i think about ten pints all the time for obvious reasons but also because up until she realized the actual point of the game brit was 100% prepared to kill mallick to win

“Cerebos: The Crystal City” Actual Play Part III: The End

This is the third and final entry in a series of posts recounting a session of actual play from Cerebos: the Crystal City, currently crowdfunding on Kickstarter. The first two parts can be found here:

https://tumblr.penguinking.com/post/646498084013195264

https://tumblr.penguinking.com/post/646788426842128384

This session was conducted on March 20th, 2021, with Matthew Dorbin as GM, and Amelia Gorman, Ashley Flanagan, Will Mendoza, and Kevin Snow playing. The events of play were recorded by Zach Welhouse.

The First Leg of the journey has ended, and the Lady in Blue is the Seeker. She remembers her past: she was a small-time crook who left the City by the Sea to kill her murderous, thieving sister. Having pieced together her past, she has until arriving at Cerebos to decide if she still wants to kill the Lady in Red.

The Unqualified Robot, Tinderling, and the Lonesome Seafarer won’t find the answers they were looking for in Cerebos. However, they’ve ridden the rails with the Lady in Blue long enough they may have learned something else. Aiding her in her journey may clarify their own futures.

Tinderling and the Unqualified Robot hope the Lady in Blue will kill her sister. Actions have consequences and violence is sometimes necessary to restore balance. The Lonesome Seafarer has had enough pain. She hopes the Lady in Blue will be able to move on – or find common ground with the woman who did her wrong. 

Sixth Round of Train Actions

Tinderling notices an enormous marble building in the distance. From its Greek pillars and statues of Justice, it’s probably a courthouse. None of the travellers are on especially great terms with the law, but the train stops anyway. This journey isn’t just about them. There are other passengers too!   A trial is in session when the passengers arrive, and it requires four jurors. As outsiders, the travelers are unbiased. Wigged functionaries encourage them to attend the day’s arguments.   It’s the trial of Hodur, Norse god of winter and accidental murderer of Baldr. Baldr is testifying when the jury enters: “My death was absolutely necessary! My death was all part of a larger plan!” He cites Romulus & Remus, Osiris & Set, and other famous examples of fratricide. Sometimes a death is necessary for the greater good.

Tinderling’s player spends 1 Momentum to create a Danger 2 Stop as a Saintly Revelation. She doesn’t want to make the journey to Cerebos more difficult for anybody, but she does present the Lady in Blue with an argument to stay the course.

As with the previous Stop, the other travelers should have received a Train Action before arriving at the courthouse. The GM had been keeping an eye on the clock and made an executive decision to ensure the trains kept running on time. The whole session, including several snack breaks, fit into a four-hour session with only fifteen minutes of overflow!

Stop Actions: The Trial of Hodur

The Unqualified Robot has decided to Seize the Opportunity to divest itself of its past wares. It is defined by actions now, not junky gadgets. It offers gadget after gadget from its backpack to passing barristers, seeking some way to communicate. It rolls a Success and scores a giant foam finger with “FRATRICIDE” written on it. The new jury is fitting in with the trial, so the Danger reduces to 1.  

The Lonesome Seafarer waits for a lull in the trial and vaults out of the jury box to cross-examine Hodur: “Did you mean to kill Baldr?” She rolls 1 + 5 = 6, but spends a rank of Tunnel Vision to really focus on the heart of the matter and eliminate all obstacles. The rerolled 1 becomes a 5, netting the Lonesome Seafarer an Inspired Success -- and one Momentum to her authoritative hat for rolling doubles!   Hodur begins to weep under the incisive questioning: “I could never have done it if I had known! Even if I had to for a better future, I couldn’t kill my brother!” The Stop Danger is reduced to 0. Had Tinderling paid an extra Momentum while setting up the Stop, the Unqualified Robot or the Lonesome Seafarer would have received a keepsake for their efforts.  

Tinderling, disgusted by Hodur’s breakdown, starts carving something rude in the juror’s box with her bird bone sewing needle. She’s learning that she’s really into this justified violence thing. How come these people don’t understand progress is impossible without sacrifice? She rolls to Release the Touchstone – a symbol of peace – and succeeds.   The needle snaps. She burns with clarity and gains one Contemplation.  

The Lady in Blue isn’t in danger. She rests, shakes hands with a few visiting gods, and loads up on jury cookies. She removes one Momentum.

The court is in an uproar over Hodur’s outburst. The travelers aren’t interested in being further embroiled in someone else’s problems, so they sneak out back and return to the train.

Sixth Round of Train Actions (Continued)

The Lonesome Seafarer triggers a Revelation to counter Tinderling’s full-throated endorsement of fratricide. Two high-pitched voices begin shouting from the next car: “I hate you! I wish you weren’t my sister anymore!” The fight spills over into the travellers’ car as two six-year-old girls shove and cry into each other. It’s a Danger 2 Event demonstrating that just because siblings fight doesn’t mean they have to be enemies.  

The Unqualified Robot triggers its Saintly Revelation. Since leaving the courtroom, it has been busy building an effigy – a new sibling – from its unsold junk and extraneous body parts. If it can’t communicate with people, maybe something closer to its temperament will do the trick.   Calamity strikes! After a disagreement, the Robot and its twin begin to fight. Encouraged by the violence they’ve recently observed, it escalates. Presumably the twin was at fault. The Robot’s player explains, “I think the moral here is the danger siblings hold and how they must be destroyed.” The Robot Battle Event is Danger 5, threatening to strip the train to its bones. Luckily, Cerebos is in sight!

Since the Saints and Demons have introduced their Revelations, it’s time for the Endgame. Cerebos arrives! Its towering spires of crystal and neon illuminate the night. Squabbling siblings, a pair of robots engaged in an all-out hurly burly, and passengers who have begun to take sides pour from the train, attracting the attention of a number of station agents armed with stern frowns and truncheons.

Normally, the gates of Cerebos are a Danger 2 Stop, but the unresolved Events from the train boost it to a worrying Danger 4. 

Stop Actions: The Gates of Cerebos

Tinderling stands on a barrel and fans the flames of animosity, pulling unrelated passers-by into the fight: “Hey! This is what happens when you have an evil twin. Monsters are monsters and they don’t change!” She Causes Trouble to boost the Stop to Danger 6 and extend the scene. Everyone receives an extra cycle of Stop Actions.  

The Lonesome Seafarer also trusts her words to address the growing riot, arguing for peace. She draws on the harsh lessons she learned from Scurvy, her missing mate: “You have to give people a chance to change!” It’s like shouting into a storm. Fists and rocks fly as she takes Damage, her words unheeded.  

The Unqualified Robot briefly breaks free from its apocalyptic struggle with its evil twin. These… emotions are just holding it back. It tries to Release its last remaining expression slide, a smiley face defaced by angry eyebrows.   An Ugly Break. Communication is easy when it involves throwing things. It gains Momentum on its whiskey flask and gains Contemplation. It thanks Tinderling for introducing the path of rage.  

The Lady in Blue lays into the fray with elbows and right hooks, clearing people away from the Unqualified Robot. They’ve shared whiskey. Everyone just needs to stand back. She takes Damage and reduces the Danger to 4.  

Tinderling is taken aback at the chaos she has unleashed. It was all going so well, but the Unqualified Robot is taking a lot of hits. It’s burning too bright! She Seizes an Opportunity and starts laying into station police and onlookers alike. Even spending Burns at Both Ends to flare up like a hero, she takes Damage to reduce the Danger to 3.  

The Lonesome Seafarer pushes through the thinning crowd of combatants to the main event: robot vs. robot. She engages the evil twin with watertight logic and the Coat of Thesus Trait: “That robot is made out of your same parts! Why would you fight yourself? That’s not fratricide. That’s suicide!” After a string of unlucky rerolls, she ekes out a Partial Success, taking Damage while wrestling the Evil Twin off the Unqualified Robot. Danger 2.  

The Unqualified Robot scrambles back, throwing everything in reach at its evil twin: unsold junk, garbage, rocks. It’s not enough. The only way to end this is to carry its actions to their logical conclusion.   The Unqualified Robot tears off its head and flings it at the effigy.   The effigy, stunned by the extreme act of violence (and the high-velocity assault) explodes. Danger 1.  

The Lady in Blue needs a moment. Watching her travel companion tear off its head to kill its sibling is a lot. Battered passengers and station police slink off. A siren wails in the distance.   The Lady in Blue turns to the squabbling children from the train, who stayed focused on one another the whole time the battle raged around them. “Kids. Let’s talk. What happened?” she asks.   The sisters explain a very long, very important story that involves teasing and boysenberry (or possibly poisonberry) tea. It is ridiculous.   The Lady in Blue sighs long and deep. “It’s not like I’m not already headed to Hell. Try this, kids. This is what real poison tastes like.” She offers them each a sip of whiskey, transferring their animosity to her as they taste the rough, foul drink. Two-vs-one isn’t fair, but the Lady in Blue weathers their coughing and shin-kicking.   Failure. The Lady in Blue takes stress Damage and the round ends: “I solved a fight between two children and I feel terrible about it.”

Epilogue

Tinderling, the Lonesome Seafarer, and the Lady in Blue walk the backstreets of Cerebos. They don’t glisten with empyrean light like the main thoroughfares, but neither are they patrolled by gendarmes searching for whoever it was who started the brawl at the train station.

