in everyone's thoughts and ideas about how this could be constructed, and what sort of events could play it out in the cradle of capitalism but also worldwide.
I am working on a rewrite of the Star Wars sequels to address many shortcomings, missteps, and missed opportunities that I saw in those films. My critiques are **not** those of a certain subset of SW fans who believe the films were too "woke". In fact, the things I have planned for my rewrite would probably give those guys a heart attack. I understand that I will never be able to monetize this, otherwise the big Mouse will drop a Death Star on my head. My intent is to start with completing a written treatment of my vision of Episode 7 and then produce that in video format using my own art assets and non-copyright music that sounds John Williams-esque. Once I get some response to that, I think then I would like to flesh out the ideas I have for Episodes 8 and 9. I'm happy to share concepts and bounce ideas if interested! One of the main througlines of this trilogy is an armed Droid Revolution.
Just floating the idea around. I'm thinking of writing a web novel, but it's not communist (so don't feel compelled to write about communist plots or shit all day). Fictional, btw.