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#Eve Tuck
damnesdelamer · 1 year
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DECOLONIAL ACTION READING
I recently compiled these to add to a comrade’s post about Land Back, but actually I think they deserve their own post as well.
Amílcar Cabral - Return To The Source
Frantz Fanon - The Wretched Of The Earth
Hô Chí Minh - archive via Marxists.org
Thomas King - The Inconvenient Indian
Abdullah Öcalan - Women’s Revolution & Democratic Confederalism
Edward Said - The Question Of Palestine
Thomas Sankara - archive via Marxists.org
Eve Tuck & K. Wayne Yang - Decolonization Is Not A Metaphor
Other key names in postcolonial theory and its practical application include:
Sara Ahmed
Homi K. Bhabha
Aimé Césaire
Albert Memmi
Jean-Paul Sartre
Léopold Séder Senghor
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
All of these will help you interpret and confront the realities of colonisation, and ideally help us understand and extend solidarity to comrades around the globe. Decolonise your mind, and don't stop there!
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propertiesofjoy · 1 year
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a glossary of haunting, eve tuck & c.ree
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ashtrayfloors · 7 months
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Monsters
People who deny the persistence of settler colonialism are like the heroes in American horror films, astonished that the monster would have trouble with them. Denial is a key component of the plotlines, the evil might get you if you look too deeply at the horror. You can only look between fingers on a hand that covers your eyes.
The promise of heroic resolution is a false assurance. Revenge films provide another more useful storyline for addressing the following questions: What is a monster? (A monster is one who has been wronged and seeks justice.) Why do monsters interrupt? (Monsters interrupt when the injustice is nearly forgotten. Monsters show up when they are denied; yet there is no understanding the monster.) How does one get rid of a monster? (There is no permanent vanquishing of a monster; monsters can only be deferred, disseminated; the door to their threshold can only be shut on them for so long.).
—Eve Tuck and C. Ree, from "A Glossary of Haunting"
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hesitationss · 1 year
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A Glossary of Haunting (2013) by Eve Tuck and C. Ree
But why haunting?
Haunting is the cost of subjugation. It is the price paid for violence, for genocide. Horror films in the United States have done viewers a disservice in teaching them that heroes are innocent, and that the ghouls are the trespassers. In the context of the settler colonial nation-state, the settler hero has inherited the debts of his forefathers.
Monsters
People who deny the persistence of settler colonialism are like the heroes in American horror films, astonished that the monster would have trouble with them. Denial is a key component of the plotlines, the evil might get you if you look too deeply at the horror. You can only look between fingers on a hand that covers your eyes.
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cyberdank · 5 months
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from Eve Tuck's A Glossary of Haunting (available to read on her website!!)
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sirenita00 · 2 years
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shadeslayer · 2 years
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In many desire-based texts [...] there is a ghostly, remnant quality to desire, its existence not contained to the body but still derived of the body. Desire is about longing, about a present that is enriched by both the past and the future. It is integral to our humanness.
Eve Tuck, Suspending Damage: A Letter to Communities
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lionofchaeronea · 6 months
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Hallowe'en, Raphael Tuck and Sons, 1908
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lavendersartistry · 2 months
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Once Upon a Starry Night
Space Riders AU - @onyxonline Eve Ewe, Bolt - @lavendersartistry
This is a wholesome fic for onyxonline's Space Riders AU! This is mainly centered on the ask I sent to Onyx about the Space Critters attending a ball/gala! Please check Onyx out, their work is super cool!
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"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'RE GOING TO A GALA???"
Upon CraftyCorn's quick turn to DogDay, CatNap frowned at the sudden yell.
By what Bubba has said, their pen pal Eve had invited them all to the evening gala. A bit late for the invitation, as Bubba would put it. But it had seemed fair to have everyone come as a little reward for their recent successful missions.
"Princess Everiene has courtly spoken that we come to the gala as special guests. A very nice gesture of Her Majesty."
CraftyCorn nearly squealed at the news and ran off to prepare and to most likely make formal attire for everyone.
CatNap signed with a puzzled look.
'Do you think Z will come?'
DogDay shrugged and looked back at the set coordinates for Eve's planet.
"I don't know, being honest. He's never met Eve before and I think the gala would be a bit overwhelming."
Bubba nodded and leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of coffee.
"It's to have them meet at their own time. Maybe Z and Eve will get along well."
CatNap signed again.
'So DogDay is free from gossip for now. Oh well, there's always Bolt.'
"What do you mean by that?"
'I'll tell you when we get there.'
........
The gala felt like a fairytale. Elaborate gowns, fancy suits, divisions of the royal courts.
Bobby could nearly squeal at how glamorous the ordeal was, yet CraftyCorn had to calm herself before she actually squealed.
Hoppy and KickinChicken were busying themselves at the buffet tables, lightly fighting over the desserts while PickyPiggy snagged a few cookies in her pockets.