The Lady in Blue takes out her revolver, spins the cylinder, and stares down the barrel. She pops out the last bullet, sheathes her gun, and leaves her fellow travelers. She has chosen the Devil’s Path, deviating from her initial goal thanks – in a strong part – to the tragic brutality of the Unqualified Robot.

Everybody looks at their goals, laughing at the fresh round of revelations. The only thing left to do now is tally up Momentum and Contemplation to make epilogue rolls.

The Unqualified Robot died doing what it loved: throwing something. The end. No moral.  

Tinderling is a member of the Walking Wounded, unable to settle down in Cerebos, which seems just as bad for workers as the City by the Sea. Nevertheless, she’s gained a newfound appreciation for robot rights.   Before leaving for Cerebos, robots were machines, jerks, and scabs to Tinderling. But the Unqualified Robot taught her that treating robots like tools would only lead to calamity. Maybe her redemption lies in solidarity with all workers...  

The Lonesome Seafarer’s epilogue roll is similar to Tinderling’s. Scurvy isn’t in Cerebos, but she’s found moderating influences elsewhere: “That robot ripping its own head off has taught me some valuable things about myself.” She still hopes to find her missing mate someday, but it isn’t quite the obsession it once was. In the meantime, she’ll keep traveling.  

The Lady in Blue rolls a 4: Self-Actualization! She acknowledges the wrong the Lady in Red did to her, but finds peace in putting aside revenge. She’ll live her own life, not one controlled by a further descent into bloodshed.   Strolling the streets of Cerebos, she sees Tinderling passing out leaflets and the Lonesome Seafarer inspecting a ship-in-a-bottle in a shop window. She feels a fondness for the Lonesome Sea Captain, perhaps from the adventures they’ve had or perhaps because it was she who first directed the Lady in Blue to Cerebos.   “Captain,” says the Lady in Blue, taking the captain’s arm. “How do you feel about having a whiskey with me?”   “I’ve only had grog before,” the Lonesome Seafarer hazards.   “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

The Lady in Blue and the Lonesome Seafarer walk through the electric streets, arm-in-arm, in search of drinks.

Breaking the Cycle || Adam, Alcher, Ariana, Layla, & Nell

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @walker-journal @zahneundklauen @letsbenditlikebennett @laylacooke @nelllraiser SUMMARY: Alcher and Layla seek out Adam for retribution, while Ariana grabs Nell to assure no one else dies tonight.  CONTENT: Suicide ideation, disease, violence

Lyssa’s Peak was a jagged spike against the violet sky. Its wooded slopes were choked with mist as canyons and cliffs gradually succumbed down into gentler foothills whose trees occasionally thinned around an old quarry or abandoned timber operation that was gradually being swallowed again by the relentless march of the montane forest. 

It was in one of these abandoned mountainside quarries that Adam had chosen to spare, due to it being one of few clearings with reasonably level ground. Whatever unfortunate company had been tempted to sink investments into Lyssa’s Peak had long since cut their losses when the inevitable ‘incidents’ took their toll on the workforce and equipment. Abandoned cranes, dozers, and digger trucks lay quietly rusting in the quarry’s lower basin. The once clean cut and precise terrace steps of exposed rock that had formed the quarry’s sides now sported outcroppings of trees and bushes as nature reclaimed the excavation layer by layer. 

Adam’s sleeveless workout T-shirt stuck to his body with sweat as he took a break to chug down a water bottle. He offered a spare water bottle to Layla. “So ...why’d you wanna train up anyway Cooke?” 

Since Ariana had admitted the news about Adam being Winn’s killer, Layla could think of nothing else, but why and revenge. The last time anger had been harbored so deeply inside was right before she had hypnotized herself, and while she didn’t exactly have that option at the moment, she at least knew that she’d have backup sooner or later.

With sweat running down her fair face and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, she easily caught the water and began chugging it down, “I’m tired of being the weak one in everything. It’s like…” She took another drink of water, “Everyone either wants to protect me or use me for my nose. I’m not a fucking bloodhound. And if my parents ever show…” She didn’t finish her thought. Instead, she took another drink of water and capped the bottle, “You ready to go again? And don’t go easy on me. Go hard. If you hurt me, then so be it. I’ve gotta learn.” Tossing the bottle to the side, she found her fighting stance readying herself for Adam’s attack; the energy from Lyssa’s Peak fueling the fire and anger inside of her small fit form. She hadn’t quite got a good hit in on the hunter yet, but she would before the night was over with.

The hunter was a child, but Alcher had decided long ago that that no longer mattered. They were marched out of their cribs and turned into war machines as young as five, four-- perhaps even three years old. Handed swords and told that they were born with a duty, a destiny, and that only they held the power to destroy monsters. When in truth, monsters were arbitrary. To a wolf who was left alone after their family was slaughtered, the hunter was the monster. And prey was just prey. Human was just...human.

Tonight, Alcher would show this young hunter what real monster’s looked like. He was well trained, she could see it in the movements of his body. But he had come unarmed to this sparring match. Well, perhaps not completely unarmed-- she knew true hunters always carried a weapon with them, she’d learned that lesson the hard way long ago-- but there were no swords or silver bullets in sight. Sweat mixed with the smell of the forest floor. The energy of Lyssa’s Peak made the shift easy. Now, while he was distracted. Her light body was more silent among the dead leaves of the ground, but she needed to be quick-- he would hear her soon enough. She tore from the brush quickly and bee-lined for the hunter. Layla would follow suit or she would incur wrath. Golden eyes bore down on Adam, teeth and claws following quickly after. 

From what she could piece together of the messages, Ariana knew she needed to get to Adam and get to him quickly. While she was still pissed, she couldn’t just let him get killed. That’s exactly what Winn didn’t want to happen. The thought of warning Adam had crossed her mind, but then he’d likely just kill Alcher and Layla. It was enough to make her heart race as she panicked and called Nell who had of course been willing to help. She always was. Once she’d picked Nell up, a tracking spell and her nose led them to Lyssa’s Peak. The sky was getting darker and the place had a certain energy about it that made her feel stronger. The smaller hills around the area were easy enough to navigate and she could hear the sounds of a fight though it seemed friendly in the moment, but she could smell Alcher here. It was a trap. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and stayed tucked behind a tree. “We’re not far,” she whispered to Nell, “There’s something about this place, I feel stronger. I think I should go in first and you can provide magical backup as needed?” 

Part of her knew Nell may want to be more on the frontlines, but she couldn’t stand the thought of her becoming a werewolf snack. She kept herself low below the brush and made sure her steps were quiet as she approached. As she saw Alcher lunging toward Adam, she called out, “No! Adam, watch out.” No longer caring about being seen, she darted across the way to try and stop the fight without any casualties. 

Nell supposed that she could only be thankful that Ariana had told her what was happening in time for her to get her ribs healed. Desperate measures, in her terms, had been taken when it came to making sure the bones were sound enough to withstand the potential clash that was brewing. The warm tingling of a fresh healing from her mother was still settling into her chest, mixing fluidly with the buzzing beginnings of her adrenaline. She’d put the interaction as far as she could from her mind, focussing instead on the task that was now at hand. Her eyes flicked to Ariana at the werewolf’s suggestion, and Nell took a beat to chew on it before replying. “I’ll let you go first. But if I think either you or Adam’s about to go down— I’m not gonna hesitate,” she warned, knowing that she wouldn’t toy with the lives of those that were important to her. 

As Alcher leapt forward, Nell did her best to fight against the urge to rise and meet her. A lack of reaction went against every fiber of her body’s current demands, and her jaw was clenched as she forced herself to watch and trust Ariana. Instead, she fiddled nervously with the hilt of a silver dagger clenched in her hand, drawn from its hiding place. Nell’s patience only lasted so long before her gut won out, and a quick spell was dropped from her lips to raise an invisible shield between Adam and the lunging wolf. 

Adam’s too focused on sparring with Layla when a burning-ice sensation running up his spine and across his skin let Adam know a few seconds too late that another paranormal being had descended into the quarry. 

Ariana’s voice called out and Adam spun, reaching back to draw a concealed survival knife in one fluid movement born from years of conditioning that’d made such an economy of motion pure instinct. But the wolf was already on him in a blunt impact of pure accelerated muscle.  

A moment of blinding pain later, Adam jumped up from the stony ground into a guarded crouch, clutching the silvered survival knife in the hand not currently bleeding from lacerations. The impact had thrown him down and torn open his shoulder and left arm, but Adam racing thoughts recognized that he’d probably have a giant ass wolf ripping open his throat right now if ...something … hadn’t suddenly blunted the wolf’s charge. 

“You should probably go to Ariana and get the hell outta here,” Adam noted to Layla in a low voice as he warrieing stared down the three legged wolf, painfully aware that a survival knife and one good arm weren't exactly great odds. 

Everything had happened so much quicker than expected. The sparring had resumed only to be interrupted by Alcher lunging for Adam, and Layla quickly backstepping to get out of the path of the angry wolf. However, it was Ariana’s voice that had thrown her. Why was she here? She was supposed to be home or with Luna. Not around to bear witness to what was taking place.

Seeing the wolf go down and Adam freed from Alcher’s wicked grasp gave Layla the opportunity she needed. It was his warning that had only seemed to anger her more, “Why? So you can kill another one of my friends?” Head low, she could already feel the painfulness of wanting to shift, and before long, she was bearing blood covered fangs and sharp claws out of shaky hands; a sickness hovering as her body wanted more from the shift. But she had no time to waste. Adam was down, and without thinking about the consequences of her own actions, merely revenge, she lunged on top of the hunter and let her claws sink into his skin dragging them downward in advance to make him suffer just like Winn probably had.

