i think the most frustrating part about tbosas is the fact that you want to root for coryo. you want him to be a better man for lucy gray. you want him and sejanus to become closer, to become the best friends sejanus believes them to be. you want him to run away and find a way to relearn all the oppressive and tyrannical ideals the capitol instilled in him.

but that’s not what happens.

coriolanus isn’t necessarily a good person. he’s not a bad person either, not yet, but he’s no where near good. and rather than try to be good, he gives up, he lets himself “go bad”, he rats out sejanus, he lets his anger get the best of him and loses lucy gray.

the idea that coryo could be a good person but chooses not to be is exactly the reason this book and this character are brilliant.

Inspired by your Jiuplane fic, Everyone loves SQH series and Nighthaunting's work.

Shen Jiu has never actually spared much attention to An Ding. While he doesn't consider them less-his past would never allow himself to look at anyone being derided for doing 'servant duties' less- he also doesn't pay much attention to them. Ever since Shang Qinghua modified the teleportation talismans for transporting large amounts of goods between the Peaks, An Ding disciples have all but disappeared from view. Shen Qingqiu occasionally saw a groundskeeper or a cook return back to An Ding but that was about it. He was pretty sure that people outside the sect saw more of the Logistics Peak than the people in it. And during meetings Shang Qinghua barely makes a sound, just records whatever was he was supposed to and just vanish off to his peak the minute the meeting inevitably ended in chaos. It was like An Ding never existed.......in hindsight, that should have been suspicious. But Shen Qingqiu never even noticed glaring absence and he would forever berate himself for that. It happened quite unexpectedly. Shen Qingqiu was supposed to go on mission with Qi Qingqi, the only Peak Lord he could tolerate beyond a certain period of time but Xuan Shu Peak suddenly had an emergency that she had to take care. Mu Qingfang was busy with preparing the Baying Moon Jade Orchid that he had been given (Really that should've tipped him off! Those flowers were ludicrously expensive because they only grow in the Demon Realm and Mu Qingfang had been given an entire crate of them along with his monthly supplies!), and the only other Peak Lords available were Liu Qingqe and Shang Qinghua. The choice was obvious.

The mission was relatively simple. Wan Jian disciples had been sent as a response to a request for assistance from a cluster of villages deep in a mountain valley. The disciples had found evidence of a large monster but it seemed to be intelligent and the presence of cultivators had run it off to a cave system. By the trails it left and it's actions, the lead disciple had judged it too dangerous for normal disciples, especially in the enclosed spaces of a cave system and had reported to his Peak Lord. The mission thus had been entered into the Peak Lords' roster. It should have been routine, should have been simple. But Shen Qingqiu had the world's worst luck and so everything turned sideways within ten minutes of them entering the cave.

First of all, the monster seemed to have destabilized the cave so they got caved in. Secondly, it wasn't a monster at all but a demonic beast, a Thousand Screams of Ruin Swan, a rabid thing that was created when someone forcibly corrupted a Thousand Screams Swan with too much demonic qi. And finally, the beasts absolutely hated each other. A Thousand Screams Swan had the ability to gauge the truth and a lie in its presence would not only prompt the most ear piercing of all screeches but also destabilizes the qi of the liar in particular and produce unimaginable pain. The southern demon courts use the swan in interrogations, putting the accused and the swan in enclosed spaces and the interrogators questioning from behind a sound muffling seal. However if the swan were overloaded with too much malicious qi, it would grow to enormous sizes and it's screech would actually cause death to anyone in the vicinity. In this state it was called a Thousand Screams of Ruin Swan. So after every interrogation the beast is taken for purification. The question is how a pair of valuable demonic beasts from the Southern Demon courts end up in a remote village far away from the borderlands?

If it was any other situation, Shen Qingqiu would've been fascinated. But as it was he had no time to dawdle. The confined space of the caves meant that the screeches of the swan would be magnified in intensity and their muffling shields were already cracking under the pressure of the sound waves. If they did, they would be dead as their qi system would be destabilized enough to cause a painful death. Shen Qingqiu, with his already unstable qi was extremely vulnerable in this situation. With Shang Qinghua having no combat ability to think of, they were completely under the mercy of two rabid S-rank demonic beasts who hated them and each other.