Bubba mingled with the other guests, mostly talking to a blue monarch butterfly lady.
That left DogDay and CatNap left to their own devices. However, they only observed from the drinking table as DogDay looked for Bolt.
"It's a bit past 11. Shouldn't they be announcing Eve coming?"
CatNap shrugged and leaned his head against his closed fist as he mindlessly floated. The captain, on the other hand, sighed and looked back to the dancing crowds, waiting patiently.
A quick lightning bolt strikes the garden path as Bolt approaches the drinking table while grumbling. Despite being so angry, he seemed quite handsome in his blue and gold suit.
Before the two critters could greet him, the wolf slammed his fists against the table.
"Damn that council..."
CatNap raised a eyebrow at him, quickly signing.
'Is Eve alright?'
Bolt sighed heavily and tried calming himself.
"No, she's not! That council, once again, projects onto her! And of course, I can't do much of the matter either."
DogDay patted his back in assurance, being a little upset himself.
As the two tried comforting their friend on the situation, the candle lights from the chandelier dimmed. The three watched as the music became softer and people by the end of stairs moved away.
Eve was guided down the stairs, the silver trim of her dress glittering from the hidden spotlight. Her expression remained calm despite the quick glances to Bolt.
CatNap looked towards Bolt and signed:
'Go to her.'
The wolf sighed softly and leaned back.
"I... I can't. Not when I already caused enough trouble for the both of us."
DogDay didn't believe his words, quickly nudging him.
"Sometimes you have to go against the rules. Go to her, Bolt."
The wolf looked at the both of them and let out another sigh before heading over as DogDay and CatNap watched.
"So how did you know Bolt had a long crush on Eve again?"
'I have my ways.'
[Added Bonus (for funsies!]
"I felt like a father figure."
"Watch me make it canon."
:3 you're welcome Onyx lol
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oksanas-sun · 9 months
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biggest comfort is editing bedtime oksana and eve ✨💫
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abimee · 1 month
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forgot to reply to a couple different anons back in january about me getting into automata but this one still makes me smile cause i reflewxively call them all my losers mentally because of it
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damnesdelamer · 8 months
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What flavour of communist and/or gay are you? /Gen
I'm not really sure what this means.
Not to spout clichés or take myself too seriously, but to some extent I think labels confine us within rigid structures which ultimately only serve our enemies. I know it's just a shortcut, but even the fact that you say 'flavour' kinda reiterates the idea that lots of the associated terminology positions us as existing for consumption.
Of course I know language matters. Indeed, I think a disproportionately large amount of leftist in-fighting is down to word choice and communication. More often than not, when anarchists refer to the state and Leninists refer to capital or bourgeois democracy, we're all talking about the same systems of harm and oppression. I also believe that what's most important is what we do, not how we identify.
I actively avoid the 'discourse' surrounding queer terminology. For years in my youth I railed against the word 'bisexual' because I didn't like that it implied I have two distinct sexualities, and for awhile I even called myself 'ambisexual' in an attempt to prompt a deconstruction thereof. But then I decided that I like the colours of the bi flag, which is really all that matters, because it's just aesthetics.
So I guess let me put it this way: I'm a trade union organiser who specifically represents queer union members. I grew up reading Marx, and some of the greatest influences through my adolescence on how I approach the world were Gramsci and Mao, and later Fanon and Butler. I spent a lot of my twenties questioning whether I count as trans, as I have always been very comfortable with both my masculinity and my femininity, but at some point I realised very clearly that the gender I was assigned at birth is not reflected in either.
I very strongly believe in the value of Lenin and Leninism to global struggle; but likewise I have taken a lot from Malatesta, Luxemburg, Adorno, and so on. I also think, while they are to be scrutinised rigorously, there is much to be gained from the likes of Trotsky, Foucault, or ‎Žižek. I am a staunch anti-Zionist, but Memmi nevertheless teaches us a great deal about the plight of the colonised.
I am probably closer to an orthodox Marxist than I am to a Leninist or anarchist, but ultimately I think all this orthodoxy reeks of bourgeois affectation. The questions we should be asking are: who is most impacted by the realities of a given situation, and what are they saying, what do they need? Once upon a time in the west, and certainly still in most cases, this is BIPOC and sexual others, so we read Davis and Feinberg and Öcalan and Ahmed and Tuck and Yang. It is the strength of the revolutionary to adapt to the material conditions at hand, and remain undaunted.
In the end, we have more in common with one another than we have with ruling classes, right? So let us gather together! If this is the final struggle, let each stand in our place.
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officialgleamstar · 9 months
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I love but also hate watching a media and just feeling like. Oh God. I am 100% going to be abnormal about this going forward
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scarletooyoroi · 6 months
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Skirk's abyssal moon huh
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"NOW YOU LISTEN HERE--"
AHEM.
"I'm sure you're aware this is just a matter of studying techniques!" Sacred techniques that required a considerable frame of reference. Why, it's not his fault his eyes keep focused upon the goals!