Alcher, focused on her target, had not allowed herself to believe she had smelled Ariana’s scent in the forest around them. Or, perhaps, she had found herself hoping that the young wolf had come voluntarily to help with their mission. But her voice rang out and it called not for her or Layla, but for the hunter. And even as Alcher’s teeth sunk into flesh, and claws scraped at cloth, she could not revel in the taste of hunter blood. Instead, a rage burned inside of her, for in the next moment, something was pushing her from the hunter’s body, stopping her forward movement. Another smell, a new smell. Human-- so human. Teeth still coated in blood, she growled, low and dark, expressing her anger. Gold eyes flashed again and she turned, glowering down at the young wolf standing next to the human. Anger and disappointment ravaged Alcher’s mind, but she could not entirely fault the young wolf for her weakness. She was not raised with other wolves, she did not know properly.

Punishment would have to come later.

A small swell of pride filled her when she smelled the hunter’s blood again and she turned to see Layla digging into him. The other two would have to wait. Alcher bared her teeth again and made for the hunter’s neck. She would not kill him, though. No, that...she would leave for Layla.

There was no time to focus on the stupid decision she’d made in telling them about what really happened to Winn. Instinctively, her feet moved her forward and Ariana snarled at Layla who was now on top of Adam trying to rip into him. The energy of this place was seeping into her. Her legs were stronger, her motions more swift, and everything in her body was screaming for her to shift. Maybe that had been a little bit instinct, too. With Alcher fully transformed and Layla on her way there, there was no stopping them without allowing her more wild nature to take the lead. Still, she pleaded momentarily, “Layla, stop! This isn’t-- Winn didn’t want this, okay? This is the last thing Winn wanted.” God, she hoped he’d moved on and was at peace already so he couldn’t see this. It seemed there was no stopping the fight, especially not with Alcher here, so she focused on her breathing. 

 A few deep breaths later and she let the shift happen. The feeling this place gave her was worrying, but she had to keep her head on straight. If she didn’t, it was Adam and Nell who would pay the price. Her bones twisted and broke as she grew into her wolf self. The clothes on her back were ripped up on the ground behind her and the smell of blood was calling to her. Instinct called for the hunter’s blood, but her anger led her paws straight to Layla. The wolf ran at full speed, pummeling into Layla and knocking her off Adam. She wasn’t entirely a wolf yet, but she could still feel the resistance as she pinned her down. A loud growl in Layla’s face echoed in the hills around them. 

Nell had only recognized one of the two wolves. Layla was one she knew from having tried to execute a wrongful bounty on the girl, but the other werewolf was a mystery. Coincidentally, this was also the wolf that had been left in the clear when it came to attacking Adam. Ariana had thrown Layla off course, but there was a clear shot between the other wolf and the now bleeding Hunter. It seemed that Ariana had given up on solving this peacefully, which brought a new sharpness to Nell’s eyes and movements, shifting quickly into fight mode rather than defense.

“No!” Nell’s heart pounded out a frantic beat as she surged forwards, reminding her that there was much more hinging on this clash than usual, the literal lives of her friends being the ones dangling in danger. Performing another often-used spell to grant her temporary, heightened speed, the witch surged forwards to run interference, leaping towards Alcher, silver knife extended to plunge as she aimed for the wolf’s shoulder with a slash. Hopefully, if anything, it would serve as a distraction. Another moment later and she was using the knife on herself, drawing a line of blood down her forearm to fuel her next magic, creating two more Adams next to the original, trying to make it harder for the wolves to choose their marks when there were three apparitions giving off his scent. 

 The quarry’s stone’s bit deep as Adam struggled on his back, the muscles of his claw-raked arms and neck straining to ripcord tautness as he tried to hold off the three-legged wolf’s jaws now inches away from his throat. The creature’s breath was hot and wet against the Hunter’s face, thick with the coppery scent of Adam’s own blood dripping down her fangs. 

In that moment with death quite literally staring him in the face, Adam looked up into Alcher’s golden eyes  and also saw the eyes of Elias, amber lupine irises slowly becoming human as the knife of a football teammate ended the Turnskin’s curse. Adam saw Lucas’ pleading eyes as the hunted wolf knowingly placed his life in the hands of a killer. After that were Miles’ eyes regarding him warily, conditioned to distrust after a lifetime of regret. Adam saw Kaden’s eyes, transfixed by pain as his familys’ blood feud sought to swallow up yet another life. There were Mina’s eyes, afraid but not surprised as a stranger held her at knife-point for not being her father’s daughter. In there were Orion’s eyes as he saw Adam glance at his scars and finally grasp a depravity that’d been right in front of his face for years. Regan’s eyes were wide with confusion as she was held at gunpoint for being different in a way neither she or her assailant truly understood. The light died from James’ eyes as he was cut down by someone sworn to be his protector. 

Some unconscious part of Adam finally grasped what Celeste had already known and what Winn had died trying to get him to understand. 

But it was too late. Adam was an oathbreaker, a betrayer, a coward. 

Adam’s arms adupbtly started to give out as the wolf bore down on him. Far more than blood bled out of Adam on the quarry stones. It was like something within him snapped, pushed beyond the farthest brink of exhaustion for so long that it was finally giving out entirely. The last of embers of Adam’s dwindling faith went cold, leaving him to hopelessly fight a primal creature of myth with only a mortal strength. 

Reduced from predator to prey, Adam would’ve likely died beneath Alcher’s mauling right there if Nell hadn’t intervened, her distraction and illusions giving him just the narrow break to struggle free. 

“Nell ..Ariana,” Adam coughed hoarsely, struggling to stand but falling back to his knees as his now-human stamina. What was left of his clothes, shoulder and back were a ragged mass of claw of dirty claw-gouges. “You need to go,”

He looked up to Nell, eyes pleading with her not to perpetuate this cycle of death that’d begun generations before Adam and Winn were born. “This has gotta end with me.” 

Layla couldn’t hear Ariana’s voice because of the blind rage going through her body. All she could focus on was destroying Adam, but the jolt of another fully grown figure hitting her and knocking her off of him seemed to stun her enough to let out a yelp, before she realized she was being pinned down by the younger wolf. However, it didn’t stop the anger and frustration looming in her heart or the sense of rage Lyssa’s Peak was casting over her on an amplified level. She could feel the sickness of the bite; it’s poison as it raced through her veins and animal instinct became more prominent. And without making any attempt to stop the change, she embraced the excruciating pain as the shift took control leaving her cries soon turning into howls. And before long, golden eyes stared back into those of her best friend as she growled, before using all the hurt inside of her to push the other werewolf off.

Scampering to her feet, she noticed Adam on his knees. He was at the mercy of the beasts, and in that moment, she no longer saw a friend. She saw an enemy. One who had reminded her so much of what she was taught to do as a child. One that saw no mercy, when he aimed his gun and fired upon creatures, now like herself, that didn’t always deserve the fate they got, because a human with enhanced abilities felt it was his right to play God.

Lowering her head and snarling, spittle glistening from her open maw, she was going to make Alcher proud. Avenge Winn’s death. And take out a man who walked around so pompously pretending to be a God, when he was nothing more than a mere mortal. And without hesitating any longer, she made the mad dash in his direction with claws fully extended and teeth bared, ready to rip and tear his flesh like that of paper and snap his bones like twigs, not knowing if she would choose the right Adam. Only going off of instinct. 

Her two wolves were fighting each other and it tore at Alcher’s heart to see. But she needed to focus now-- she would have to trust that Layla could hold her own against Ariana. And hope that the confused wolf would come around to their thinking. Because in the next moment, pain tore through her shoulder. Alcher howled loudly, turning to face her attacker. The witch. She was becoming more than a nuisance, and if she prodded any further, she would also become a threat. Which meant she would have to kill her. Alcher threw her off quickly, and turned to face the hunter again-- but then there were more of him. Copies. They smelled the same, looked the same. Alcher roared angrily and leapt at one, tearing at its throat. It disintegrated in her mouth. She turned to the other two. They were weak. Staggering on their feet. Trying to sacrifice themself like some sort of martyr. She spit out blood and turned to look back at the spellcaster. The hunter deserved death, but perhaps she would let him suffer first. Unable to save his friends, he would watch.

She feigned as if to go for him once again, turning on her heel at the last minute to spring towards the spellcaster. She ran her full weight into the girl, claws curling in as if to hold onto her. And then jaws closed around her wrist, savoring the taste of her blood, while simultaneously preventing her from using her silver knife anymore. Next, her throat.

For a moment Nell hesitated, trying to make sense of Adam’s strangled plea. Was he asking for an end to the age old battle he’d been fighting for all his life? It was all she could do to shake her head in denial even though she’d told him not a week before that letting it fester would break him, giving her refusal to let him be the price for peace.  Because it wouldn’t be peace if he died. Not for the cycle, and certainly not for her. “It won’t stop, though,” she managed to grind out. It would be another turn of the gears that kept the killing machine of Hunter versus wolf still moving, the cogs bigger than this single clash. Beyond that- she was too selfish in the matter. Selfish enough to ensure that Adam lived, and selfish enough to forfeit any good that might come of seeing him die. Too many people had died, and he wasn’t a sacrifice she was willing to make. 