Then the shields cracked. Shen Qingqiu barely had time to close off his hearing using qi before Shang Qinghua disappeared into one of the caves with a beast after him. On one hand Shen Qingqiu now had to worry about only one Thousand Scream of Ruin Swan. On the other hand, no hearing was a double edged sword in a situation like this and there was no back up, negligible as it would have been. But he marshalled his focus and unsheathed Xiu Ya. If that overgrown bird thought that the Qing Jing Peak Lord was going down without a fight, it was wrong.

Two hours later the fight was still going on. His head was hurting only from being flung into the stone walls of the cave but also from sealing off his hearing for so long. The Beast's rampage had destroyed one of the cave walls and they had both fallen into a lake within the cave system. Shen Qingqiu had somehow managed to pull himself out of the water, not being stupid enough to fight a water fowl in water. He was exhausted, looked like a wet rag and was bleeding. There was no sign of Shang Qinghua and that either meant he was dead or that Shen Qingqiu was so far off from the main caves that he wouldn't be found in time. While the former was more likely, he at least hoped that Shang Qinghua made it to the surface and called for help because as much as he hated to admit it, that brute Liu Qingqe and his brutish sword would be helpful at the moment. He was tiring and his core couldn't hold on any longer while the beast was all but brimming in energy. It lunged and the Peak Lord futilely brought up his sword, knowing it wouldn't do anything, realizing that this was the end of Shen Jiu, dead by a rabid bird in a fucking cave. And then...there was light.

Lightning, there was lightning in the cave, huge arcs of it racing towards the beast and striking it over and over, the lake water acting as a conductor and exacerbating the damage. And on a ledge, was a creature wearing Shang Qinghua. Because that couldn't be Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua was a mousy, nervous, skittish mess of a man. Non obtrusive, and a pushover. He was weak and had no combat abilities to speak of. He barely had a core....except that wasn't true was it? None of them had ever seen Shang Qinghua fight. None of them had ever felt the power of his core. Shang Qinghua always ran solo and the occasional company of his head disciple so none of them had been on a mission with him. In fact, none of them knew anything about Shang Qinghua. They just assumed that he was weak...because he was An Ding and acted like a coward. But now it was clear Shen Qingqiu that it was by design. It should have impossible to constantly keep up a facade like that but looking at the imperious creature watching on dispassionately at the Demonic Beast writhing in his lightning, Shen Qingqiu knew that the impossible had been done.

The creature that was Shang Qinghua jumped down from the ledge and made his way to Shen Qingqiu. He was clutching a Thousand Screams Swan now back to its original size. He was barefoot. His clothing was ripped in places. A large slit too clean to be from the beast ran up both his legs just shy of his hips revealing long legs adorned in gorgeous ink patterns climbing up them and disappearing up the torso. It was clear Shang Qinghua cut them up to increase mobility. The sleeves were also ripped, also covered with beautiful tattoos and the high collar of the robes were open showing off beautiful collar bones. His hair was left free and falling russet waves down his back to his knees and with each shift Shen Qingqiu could see a silver shine of what seems to be metal strings woven into it. He was... He was a vision.

Shang Qinghua was always covered. He wore high collar robes that never showed an inch of skin on his body. So seeing him with his legs and arms and his collar visible, it was obscene! Shen Qingqiu realized to horror that he was blushing. His entire face was burning! Shang Qinghua must have succubus blood in him! He must have! Shen Qingqiu is not the type to blush at every pretty face! He hoped to the gods that Shang Qinghua just think of his blushing face as a result of exertion.

As Shang Qinghua drew closer, Shen Qingqiu noticed something strange. Gauntlets. Silver gauntlets carved with seals. Two on the ankles, two on the wrists. And one collar on the neck. Hidden underneath high collar robes as they were, this was the first time Shen Qingqiu had ever seen them. At first they looked like enhancers and looking at the lightning still attacking the beast which seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, it seemed most likely. But Shen Qingqiu was done assuming things about Shang Qinghua. And he was right, because closer inspection revealed the seals to be limiters. Shen Qingqiu for the first time since he became a Peak Lord, was truly astonished. Limiter seals active on five points on the body and undoubtedly forming a restructure five point qi circuit and still manages to defeat two S class demonic beasts? Incredible. Shen Qingqiu wanted to know everything about him. He wanted to burrow underneath his skin. He has never wanted anything more.

