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  1. The ones who were bored, they had to be floored,
    so we filled them with cement and lead.
    And the pyros on fire, lit their own pyre,
    so we figured they sought be dead.

    Some poked at bees, then climbed up into trees,
    crying at how they’d been stung.
    And I thought in my mind, neither pleasant nor kind,
    how they’d pretty much asked to be hung.

    If there is a god, she’s a funny old sod,
    and people - her funniest joke.
    Puppy or cat; shit, I’d even pick rat,
    but it’s the last time that I’m picking bloke.

    Perhaps I’ll pick whale, with a bloody big tail,
    diving deep to catch giant squid.
    Or a big kangaroo with a joey or two.
    That sounds like an excellent bid.

    If I were a snake, I’d eat all your cake,
    having bitten you into the grave.
    Or a scary arachnid; don’t get distracted.
    What, your hubby? He was never that brave.

    If I were a possum, I’d lick every blossom,
    then poop on you from way up high.
    Or a bird on the wing, I would soar, I would sing,
    and... also poop on you from the big sky.

    When I am dead, having dropped on my head,
    I pray that this memory lingers.
    That I don’t get took by a sly salesman’s hook,
    “Sonny, what you want are fingers!”
    Iain Aschendale likes this.
  2. The leopard does not change his spots,
    and once decided, twats are twats.
    El mono, por más que viste de seda,
    no importa que hace, mono se queda.


    But let us pretend you could slip from your skin,
    and take a new form, thus blend right in.
    Be that the case and assuming you can,
    the win is still mine, you sad little man.

    Come in your true form, or in disguise,
    one way or the other, the hills will have eyes,
    and noses, and ears, and tongues that do speak.
    twenty-four, seven; all day, all week.
    123456789 likes this.
  3. “Guilty on all counts, your honor,” I said.

    “You understand the nature of your plea, right?” asked the judge, his plain but not unkind countenance fixed upon me piercingly.

    “I do, your honor.”

    Did I?

    “I want to hear in your own words, sir, so that I can be sure.” The judge was certainly giving me every opportunity to sidestep and take a different route, but I was committed.

    “Your honor, I appreciate what you are doing. I do. But I am guilty. I went into their world and was initially intoxicated by what I found. I don’t say that as an excuse, just a reason, an anchor, if you’ll allow the metaphor, for how and why I stayed. I didn’t think I was going to like it as much as I did, but, months later, there I was, still there. I never understood it fully, to be honest. The fervor, the passion, the reason for the level of pathological commitment, and maybe trying to understand that was part of what kept me there too.” I paused, unsure if I was ready to say the ugly things about myself that were fighting for control of my tongue.

    “Go on,” said the judge.

    “They got into the most insane battles over ships and AU’s and I never really understood the meaning of coffee shop, not the way they used it, not the way they kept invoking that term. It never alluded to the same thing twice.”

    The judge nodded.

    “I wanted to know, to understand how these fires could burn like magnesium, to learn the dynamics behind antis and anti-antis, and anti-anti-antis and the proxy wars to which each of them gave birth. And the whole alpha/beta/omega thing, your honor, it was like turning over a rock just to enjoy being grossed out by what you found underneath. But…” And here was the truth. “… I was only ever a voyeur, and worse, my voyeurism was judgie and condescending and dismissive. I mean, seriously though, how does one whip oneself into a murderous rage over het ships vs gay ships? How does that result in arson? Multiple arson? I’m not really asking you to answer that, your honor. Obviously it’s rhetorical. But I saw it time and time again. And you couldn’t ask about these things without actually invoking the very things you were asking about. It would be as if talking about electricity created it, or talking about ice caused things to freeze. And there was a certain voyeuristic pleasure in that too, your honor. I know that doesn’t paint me as the nicest person, but it’s true.”

    The judge tapped his chin contemplatively with the end if a pen. “If you’re released, do you plan on returning?”

    I released a heavy breath through flapping lips. “Probably. Despite all the insanity, the rage, and the colossally sensitive nature of the denizens, there’s also a charm there that I can’t resist. So, yeah. If I’m honest, yes.”

    “You understand that if I release you, if I forgive these charges, and you go back there and get the brickbats, you won’t be allowed to form a complaint against them. You’ll have gone of your own free will, and whatever happens is on you. Understand?”

    “I do, your honor.”

    “Fine. I appreciate your honesty, but, as I’ve already stated, you’re on your own after this.” The judge banged his gavel. “Charges dismissed. You’re free to go.”

    I thought he was done, but his bright little eyes flicked up at me and he said, “One more question for you. Did you write that smutty little Expanse slashfic called [redacted]?”