Her moment of stillness had stretched too long, and before Nell knew it she found herself tossed to the side. Alcher’s feint towards Adam was enough to have the witch launching herself in the wolf’s direction once again, but her eyes went wide as she realized Alcher was rising to meet her instead. It was over within a moment, a gasp of pain slipping from her as the wolf’s teeth found their mark. The deeper meaning of a werewolf bite was lost on her in the midst of the fight, not even having a moment to think of the obvious consequences it might hold when the very same teeth that had broken her skin were seeking her throat. She reached for her magic, the same that had exploded the Lamia’s head at the Ring, and unintentionally put Kaden on his knees in Bea’s kitchen. Focusing on the wolf’s leg opposite the one that was already half gone from some prior injury, she tugged with the intent to bend the leg into an unnatural position, hoping to shock the wolf into missing. A loud crack rang out as bone snapped, and Nell lived to see the wolf still above her, no doubt readying her next strike.

A snarl echoed through the clearing as Ariana saw Nell being attacked. Had she not been buzzing with wild energy, she may have been able to approach this more tactically, but as it stood, she had seen Adam in danger and ran on instinct. Now Nell was paying the price and the smell of blood in the air was calling to her. It was hard to ignore, but something about seeing Nell hurt propelled her forward. Layla was likely going to need a minute to find the real Adam and Nell didn’t have that long. Alcher’s ferocity was unnerving, especially when it was directed toward her friend. She darted forward, paws barrelling against the brush, and crashed into Alcher before she could sink her teeth anywhere more dangerous. 

The wolf in her felt out of sorts, fighting her own kind, but this was senseless. Even with her own ferocity threatening to spill over, she had to hold on to what Winn had wanted. If he could see them now, he’d be hurting and the thought only made a low growl rumble within her smaller form. Hopefully the moment for Nell to recover would give her the edge she needed. This felt like it would never end and she wished she’d thought of a better plan as she found herself craving the taste of blood.

Adam didn’t feel worthy of these two women risking their lives for him. Layla was right. He had killed Winn, a friend who’d trusted him, and there were consequences for that. He’d ignored all of Winn, Celeste, and Ariana’s warnings  about continuing the cycle of violence. 

Ari and Nell shouldn’t get killed trying to rescue Adam from something of his own making. 

But if they weren’t going to let him go, Adam needed to make sure everyone here made it out alive. 

Even just trying to keep standing seemed more than Adam had left, but even as the Hunter’s powers bled out of him, that lifelong mental conditioning to fight past the pain and focus on the mission still remained. His feet stumbled on the rough stones of this hillside quarry, and the summit of Lyssa’s Peak spun like a wheel of fortune in Adam’s blurry vision as the violet sky and bloodstained earth swapped places a couple times. But the singular goal of getting Ari and Nell out of here gave enough clarity for Adam to push back the impending blackout for a little while longer. 

He began to back away from Layla and Alcher towards the abandoned quarry’' ruined entrance, the only way out Adam could handle in his condition. He held the survival knife, a short utilitarian thing ill suited to holding off a supernatural predator, clutched in bloody-knuckled grip and pointed it towards the three legged wolf. 

“Nell, Ari,” he shouted hoarsely, “we gotta get outta here!” He motioned towards Penelope, making a stubborn but dubiously effective attempt to cover her escape away from Alcher.

Layla let her nose lead her forward, but she was confused by the scent. For the briefest of moments she thought she had sensed the right version of Adam and pushed forward, but guessed wrong and hit the ground in a lunging attack that left her stunned. Again. She had failed as she slowly came to her senses and watched as Adam backed away, his focus mainly on Alcher, proving that not even an injured hunter found her a threat.

She was sure she would hear an earful later from both Alcher and Ariana, if Ariana could even forgive her and any hope of still being in Nell’s good graces had gone out the door.

Anger was the only thing left. Even as pain ripped through Alcher’s body as her bone snapped. Even as Ariana’s body collided into hers. With a swift motion, even from the ground, Alcher turned her claws on Ariana. She smacked her square across the face and stood as much as her limbs would allow her, snarling angrily at the younger wolf, golden eyes piercing her. She raised a paw and smacked her again, shoving her away. Challenging her. Would she leave with the hunter and his witch? Or would she tuck her tail in shame and stay? The hunter was retreating, as well as his witch. They were wounded. But as Alcher looked around for Layla, she found that they, too, were injured beyond movement. It was time to retreat. They would finish this another day. Dying here was senseless, not when the hunter still walked.

They would find him later, when he was alone. And Alcher would let Layla finish it herself. He was weakened, she could sense it, and he couldn’t hold on much longer. He would be alone at some point, and they’d be waiting. 

Alcher hoisted herself up with her front paws and dragged her dangling, broken leg behind her as she made her way over to Layla. She gave the three retreating forms a glare and let them know that they could leave for now, but that this was not over, before looking to Layla. She had done good. She would be rewarded. Despite the droop in her shoulders and the tensing of her body, she had proven today that she was a real wolf. That was enough for Alcher.

Perhaps the claws colliding with her face shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Ariana. Even if she’d made an effort to not hurt anyone here, she had stood in the way of what they considered to be justice. Still, she snarled as the claws hit her face only to be met by another hit to the face. The gesture itself somehow stung more than the actual wound. It had never occurred to her that Alcher would use considerable force on her and it hurt more than she anticipated. She growled lowly, backing away, but making it clear she wasn’t going to let any further harm come to Adam or Nell. She could hear Adam in the back suggesting retreat and she was thankful for that. The last thing she wanted was for anyone here to die and if they kept going, she knew that’s what the end result would be. 

Alcher seemed to be directing Layla to follow her away. There was no fully relaxing with the energy of Lyssa’s Peak influencing her and though Layla and Alcher were now off in the distance, the wolf in her craved something more. The smell of blood in the air was a bit overwhelming and she honed in on some shuffling in the brush. Without thought, she lunged forward and dug into the rabbit. It wasn’t quite enough to satiate her appetite, but it was enough to take the edge off. A few deep breaths later, she slipped back into her more human looking form. She glanced around the clearing for her abandoned bag and was quick to grab it before slipping into the quarry. 

“We need to patch both of you up,” she directed as she kept a close ear out for their surroundings, “And I should probably throw on a change of clothes.” She threw on a t-shirt and gym shorts but kept her feet bare as she went over to Adam who had taken a brunt of the beating. She cleaned him up the best she could, but she’d need better lighting if she was going to attempt anything more serious like stitches. “We need to get him back to one of our places. Is your wrist okay?” 

Nell wasn’t sure what to make of the way Adam seemed to crumble in on himself. She’d seen him fight before, watched as he managed to bounce back from shoving his arm down a lamia’s throat. So where was that strength now? Something was wrong, but she couldn’t quite manage to put her finger on it. Retreating wasn’t something that came naturally to Nell, but even she could see that they’d done what they came here to do. Adam was safe if not battered and the same could be said for Ariana. Now what mattered most was getting out of the quarry with their lives so that they might heal. 

While Ariana changed, Nell went to work on Adam as well— recognizing that he was in much more danger than she at the moment, the claw marks running deep and long. Calling on her magic she prioritized the wounds that looked most serious, scabbing them enough to at least staunch the flow of blood loss, but building new flesh to cover them was beyond her abilities. “It’s gonna be okay,” she said almost reflexively, though she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for her friends, herself, or both. Ariana’s question hung in the air as she thought of her wrist for the first time since it had been bitten, and her stomach dropped even further towards the ground beneath her knees as she knelt to continue her healing alongside Ariana’s work. She’d been bitten. Bitten by a werewolf, and that meant— Nell promptly shut the door on that train of thought, refusing to let it hinder her in these moments when what was most important was making sure the three of them were alright. Instead she answered the werewolf’s question with another. “Are you alright?” The last blow the other wolf had gotten in had looked nasty. “Mine’s closest, and I have more healing stuff there, too.”

With the three of them huddled there beyond the shadowing peak of Lyssa, Nell forced herself to focus on what they’d succeeded at for the moment being, knowing this wasn’t the time to be weak with dread. No one was dead. The fight hadn’t been won, and blood had been spilled, but for these few moments they’d managed to stop the cycle of killing, and shoved a wrench into the murderous dance of Hunter and supernatural that had been fought since before either side could remember. So though the day was lost, perhaps they’d won another in its place.

Demametamort

Have you ever heard of the term Demametamort? If so then this story might make sense to you. If not then please please refrain from looking it up in my personal dictionary and stick around till the end for an explanation. I will now begin his story. 

Imagine a light grey sky, like the ones that make rainy days feel emotionless. Then imagine an unofficial road that borders on a cliff. The cliff has a hard drop into the ocean and at that moment a car had been recently met with sharp rocks and the high-pressure water. The water surrounded the tan automobile in waves that hit the skin of investigators like knives. 

If you looked around a bit more you could see the face of a boy who had somehow survived the tragedy. As he stood emotionless and highlighted by red and blue he was led to dry off while his 6-year-old body was drenched in saltwater. His dark hair and green eyes accompanied by a police officer to the ambulance where most adults looked in awe at how torn up this child was, frantically moving to apply pressure in the right spots. No one could explain how he could have survived the impact and sharp rocks; if that didn't do him in the water would have. This is a prime moment we can look at as an example of how things always worked out in his favor, as long as he didn't bring attention to it he could avoid any consequence. 

The most shocking part, however, took its place in the unphased attitude of the child. Every adult at the scene was shocked he survived, shocked his parents had dragged him along for their suicide, shocked. Shock is what defined the atmosphere so they wrote off Luca’s behavior as him being in shock. 