After the Beast shrunk down somehow, Shang Qinghua retrieved it with a talisman that seemed to be some sort of Binding. He silently clutched the swans together and made his way to one of the caves, silently motioning for Shen Qingqiu to follow. As they made their way up the caves, Shen Qingqiu looked at his mysterious companion and told him what he was adamant about from the moment he saw the other bring down the wrath of the heavens,

"You can't hide from me anymore."

Shang Qinghua was silent. Then, like a whisper of silk on soft skin, he replied,

"I can try."

Shen Qingqiu smirked,

"Yes you can. But you won't succeed."

The Xiu Ya sword looked the two beasts the other was holding, two Thousand Screams Swans.

"Is Shang Lei even a real name? "

The other didn't answer and that was an answer in itself. Shen Qingqiu couldn't wait to have him.

Anon oh my god this is GORGEOUS!!! Thank you for feeding me, it was delicious!! Bamf SQH! Beautiful SQH! Badass, pretty, mysterious SQH!!!! Attractive as hell, an unattainable prospect!!!

@nighthaunting look look, it’s our writing child

colby | colby released

“D-Dez, Dezzy please!”

Pin-straight, pale green hair with dark roots flops against the floor, quivering, as Kip drags himself back with one arm, the other raised to protect his head. Above him looms his friend, hands wrapped around the handle of a hammer with a white-knuckle grip.

That raised arm gets slammed into next, a crack ricocheting off the cellar walls, slamming into Desmond’s head. He raises the weapon again as Kip screeches, pulling in his broken arm, back colliding with the floor as he fails to drag himself any further.

A hand, big and warm, presses to Desmond’s back. Tall and strong as he may be, he freezes as the hand slides up under his long dark hair to rest against the back of his neck.

“You’re hesitating,” The Hunter comments, giving an intimidating, slight squeeze. He loves how the warlock stops functioning altogether when he’s stood behind, threatened, given an order. “I told you not to do that. I want to hear his body breaking. Swing like you mean it, and don’t stop, or else I’ll break something in him that’ll stop that pretty, stuttered breathing of his.”

As Kip whimpers, holding his broken arm close, peering down at it and then looking away nauseously, Desmond swallows. The Hunter steps back and takes his hand away to give him space.

No hesitation.

Instead of Kip, he decides to see someone he hates. Instead of Kip, it’s one of the guys who hurt Kip. It’s the fucker that made Kip cry, and mocked him for it, and gave him that scar on his heart that made it so Desmond is the only person in his life that’s seen him break down.

Now, the Hunter is going to see it, too.

No. This isn’t Kip. He’s not beating Kip. He’s beating a violent, cocky, sadistic son of a bitch that deserves to hear his own bones being broken.

Desmond swings his arm back, and brings the heavy metal head of the tool down on his best friend, over and over and over. He hears the screams, and they hurt him, but they don’t stop him. Kip screams raggedly, hopelessly, as his body is reduced to a useless pile of agony. Snap, his arm flops to his side. Thunk, his collarbone gives way. Crunch, his wrist, already abandoned as part of a useless broken arm, is crushed. There go a few ribs, all in a row, and another part of his broken arm, and then the other arm, too, is broken. It’s bent in a way it shouldn’t be, but Kip can’t feel that one, and that scares him.

It’s not the ruining of his body that stops Desmond. It’s not the breathless pleading, or the ragged screaming.

It’s when Kip feels that familiar burn behind his eyes. When his throat clogs up, and his thoughts center around awful things, and a choked sound escapes him. It’s when tears bead in his eyes, control lost, terror seizing his heart.

The hammer clatters to the floor loudly. Kip flinches with a faint sound, weak from all the screams that couldn’t vent out his agony. He blinks up at the ceiling, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. If they fall… they can’t, he can’t. He won’t.

“That’s… gotta be enough,” Croaks Desmond. “That’s too… too much. Please.”

A pat on his back - he freezes again, damn him and his stupid fear - and their captor replies, “Go on. Try and comfort him.”

Desmond falls to his knees, straining desperately to get unstuck from his guilt and think of something to do, something that can help.

Kip looks like he’ll fall apart if he’s touched. It seems like, if Dez lays a hand on him, something will crunch and Kip’s body will just cave in.

He must be in some kind of shock. He shouldn’t be conscious. Too much of his body is broken.

Those tears still haven’t fallen.