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frogspawned · 1 year
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villanelle's daemon would be a portia spider. a hunter of other spiders, a clever and dramatic killer, tailoring methods to its prey. it is so tiny. she always seems alone. what is her daemon? does it watch? does it go far from her? most unsettlingly, does she have a daemon at all? and she would enjoy that most of all, the uncertainty.
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Parties were NOT Simon Riley's cup of tea. Not only did they drain his social battery, but he was the type of man that much preferred the comfort of a good book and his bed over that of social interaction.
But today was New Year’s Eve, and not only had Soap practically threatened him to come, you would be there. Seeing you would make attending the shitty party worth it. Seeing you always made anything worth it.
Simon walked into the mess hall, his heart racing slightly as he realized just how many people were here. All of the soldiers still on duty were gathered, eating, drinking, joking. Just the sheer amount of chaos that was ensuing made Simon want to run back to his room.
Until he saw you.
He found you watching TV, nursing on some concoction of drink, a languid smile on your lips as you saw him approach.
“Sergeant.” Simon nodded in your direction as he came to stand by you, thankful you couldn’t see the crimson forming in his cheeks.
“Lieutenant.” You smiled up at him, before letting your eyes fall back to the TV in front of you. "Surprised to see you here tonight."
Simon grunted in reply, his eyes scanning the crowded mess hall, finding his Scottish friend laughing with a group of recruits. "Johnny forced me. Plus, the company isn't so bad."
You turned your face slightly, a blush reaching your cheeks at his admission. "Glad to know my company is suitable for you."
You both stood watching the party for a while as a comfortable silence fell between the two of you. This was one of the things Simon adored about you. You never forced him to talk, which frankly, made him all the more eager to do so with you.
“Y/N-.” He began, but Johnny had cut him off with a tap of his glass.
"Alright everyone, begin the count down! It’s ten seconds to midnight!” Johnny called out, grabbing everyone's attention, prompting nearly everyone in the mess hall began to shout out the countdown.
"Ten!"
You couldn't help but look over at your lieutenant, your breath hitching slightly as you saw he was already looking at you, his soft brown eyes softening as they locked on you.
All of the noise in the background, the cheers, the conversations, the sound of the TV, all vanished in that moment. The only thing mattering to you was the way that Simon Riley was looking at you.
"Nine!"
Your many years alongside him began to swirl in your head, all the long missions, the close calls, all those times he risked his life for you, and you for him. All those times he'd let you in to see the man behind the mask, the man that was Simon Riley.
Your feelings for him had only grown in all the time you'd been alongside him, and you found yourself utterly and completely in love with your superior.
"Eight!"
Simon took a step closer to you, his eyes remaining as stoic as ever as they stayed locked on yours. You always hated how you could never tell what he was thinking, could never read what he was feeling by his looking in his eyes.
God, what you would give to be able to know what was going on in that gorgeous head of his right now.
If only you fucking knew.
"Seven!"
You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as his he now stood almost chest to chest with you, his frame towering over yours as he looked down at you. You blinked a few times, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. "Hi."
"Hi." He replied, his tone quieter than usual. His hands began to shake slightly as he slowly began to move one of them toward the base of his balaclava.
"Six!"
You watched as he pulled his mask up, revealing a handsome jaw, lined with stubble. His lips were littered with scars, and you couldn't help but stare at them. From what little you could see of his face, you realized just how fucking pretty he was. As if there was any doubt.
"S-Simon." You breathed out, the intensity of his gaze sending a heat coursing throughout the entirety of your body. You couldn’t help yourself, you let your hand grip lightly at his arm, prompting him to chuckle softly.
"Five!"
Simon leaned toward you, his finger lightly touching your chin as he tilted your face up towards his. You found yourself leaning up toward him, your heels leaving the ground slightly.
His touch was so gentle against your chin despite the rough texture of his fingers, and it took everything in you not to moan at the tenderness of his touch.
"Four!"
“You want this?” He asked, his voice holding a nervousness you’d never been on the receiving end of before. “With me?”
All you could do was nod up at him, not trusting yourself to speak. You don't think you'd ever been this nervous in your life, your mouth running dry in anticipation.
"Three!"
This was it, wasn’t it? After all these years, after all those long nights, those deep talks, those longing glances… was this really about to happen?
"Two!"
Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as you felt his breath on your mouth, his lips being just a hair away from your own. You could hear him inhale sharply, and watched as his eyes darted toward your mouth.
"One!"
It was as if time stopped when his lips finally met yours. They slotted against yours so effortlessly, almost as if they were made to be kissed by you.
After years of loving Simon Riley, he was finally, finally kissing you. And it was everything you could ever have hoped it would be.
He pulled away a moment later, the smile on his lips now reaching his beautiful brown eyes. “Happy New Year, sergeant.”
A Happy New Year indeed.
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