Little did they know this boy genuinely didn't care. His parents were scared of him but he didn't know why so why should he care? All he did was draw on the walls. Sure it was with the neighbor’s pet mouse but no one seemed to miss it after he stole it at the end of his playdate with their 13-year-old daughter. They just got a new one. And sure, his babysitter didn't know he stole it but to him, the rodent would be much more useful being used as paint than in a cage where it sat in its own mess and made squeaking noises. 

Apparently, this was the last straw. His parents started to talk about how they “couldn't do this anymore!” and “At least it's not as bad as when he was 3.”. Luca doesn't remember what other things he's done but no punishment made his actions not worth it so he had little memory of anything that was deemed “bad”. His parents tried to punish him for his behavior they really did, but it was hard to punish him when he stopped showing his “art” to them. In the end, they considered getting Luca into therapy but this had his mother and father worried about being judged as parents so, in the minds of a couple of parents whose will was stretched too thin, suicide would probably sound like the only option. They loved their son so maybe that's why they brought him with, or maybe it was an attempt at stopping his actions. 

If we move on to the next event of his life you'd see a hospital room with white walls and a small window, where he stayed for a couple of weeks until a caseworker came to situate him into a foster home. You'd see his emerald eyes opening in the hospital bed and his small feet moving to pack up his pencils and toys before his hands where being held on either end by a perfect cookie-cutter family. You'd then see him staying in that home for many more years because the Bander family took a liking to his obedient behavior and witty humor, and as Luca grew in this privileged household he learned to accommodate to people's expectations because that meant he could keep practicing his illegal passions without losing the attention he received from others. The same kid who played football in high school was watching people bid on body parts on the dark web. The same kid who laughed and teased his friends about being stupid compared to his straight A’s was the same kid who was planning to kidnap a few of those same friends and turn their beings into soulless sculptures. He was pleased with how smoothly his plan worked, how the laws of not just humans but of karma has never touched him. He reveled in how simple everything was and how godlike he was compared to his peers who were always facing a misfortune and getting dragged for their underage drinking or for harassing a girl at school. It was when he made his first kidnapping, one so obviously tied to him that it would hurt the observing eye. That is if eyes were ever on him, despite the girl nailed to the walls of his basement being his girlfriend, no one ever questioned him. That is when he realized he was different, god must not know he exists. He's a ghost among men and as visible to every eye as he was not there. I think this is when he rationalized the idea of, “If God doesn't know I exist, then neither does death. Right?”

Today Luca is a couple of years out of high school, he lives in a studio apartment while on a break from college and has a body count of 7 and his work has been all over the news. As he sat on a leather couch and toyed with the volume of his Tv his frustrations grew and grew. 

“Stop ignoring my work! It took me ages to make that!” He whines in frustration to no one in particular as the screen flashed images of his sculpture made of a female body whose bones were exposed due to the skin and muscle being nailed apart like a dissected frog. It zoomed into the bone where he was mastered the art of carving into. After cleaning the bones and draining the blood of the body out, he drills away to create designs so beautiful it could be compared to Chinese ivory or jade sculptures. Beautiful waves of the sea that represented the girls' love for surfing, a few animals like tigers and rabbits also danced along the streams of her life. It was truly beautiful despite its canvas. Lucas carefully tanned skin started to shift over to the arm of the leather couch before placing his hand down for support and standing. He began to pace around, mumbling incoherently. He then made his way to a laptop that was propped up on the counter of a kitchenette. 

“I will make them see, they will worship me. People have begged for this! They loved being used, they cried in joy when the found out they had been chosen by ME!” he claimed. His shadowy whispers did hold some truth however, a few victims had fallen victim to love him and would do anything for his approval. 

However, Lucas fetish for attention was currently driving him mad as his fingers type away at the obsidian keys and made the finishing touches on a public Instagram. He began to upload image after image with his name and face next to countless bodies and gore that he had only ever shown in private forums. The next morning he woke up outrage on his phone and in the news. He had missed calls from his family and friends and he just smiled in glee as he picked up the phone and called his mom back.

He expected to be greeted with admiration like the last girl he carved but in his delusional mind that was realistic, I guess. He was greeted with screams and tears.

“Luca why! Tell me this isn't true? This is someone else framing you right baby?” she said with obvious distress.

“Mama I just made another sculpture, it's not a big deal.” He said, confused at her reaction.

“They have feelings, Luca! FEELINGS! And I am not your mom anymore. I'm calling the cops.” she said shakily before hanging up.

Luca didn't think she was being serious, I mean she knew he that would affect him, right? He put on his apron and gloves and had just picked up the head of a dog he had recently started to work on as a side project when a loud, sharp knock was made from outside his apartment. With head still in hand, he opens the door only to be tackled down by police forces and dragged outside in cuffs. Bright rays of light burned into his eyes as he yelled and laughed. His confusion apparent and his resistance futile. He had dropped the dog's head in the process and suddenly he began to cry out.

“Get off me! Its what they wanted! You know you can't kill me right?” he laughed. This was met by a shaky voice.

A woman was standing in the crowd with puffy eyes and sagging skin. Her auburn hair mirrored that of his last victim, and she held a gun. Without a moment's hesitation, she said,

“Want to bet?” before her shaky hands released the firm hold on the gun to pull the trigger. 

Lucas's life didn't flash before his eyes. His life didn't matter much to him but when he fell to the ground he looked at his reflection in the pooling blood coming from his throat. He recognized the look on his face and that similar to those when he was 6. He recognized shock and fear in his face before he was put into the black void of death.

Crippling and quiet black and was like white sound in a realm with no structure. No walls or floor yet his non-responding conscious was suspended in it. Time did not exist and although empty it was not peaceful. It wasn't a place that provided a feeling of tranquility nor did it scare. It was completely empty. That was until Luca's vision reappeared through opening slits. He could suddenly see a different and darker black, his hands could suddenly feel silky cushion on his hands and his mind was suddenly able to register these things. He was awake, but was he? How could one tell when he all he could see was darkness and the smell of wet soil encased his nose. One would have to define being alive and being dead, what requirements are there to be considered living? Is it the ability to crave and breathe air? To need it? Because Luca definitely craved air but no matter how much he gasped there was no oxygen to fill his lungs. Wheezing was barely possible and when his fingers moved to touch the scabbed hole in his throat, it explained why. Gasp after gasp he was brought back to nothingness and his suffocation was over. Until it wasn't.

He woke again and the events repeated.

Again.

And again. 

And again. 

So, do you think you can guess what a “Demametamort” is? If not I will let you in on it.

A Demametamort is someone who believes they are above, beyond, or better than death. They don't think they can die or can change death. And sometimes they can.

Blog #1: Examining Youth Culture

This week we were assigned to watch four films and one television show that encouraged us to examine youth culture. These films and the television show took place in different time periods, ranging from the 1980’s up until the present.  When watching these films, I occasionally found myself identifying with characters and some of their actions. Surprisingly, I identified with Brian from The Breakfast Club. Like Brian, I was very shy and nerdy. My parents put a lot of pressure on me to do well, I was the oldest sibling which meant I had to set a good example. I was easily intimidated by others just as Brian was intimidated by John. I also had a huge respect for authority, I was very careful to not get in trouble. Seeing Brian constantly cut off during conversation was like looking in a mirror. Being soft spoken, when I did talk, I was talked over constantly, which added to my reasoning to just not talk at all. I never really pictured myself relating to him, I have watched the movie before, but I never really saw the connection until watching it again for my communications class.  

While these films were all different in their own ways, they each presented similar themes. The first theme that popped out to me was acceptance. Many of the characters in these films were seeking the acceptance of the people they surrounded themselves with as well as self-acceptance. In the show Euphoria we are introduced to an array of characters, each fighting their own battles. One character in particular named Kat stood out to me. Kat was always considered the less attractive member of her four-girl friend group. Boys often referred to her as “fat” because she did not fit the typical size 4 boy type that many find attractive. Unlike many characters who were seeking the approval of others, Kat seemed more focused on seeking approval from herself. She showed clear signs of being insecure, but after a video of her preforming a sexual act ended up online that all changed. She blossomed, developing this “hot girl” mentality once she realized how many people found her attractive the way she was. She found the acceptance within herself that she desperately needed. In the film Mean Girls, Cady was a prime example of someone who was seeking acceptance from others. She wanted to fit in so bad that she gave up who she was, transforming herself to fit into the Plastic’s cookie cutter standards. She left behind her genuine friends in order to be accepted by the popular crowd who in all reality did not like her in the first place. Both of these characters can be compared to the youth of today. Today’s youth seek acceptance, whether it be from others or themselves, it seems to be a common goal among many. When I was a teenager I wanted so badly to be accepted, but I was quiet, and awkward, a combination that did not exactly scream “cool”. I found myself struggling to remain true to who I was while also trying desperately to find the “group” that I fit in with. While I struggled for most of my high school experience trying to accept myself as well as be accepted, I ultimately had a revelation my senior year that the only person who needs to accept me is me. I focused on loving myself for me and have not looked back since.  Another theme I felt was present in these films would be the common goal to live life to the fullest. Many characters were focused on attending the next party or living their life the way they wanted to, regardless of consequences. In Mid90s the skater crowd just wanted to skate and party, they did not care who it effected in the process as long as they were having a good time. In Kids, Telly was focused on partying and being sexually active. He had no regard for the safety of himself or the girls he was involved with which ultimately was a major downfall. I feel that the youth today still possess the same mindset. Parties are still happening regularly even though we are in a pandemic. People do not care if they get sick, all that matters is they were living their life to the fullest and on their terms. While I was awkward in my youth, I still attended parties regularly. I was friends with people who were at every party every weekend it seemed, and I truthfully enjoyed every moment of it. Thinking back on it now, I was reckless, but being reckless made me feel alive. I feel that everyone at some point goes through their “I’m indestructible” phase of life, but that phase can really humble you. Living life to the fullest is what being young seems to be all about. A final theme I found common amongst all of the films was the theme of sexuality. While it was more present in films like Kids and Euphoria versus the film The Breakfast Club, I felt its something definitely worth mentioning. Sexuality is very prominent in youth culture. Teenagers are experimenting with not only sex but discovering their own sexuality. Promiscuity is no stranger to many high school students, it seemed like high school was a common time for many to figure out who they were sexually. While in that department I am a very private person, I will say that high school was not really the time for me to come to terms with any type of sexuality. I did however witness many of my friends go on their journey of sexual discovery, and I learned a lot from their stories. In high school I felt that everyone always knew who was sexually active and who was not. It always seemed like people would have all this knowledge on other’s personal lives, but not by their choice. People talked; privacy was virtually nonexistent. It seemed as if nothing was sacred, and while the girls definitely did their fair share of talking, it always seemed like the most outlandish stories came from the boys. The scene in Kids where Telly and his friends were talking about girl’s sexual preference and Jennie and her friends were talking about their own preference is what I imagined these conversations actually went like during my time in high school. Being the quiet girl met people always felt comfortable talking about things around me, and I can recall more then one occasion hearing both genders sides of an encounter and let me tell you they were always extremely different.