    “Yes, your honor. That was me.”

    “It wasn’t half bad, but sex between two guys doesn’t work like that in zero-g. A little more research and it would have been a better story.”
    Shenanigator, Some Guy and jannert like this.
  4. I’ve been on the internet since the day it was born. Actually, since before that because when I was in the USAF in the late 80's, in the land of SCIFs, I made use of the communications channels that lent at least part of their code to what eventually became the modern Internet in 1991.

    And it’s never happened to me. Ever.

    Today I get yet another melodramatic message asking me to delete all traces of an account, a thing we do not do, and which not even the GDPR demands of us. Your identifying information? Yep, we’ll delete that. Your thousands of posts? Nope. Not going to happen and there’s nothing demanding that we do it. Sorry. No.

    But that’s not the core of the kvetch.

    I just don’t get what people are doing to cause these things to happen to them. In a fucked up way, I’m kinda’ wondering when and if I’ll ever actually have a stalker that I can’t get away from because I feel like I’m not getting the full experience, the whole ride, the complete park-hopper pass, so to speak. In the fic forums I follow, stalkers and personally appointed trolls are a dominant topic. Everyone’s talking about it, all the time, and me sitting in the corner feeling like the ugliest boy in the room, not even worthy of a stalking, because…

    It’s never happened to me.

    I’ve modded or adminned this forum for a decade now. I’ve banned the living daylights out of many people, some of them multiple times, all of whom thought it was personal, thought I “didn’t like them”, thought I sided against their politics, their gender, their religion, their {fill in the egocentric blank}, so god(s) know(s) there has been opportunity enough for it to happen.

    It’s never happened to me.

    Never.

    Every platform has a block or a hide or a delete feature. Every platform gives me a level of control over my engagement that means someone else only ever has the power over me that I give to that person.

    So what gives?

    Are we just drawing the line in the sand in completely different places? Is it the difference between adhering to a system of internal vs external loci of control? Is it just the difference between “I’ll just block this faff of a person” (click!) vs “I shouldn’t have to do a damned thing!”

    It’s never happened.
  5. If

    Janet Jackson has a new song and video out with Daddy Yankee, which is FIRE right now in Puerto Rico. The song itself is fun, vivacious, Caribbean, African, and the repeated refrain is that we’re “made for now, not tomorrow”.

    And the song got me to going through old Janet videos, and some of Michael’s, and realizing that neither of these legends could have or would have been allowed to flower in today’s hyper-vigilant climate. There’s too much policing from all sides for such demigods to rise, for the envelope to be pushed that hard. The People won’t have it.

    You’re about to list a number of mega-stars on the rise today.

    Spare me.

    They don’t come close in stature. They don’t hold a candle in regards to artistic breadth and depth. Their deepest dives are Janet’s wadings in the shallow end. Myth making is on hold. You won’t allow it.

    I was watching her uncensored video for “If” and thinking, even if it got made today, it would likely only air on HBO in America with a “clutched pearls” trigger warning. Black people engaging in apparent blacksploitation. And wait… wait… oh, no you didn’t! This video is not taking place in an extremely high-end Asian brothel?!

    *paces the room in stunned bemusement*

    I mean, where to even begin?!

    *looks for cellphone to dial 911*

    “Yes, police? Yes, Janet Jackson is being all kinds of wrong in this nasty-ass video. I need you to go do something about this, ASAP! What? Well, for starters, there's felony cultural appropriation happening. And it just gets worse from there.”​

    If you missed the sarcasm above, allow me to clarify: scathing sarcasm.

    But maybe it’s also like a cycle. The works of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac were a direct response to the cultural stranglehold they felt around their necks. I think it’s funny that when we look over our shoulders at the 50’s, we see only the whitewashed version of it, the retconned version, so to speak. We ignore, we unsee, the deep subterranean rumbling that was shaking the land and about to give birth to the 60’s.

    I wish I had the chops of Allen Ginsberg in order to document the power struggle in play now, in culture, in life, in this very forum, the way he did. To give words and shape and meaning to the waring factions, the self-appointed, self-anointed, Shutupsky Police Squads (both red and blue, genuflect now) patrolling the threads, to tell that future generation just how and why we devolved into a spittle-beflecked writhing mass on the floor.

    I miss the days of freedom that gave birth to Janet and Michael. I wonder who will be the Allen and the Jack to rise from this pressure cooker of fingermen in back alleys ready and waiting to pounce on your political incorrectness (both red and blue, though each will swear in church and court on stacks of bibles that it only ever comes on the opposing flavor).

    If you're to young to know the video I mentioned above...

    Danny2215 and Lifeline like this.