When watching these movies, I noticed one other big thing outside of my relation to a character and the very prominent themes all the films appeared to share. I noticed the music, and how it set the overall narrative of the film. I noticed how in each film when there was something traumatic or sad occurring the music reflected the feeling the scene was meant to give. When there was a party going on or when characters were doing something fun the music was fast or upbeat. The music helped set the overall vibe and tone for what was happening, it’s almost as if it gave you an indication of what was going to happen. I took the time to create a spotify playlist which I will link below this post. Each song I chose because I feel it reflected my experiences during my youth well. The first song I chose is “Kids in Love” by Mayday Parade. This song reminds me of the silly romances I had throughout my youth. I always thought I was in love, but at that age who didn’t. The second song I chose was “Therapy” by All Time Low. I was a very angsty and depressed kid, I listened to this song on repeat when I would go through my frequent, spurts of depression. While the song itself is sad, it oddly brought me comfort. The third song I chose was “Killing in The Name” by Rage Against The Machine. This song is a bit strange, but the ending in particularly reminded me of my mentality during my youth. There is a lot of colorful language in the song, but I felt the ending, which essentially is saying I’m going to do what I want, was spot on with my overall attitude during the age of sixteen to seventeen. The fourth song I chose is “Edge of Seventeen” by Stevie Nicks. I have always idolized Stevie, I would listen to this car during the warmer months, driving with the windows down, and feeling as free as a bird. Honestly anything by Stevie put me in a good mood, I would drive around singing her music at the top of my lungs quite frequently. The fifth song I chose was “ I Want You To Want Me” by Cheap Trick. This song represents my desire to be wanted by someone, which I feel everyone can relate to. I wanted to be in love, I wanted someone to be crazy about me. I watched way too many romance movies during my youth, hence my minor obsession with love. For my sixth song I chose “Rock and Roll All Nite” by KISS. This one I feel is self-explanatory, I wanted to party all the time! This song is fun and upbeat and to this day I still enjoy it. For my seventh song I chose “I Will Not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin. This song represents my depression, I refused to allow it to break me. I shut myself away from the world a lot, I was “a cold-blooded fake” at times. This song pulled me out of some pretty dark times, I still listen to it when I find myself in a less then ideal head space to remind me that I am strong and “will not break”. The eight song I chose is also slightly morbid but is one of my favorites. I chose “Can You Feel My Heart” by Bring Me The Horizon. The lyrics “I’m scared to get close, and I hate being alone, I long for the feeling to not feel at all, the higher get, the lower I’ll sink, I can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim” was essentially my headspace when I was sixteen. To say mentally I was going through it would be an understatement. This song was not around when I was a teen, but when I first heard it my mind instantly went back to that time. My ninth choice is far less morbid, I chose “First Date” by Blink-182. It reminds me of the nerves and craziness of a first date. It embodies the awkwardness that you feel at the beginning and then the happiness and excitement that followed. The final song I chose is “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance. This one I chose because to me it is the anthem of what being a teenager is! Teenagers can be scary with how little care or regard for safety they have. They’re wild and angsty. I like how this song covers how mean some cliques could be too, it overall is just a really cool song in my opinion. While my song choices are a bit all of the place, I feel my wide variety of genres and songs paint the picture of who I was during my youth. I was a mess, but I made the best out of it. 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0pvLKBWYfBXFGyloP2Bu8K?si=2oJOguBYTguW12UIhhtdHQ&utm_source=native-share-menu

More on last night’s Gay Rocks Extravaganza (now that I have somewhat accepted that Lawyer Rocks is my immediate new destiny):

something I let get lost in the shuffle was that I REALLY enjoyed what they did with Lars in this special (and honestly also in the previous Steven Bomb that led up to this).

Now look, I know he’s an unpopular character for fairly obvious reasons, and he certainly does not crack my top 20 by any means, but I’ve always had something of a . . . soft spot? I don’t know, I could see Lars’s weaknesses and see my own very clearly in them. Is he a bit of a fuckboy? Yeah, but mostly what I saw was self-sabotage from his overwhelming fear to the point of anxiety (“The Good Lars” really hit this point strongly where Lars knows objectively that he’s a great baker, but his fear can only have him imagine scenarios where he’s humiliated and ostracized for trying something that might be judged “uncool”)

That’s not to say that Sadie had to waste her time focusing all her energy on fixing Lars’s life rather than her own (and boy is this revelation going to hurt in the short term but honestly . . . this is probably going to be good for Sadie in the long run), but I sure wanted Lars to become a little bit better ON HIS OWN, and with his deep-set pattern of behavior it was going to take some pretty extreme circumstances to shake that up. You know like, being trapped in space alone but for Steven.

Really that moment where he turns tail and runs instead of trying to help Sadie was fantastic for so many reasons. For one thing, for all we like to imagine ourselves as a Connie in such a situation, leaping at the opportunity to prove courageous in battle, Lars is frankly how I’d probably be much more likely to react: be too scared out of my damn mind to be a hero (and his speech admitting as such in “Stuck Together” was almost uncomfortably familiar). It’s really easy to say you would be the hero in a situation you’ve never been in, it’s another thing to actually DO IT.

And what would that get anyway? Lars finally steps up for Sadie’s Sake and what? Sadie is then validated in what she always wanted for Lars and then he finally “earns” her? Nope, Steven Universe has tried to avoid such overdone and distasteful tropes, and it was for the best for both characters.

And really while on the one hand, Death is Cheap, especially in children’s media, this was a welcome variation in a way that legitimately raised the stakes. Lars was dead, D-E-A-D, no heartbeat, and without intention Steven’s powers brought him back . . . but he’s CHANGED. It clearly shows the risks of humans becoming involved in the gem conflict, and even better, the magical get-out-of-death-free card isn’t so free - it has consequences.

Lars is different now in a way that appears to be irreversible. He barely has a heartbeat (if any), he has no need for food, he’s pink, he has a portal in his head. He might be this way forever (literally unchanging). He’s clearly Not Quite Human anymore. Steven finally tapped into the healing tears of Rose that were introduced way back in An Indirect Kiss, but then that focus was on healing an injured gem. Now we see what it does to an organic lifeform - it changes them as it changed Lion apparently.

And Steven did this. Not Rose. He might not have known the consequences, but this was all Steven and not him taking hyper-responsibility for the actions of his mother for once. Steven’s been having a rough enough go of it shouldering what his mother left behind (especially thanks to Homeworld having no concept of Steven’s personhood - he has Rose’s gem therefore he is Rose Quartz), but this is something he definitely can’t shake. Lars is the way that he is now and stuck on Homeworld for the indefinite time being because of Steven.

And season five just started. Who knows what’s coming next.

THE BULLY – PART 10 – THE CHURCH AND ORGANIZED RELIGION

Vatican City. Image courtesy Italy Magazine

A. INTRODUCTION

A Church is sacred because of its good deeds. Where it fails in its actions, the laity bears the painful consequences of an institution which it has little control over. The church and laity were never ONE in this case.

This essay is a continuation of “The Bully” series of posts. The links to the previous posts are listed at the end of this essay.

While every post in “The Bully” series is related in terms of its topical nature, this essay is particularly a direct continuation of “The Bully – Part 8 - #MeTooPope” dated Jan 24, 2018. The link to that post is accessible herewith :

http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/170078376998/the-bully-part-8-metoopope

B. THE CHURCH – AGAIN

Image courtesy Boston Herald

In Part 8, the revelations of decades of shocking and life-shattering abuses of children by clergy within the universal Roman Catholic Church were discussed. I stated then :

“The Church and many religious institutions play a most crucial role toward the formation of Faith among the People. This is a sacred trust which the People have pledged in the Church. The scandals surrounding the Church over the centuries are a symptom of corruption within its leadership.”

It is with sadness, although perhaps unsurprising, that yet again, the world learned last month of even more predation, of a church gone mad, in the diocese of Pennsylvania, U.S.A. (1,2). Over 300 priests were alleged to have committed horrendous criminal acts, including physical abuse and other forms of violence against children, against those they were supposed to help bring closer to god and faith. These despicable acts occurred over several decades, victimizing thousands of faithful and trusting children. Children who looked to the clergy for their salvation, their emancipation. Children who needed a chance to fulfil their dreams.

Attorney General Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, on Twitter

These revelations are all the more troubling given its institutional nature. Let’s face it – the church has very serious issues with the way it is organized. This is not unexpected since the church’s leadership is not accountable to the “flock.” It is after all a club – it operates secretly, where leaders are selected behind closed doors, its financial and banking operations are not publicly disclosed, women are not allowed into the priesthood, among other things, where divorce and LGBTQ are sins, but war is not, where church buildings or edifices and art works are some of the most opulent and ostentatious, while the people in many parts of the world where the church roots itself, live in abject poverty, etc. This feudal culture to which the church continues to cling to, has no place in our home and society today.

The crimes of the church are serious aberrations from the teachings of Jesus Christ, to whom the church speaks in the name of. I have little doubt that more disturbing revelations will be made about the church in the near future. The words of contrition which the church, including the pope has offered are positive only if they are followed by institutional reforms, and meaningful reconciliation, if at all, with the victims and their families. It is the only way forward for a political-religious-business organization as the Roman Catholic Church.

C. REFORMING A SICK GIANT

Image courtesy National Catholic Reporter

Reforming an ancient order or club is akin to swimming against a tide. The water has been flowing in the same direction for a long period of time. It can’t change course by its very nature, unless a tectonic shift occurs unexpectedly, like an earthquake. And so it is with the church. Because it is a club, especially at the highest levels, change is considered a mortal threat by many of its members, who have never truly worked in a fluid, open and modern organization, an interactive and levelled environment. These “in-breds” are the real cause of the ills which plague the church. They are more concerned about temporal rather than spiritual power. They adhere to the rules of the club – “do not rock the boat or everyone will drown.” Ultimately, this is about personal gratification of power and material wealth, rather than about the spiritual development of the laity. A club (of men) is after all, about promoting the interest of its members. 

Image courtesy Catholic League

The credibility of the church will continue to slide as long as real reforms are avoided, which seems to be the case currently. The laity and church workers, including most of the priests who are truly doing god’s work, should be served and supported by a leadership which is resolute, truthful and forward-looking. I will suggest the following as a way to fulfilling the true traditions of the church:

1. Allow marriage or live-in partners, within the priesthood.

2. Embrace women and LGBTQ into the priesthood.

3. Legitimize divorce (this does away with the dispensations offered only to the rich and powerful).

4. Make a public stand against war in any form without fear or favour to any and all warring parties.

5. Focus on the common folk (the church is too concerned with the rich and powerful, at the expense of the people).

6. The audited financial accounts of the church in every country are to be made public periodically.

7. De-centralize the church. Allow more autonomy outside the Vatican.

8. Create greater representation for developing countries within the church.

9. Do away with grand, costly, wasteful and ostentatious church buildings and art collections.

10. Church leadership selection to be made transparent, and fully open to women and LGBTQ to participate and elect.

11. Re-create a bureaucracy based on performance and not political or personal affiliation. It is recognized that leadership selection as it is currently configured, is a political theatre. Candidates lobby other “red hats” or bishops for support. While it is acknowledged the church is a political institution, the ill-effects of a politically-driven leadership selection must be addressed positively. Those deserving should be promoted. Perhaps to accomplish this, the church needs to re-create a bureaucracy akin to the civil service of the European and American societies. I am aware of course that the civil service in these countries were originally modelled on the church’s. There’s a difference however today – the civil service in Europe and America evolved with changing circumstances. The Church’s hasn’t for a long time. It remains feudal in nature, living within a time warp, with an incoherent reality of its own making, while the laity and society have since evolved. That’s a condition inherent in a club of self-serving “red-hats” and bishops.

Image courtesy Ave Maria Press

These proposals are not exhaustive. They are however, intended to re-direct the church toward its traditions of inclusivity, truth, faith, justice, service, grace, compassion, spirituality, peace, honour, love, charity and more. We learned through the bible that Jesus loves everyone. He doesn’t discriminate.  

A club is by its very nature, exclusive. Hence, it is discriminatory in its appearance and operation. How is this in the tradition of Jesus? The church has to return to its foundational roots. To the teachings of Jesus. It has to live as it preaches, as the embodiment of Christ.

D. DAVID AND THE CHURCH

David, back row first from right, in Legion of Mary class, Grade 9. Image courtesy Tiffany

My children, Sara and David were baptised during infancy. Sara went on to receive her final confirmation when she was 16 years.  

Nearly four years later, one Sunday morning, when David was 16, he said to me that he did not wish to continue with catechism. This meant he would not receive his final confirmation scheduled for that year. I asked David what motivated his decision? He said he no longer believed in the moral authority of the church. He did not feel it was inclusive, and its teachings and practices were at variance with each other. As a parent, I was duly concerned for my son - for his spiritual development. I understood his decision, fully however. David was very clear about truthfulness and ethics. They were values which he would never compromise.

Image courtesy Depositphotos

These issues within the church had also troubled me for some time before David approached me that day. I realized what David was saying to me :  

He wanted no part of what he saw as a self-serving and hypocritical club. He didn’t see it as a religious or spiritual institution. I guess his faith in the church dissolved some time before that, as he grew over the years, and in his discernment. He was particularly vocal about the discrimination against women and LGBTQ by the church, and its support for the death penalty (the death penalty, or state-enabled murder, was finally ruled a sin by the church only this year (3). 

David must have struggled a good deal before he arrived at that decision. It must have been a difficult choice to make – a divorce with a great institution which one is tied to psychologically and spiritually since infancy. Perhaps that decision was made less vexing though – no one from the church contacted us to enquire as to the reason for David’s absence from catechism class. It was as if he didn’t matter.

Image courtesy Ivarfjeld.com

I considered the range of factors which caused David to make the decision to leave the church. I felt anxious, but nevertheless supported his decision. I advised him however that he must go on praying every night before bedtime. 

Following David’s passing in 2016, I came to appreciate that the most sacred place in the world is our home. It is where my children, Sara and David were conceived and raised. It is where Life began. It is a place of divine love, peace and happiness. Like David before, I made the decision to put our home before any man-made edifice, be it a religious institution or a political class which pretends to represent the people. This is as it should be, now and forever. God is in us. As David advised, “BE YOURSELF!” 

I continue to walk in the footsteps of David, my son. 

E. CONCLUSION

Image courtesy Break your chains

When we put our faith in others at the expense of ourselves, we lose our sense of being. We become what they want us to be. Not what we truly are and should be. 

The roman catholic church continues to grapple with its wide-ranging and life-threatening faults. They are not alone. In the world of organized religion, cases of physical abuse and corruption are not isolated. The Buddhist orders in Cambodia and Thailand are also plagued by the same ills as the church (4,5,6). And in Malaysia and Southern Thailand, we learned that child “marriage” to overage adults, among the Islamic community is shockingly acceptable and in many cases, welcomed (7). Also in Malaysia, the lesbian couple who was recently arrested and prosecuted, and whom I mentioned in my post “The Bully – Part 9 – The Individual and the State” dated Aug 16, 2018 was sentenced by an Islamic court to be caned – a truly violent and dignity-robbing action which pretends to be religious in its application (8). Imagine that - violence is religious! Hinduism too has its innate problems, with frail-in-mind human beings masquerading as strong-in-mind gurus (9). And this week, 2 bombs exploded in Southern Philippines, in Edna’s hometown of Sultan Kudrat (10). The perpetrators were alleged to be Islamic terrorists, although I don’t quite understand how the two terms could be conflated. One is either Islamic or a terrorist. Not both. Same way a priest in the church is either a Christian (follower of Christ) or a criminal. Do we call him a Christian criminal if he had committed crimes? 

School-age victims of the bombings in Sultan Kudrat. The young man in the middle was attending the same university as Edna’s niece, Julie Ann. Image courtesy Radio Koronadal. 

Faith formation among organized religion must start with the clergy or teacher. Faith, in this respect is the love for self and our dignity. No one is perfect. Least of all me. So please, let us try to be good to ourselves, so we too may be good to others. 

In the Spirit of David Cornelius Singh

David’s father

Email : [email protected]

References/Sources

1. https://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/news/local/Pennsylvania-Catholic-Church-Child-Sex-Abuse-Report-Grand-Jury-490837551.html

2. http://media-downloads.pacourts.us/InterimRedactedReportandResponses.pdf?cb=22148

3. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-pope-deathpenalty/catholic-church-changes-teaching-to-oppose-death-penalty-in-all-cases-idUSKBN1KN1EQ

4. https://edition.cnn.com/2017/07/20/asia/thailand-jet-set-monk-extradited/index.html

5. http://sea-globe.com/the-sound-of-silence-sexual-abuse-in-cambodias-buddhist-pagodas/

6. https://nypost.com/2018/08/24/buddhist-monk-accused-of-beating-child-to-death-during-prayer-session/

7. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/sep/01/thailand-malaysia-muslim-child-forced-marriage

8. https://abcnews.go.com/International/wireStory/malaysian-muslim-lesbian-couple-caned-public-punishment-57570030

9. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Hindu-guru-gets-14-years-prison-for-sexual-molestation-in-US/articleshow/7663325.cms?

10. http://www.gmanetwork.com/news/news/regions/666378/sultan-kudarat-police-officials-sacked-over-2-bombings-in-6-days/story/ 

Links to the “The Bully” series of posts

1. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/158095557698/the-bully

2. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/158622995123/the-bully-chapter-2-gender-another-perspective

3. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/159295321838/sarjit

4. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/160097845908/the-bully-part-4-david-the-pacifist

5. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/163517554143/the-bully-part-5-the-pacifist

6. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/163870795978/the-bully-part-6-school-yard-to-cyber-bullying

7. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/169733908418/the-bully-part-7-metoo

8. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/170078376998/the-bully-part-8-metoopope

9. http://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/177060363153/the-bully-part-9-the-individual-and-the-state

Read This: The Mother of All Muckrakers

The Mother of All Muckrakers http://ift.tt/2jtzgXB

Ida Tarbell brought down, single-handedly, the first mega-corporation. Now that corporate morality has captured the White House we need her skills as never before.

I’m sure that in his forty plus years at ExxonMobil, Rex Tillerson learned of the work of Ida Tarbell. I’m equally sure that Donald Trump has never heard of her.

Yet Tarbell is someone of immense relevance to the four years of living dangerously that this republic now faces.

Tarbell was the nemesis of John D. Rockefeller, the creator of Standard Oil, precursor of ExxonMobil. But she was a lot more than that — as a journalist she was the first to understand and challenge the power of the modern corporation, the first to dig deep into the way corporations bought and used politicians and the first to force a president to check that power.

And all this at a time, the age of the robber barons, when white males dominated not only big business and politics but also journalism. Indeed, there has never been a woman who so single-mindedly cleaved her way through all the male hierarchies and vanities and humbled them.

If she were here now Tarbell would surely have recognized what seems to be taking a lot of people too long to recognize: that the ethics and interests of the corporation have now totally captured the heights of the political system, including the White House.

Recognizing this is the first step in assessing whether today’s journalists are as up to the task as she was. This raises the issue of the technical literacy of journalism — are there enough reporters literate enough in the way that corporate power is developed and exploited, particularly the way in which it effectively covers itself with opacity and uses deliberate deception in the promotion of its policies?

Nobody could have started out with less knowledge of what she was going up against. Tarbell’s story is, among many other things, a lesson in how a journalist can build, by relentless diligence, a revelatory grasp of details and finally see them whole, as a picture that nobody was meant to see, least of all the American public.

Tarbell was the protégée of Samuel S. McClure, editor and owner of McClure’s Magazine, a man with a practiced eye for talent — among his discoveries were Theodore Dreiser, Willa Cather, O’Henry and Damon Runyan.

In the summer of 1892 McClure found Tarbell, a graduate of Allegheny College, working as a freelance writer in Paris, very much living hand-to-mouth. He assigned her to write a profile of Napoleon. It was such a hit that he brought her back to New York and assigned a similar profile of President Lincoln. That was a hit, too, and both articles became books.

But Tarbell wanted to move from research to reporting. In New York McClure had two of the most renowned reporters already on staff, Lincoln Steffens and Ray Stannard Baker. Steffens, in particular, epitomized the all-male clubbish journalism of the time, cultivating close relationships with politicians, lawyers and cops as he busted open big city racketeering.

Tarbell was just 32, and a relative innocent in the game, when she told McClure that she was interested in what she saw as a classic American innovation, the octopus-like consolidation of big business in the form of a corporation. She settled on Standard Oil as the most aggressive example. McClure thought that there might be enough material for six pieces. After Tarbell had done months of reporting he upped it to 12. In the end, after well over two years of reporting, the investigation went to 19 consecutive pieces, beginning in 1902, under the bland title of, “The History of the Standard Oil Company.”

It was a sensation. But an unusual level of intellectual curiosity shaped the narrative — far from the hysterical prose of traditional scandal-busting. Tarbell delivered a devastating record of how Rockefeller had ruthlessly and systematically created a monopoly of the oil business in the form of a trust — but she saw a kind of genius in its design. Her penultimate piece was titled, “The Legitimate Greatness of the Standard Oil Company.”

However, the admiration came with a withering moral assessment:

“This huge bulk…has always been strong in all great business qualities — in energy, in intelligence, in dauntlessness. It has always been rich in youth as well as greed, in brains as well as unscrupulousness. If it has played its great game with contemptuous indifference to fair play, and to nice legal points of view, it has played it with consummate ability, daring and address.”

The main reason why she was able to drill down deep into Standard Oil’s dark genius is that the corporation had given her unprecedented access. And this is where there is a salutary lesson for today’s journalism. Tarbell never got to interview Rockefeller, who was bitter about her view of him. Nonetheless his corporation decided to try some subtle damage control.

Thank You!

You are now subscribed to the Daily Digest and Cheat Sheet. We will not share your email with anyone for any reason

Mark Twain was a friend of McClure. Twain contacted McClure to report that one of the most powerful men on the board of Standard Oil, Henry Rogers (he and Twain were close) wanted to talk to Tarbell. Tarbell said she would like nothing better.

Part of the calculation was that Rogers would vamp the lady. And that seemed to work — Tarbell wrote of her first meeting with Rogers, in his 57th Street mansion: “He was a man of about sixty at this time, a striking figure, by all odds the handsomest and most distinguished figure in Wall Street.”

In fact, Rogers was notorious in Wall Street, known as the Hell Hound, making himself rich from sudden coups on the market.

For two years, with the collusion of Rogers, Tarbell made many clandestine visits to Standard Oil’s headquarters at 26 Broadway. Rogers gave her a carefully vetted stash of documents, but Tarbell was not fooled. She made use of the material that Rogers disclosed without revealing to him that, by pure luck, she had stumbled on one meeting that unlocked the whole design of the trust.

It happened over breakfast in Saratoga where, Tarbell, revealed, Rockefeller had said to two co-conspirators, “Let us become the nucleus of a private company which gradually shall acquire control of all refineries everywhere, become the only shippers, and consequently the master of the railroads in the matter of freight rates.”

In that way Standard Oil was able to fix the price of everything from the oil well to the refiners and from the refiners via the railroads to the customers, through a web of 40 companies, controlling 80 per cent of the American oil market.

Across the country newspapers followed and reported on Tarbell’s revelations. Front page cartoons depicted Rockefeller as a frock-coated looter. A vaudeville routine of the time became a hit — “They say it’s tainted money. Sure it’s tainted. ‘Taint yours and ‘taint mine.” Rockefeller was jeered as he left church on Sunday and had to hire Pinkerton guards for protection.

In Washington the president, Teddy Roosevelt, felt he was being upstaged by Tarbell. He wanted to act against the business trusts himself, but to do so required building bipartisan support, and that needed time. Roosevelt called Steffens to try to get the magazine to slow down the investigation; Steffens said that was not possible, but  Roosevelt summoned Tarbell to the White House, like Rogers believing that he could vamp her with his charm.

Instead, the president got an earful from Tarbell. She listed the names of senators in the pay of Standard Oil who planned to kill anti-trust legislation and warned him that the State Department had been infiltrated by Rockefeller stooges to help Standard Oil build its foreign oil interests.

No contest: afterward Roosevelt called Steffens and said, half in anger and half in awe, “That’s the damndest woman I ever met.”

In 1906 the attorney general opened a case against Standard Oil under the Sherman Antitrust Act, charging it with conspiracy to rig the oil market. In 1911, after years of appeals, the Supreme Court upheld an original ruling that the Standard Oil trust was to be dissolved. The outcome shaped all future anti-trust actions.

Even cut down to size, Rockefeller’s creation proved resilient and, slowly recovered to ultimately become the global octopus of ExxonMobil.

But Tarbell had instructed journalism with a lesson that remains the ultimate test of any newsroom now: do you have the ability and stamina required to pursue the forces that Teddy Roosevelt, his eyes opened by Tarbell, described as “the malefactors of great wealth?”

Nonetheless, Roosevelt himself demonstrated an ambivalence toward investigative journalism that all presidents, no matter how progressive they claim to be, seem to harbor. In a speech to editors at a gathering in Washington that was supposed to be private, he compared a crusading reporter with the man with the muck rake in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress: “…eyes fixed on the mire when he might have seen a celestial crown” and added, “if the whole picture remains black there remains no hue whereby to single out the rascals from their fellows.”

From this outburst came the term muckraker, happily adopted by some unapologetic editors but felt by others as a warning not to rock the Washington boat in case everyone went down with it if it was too damaged.

Suggesting that sometimes a collective interest, political, commercial, social or patriotic, should sometimes override the urge to rake the muck — however great its stink — is an insidious form of coercion. Indeed, sadly it was a factor in the way some of the finest of our newspapers were swayed into backing the invasion of Iraq, and even conned into buying phony stories about Saddam acquiring weapons of mass destruction.

But the stakes are a lot higher now. The disparagement of adversarial reporting began early with Trump. He has convinced legions of his supporters that any reporting that he doesn’t like is dishonest. Most threatening is that he has stacked his Cabinet with people who don’t apparently believe that the first duty of public office, as opposed to corporate office, is to be scrutable. Tillerson, for example, spent his entire career in a corporation that felt no shame in cooking up an alternative science of its own to undermine public policy on climate change.

For the moment, let’s leave this field of battle with an observation by Ida Tarbell as she completed her reporting on Standard Oil: “A large body of young men in this country are consciously or unconsciously growing up with the idea that business is war and that morals have nothing to do with its practice.”

via articles http://ift.tt/2g5ToNF January 13, 2017 at 01:55PM