Desmond knows that it’s more important to Kip to keep those tears from falling than it is to be saved, to live. It matters so much to him.

So the hands that gripped the hammer and drove it down to shatter Kip are opened, lifted. They come up to lay gently against Kip’s cheeks.

“I’ve got you.” The promise, hoarse with horror, whistles out of Desmond as his thumbs come up to his friend’s eyes. The pads of his thumbs press carefully to the corners, where those tears bead, and wipe them away, as if he’s just brushing away an eyelash stuck there. Another subtle swipe, and all evidence of them is gone. No tears. He’s not crying. Dazed with unimaginable pain, whimpering, yes, but not crying.

“I’m not…” Whispers Kip.

“I know. I know, man. It’s okay. I know you’re not.”

“...not a crybaby.”

“You’re not. You’re strong. I know.”

The smallest quivering breath escapes Kip, one that sounds dangerously close to a sound that precedes all-out sobbing. “Not gonna.”

Desmond nods, thumb tracing back and force along his friend’s cheekbone. “Ha. You’re not. This fucker thinks he can make you cry?”

Shattered, lost, Kip twitches his lips into an almost-smile.

Above them, the Hunter beams curiously.

“When’s, uh, my turn?” Desmond asks, looking back at their captor as soon as he sees Kip’s eyes wander and lock onto the still-looming threat. “‘Cause he’s done.”

The protective assertion doesn’t ruffle the Hunter in the slightest. “Oh, your turn? You don’t get one. You’re free to go.”

Warm brown skin pales, turns a more sickly shade, at that. Even though it means no pain. Even though it means Kip gets to live. “You’re not… that’s it? You’re not gonna…”

“Hurt you? No, it was fun enough seeing you hurt him. You get to go, not a mark on you. Go on, scoop up the friend you broke, carry him out of here. Find a healer that can mend all that damage you did. I’m letting you live. Isn’t that generous of me?”

“Dez,” Whimpers Kip, and Desmond looks down to see more tears, beading up, building up, threatening to spill over.

He nods to himself. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. I’m gonna be quick. Kip, hold your breath, and just, just let me do this, okay? I promise it’ll stop hurting later, soon, we’ll get you some good numbing shit. Just hold on.” Before he can hear a pitchy, quiet plea, before those tears can fall, Desmond scoops his hands under his friend and lifts. One hand under Kip’s head tucks his friend’s face right against his neck, so Kip can cry and hide it, at least. The mindfucker won’t see it, might not hear it.

Kip, his body crunching and unwieldy, is pulled up into Desmond’s arms and held close, carried out. He makes inhuman sounds, against Desmond’s neck, sobs wildly, but he’ll live. He’ll heal, probably.

Desmond, whole and unharmed, sane and coherent, will be there to dump his friend’s broken body on some abandoned house’s floor, and try to shift broken bones together to heal, and let him cry his heart out. Desmond will be there, with his hands that broke his best friend, with nothing but his guilt to keep him company as Kip lies passed out, crooked, marked with dark bruises all across his skin. He’ll be there to watch Kip breathe, to wonder if his return consciousness will bring more tears, and flinching, and blame.

The mindfucker got in his head without magic.

Opinion: A letter to Kurdish soldiers from a US military wife

https://www.cnn.com/2019/10/17/opinions/letter-to-kurdish-soldiers-from-military-wife-opinion/index.html

PLEASE READ 📖 these 3 pieces as you consider voting for Donald Trump. 👇🤔😢😭😭😭

A letter to Kurdish soldiers from a US military wife

Published Oct 17, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: This article was written by the wife of a Special Operations soldier, who has served throughout the Middle East. CNN is not revealing her identity at her request. The views expressed in this commentary are her own. View more opinion at CNN.

(CNN) - Dear Kurdish soldiers,

You don't know me, but I have known of you for most of my adult life. When my military husband and I quickly married, knowing he was deploying to the Middle East to be part of the 2003 invasion of Iraq, I feared what he and his Special Operations unit would face when they arrived.

How bad would the fighting be? How long would they be gone? Would he survive?

Months later, he returned and recounted to me what he could about his experience. I asked how he had made it through. He replied, "We had help. We had the Kurds."

He told me stories of how the Kurdish people in Northern Iraq supported the troops, advised them, stood by them, fought shoulder to shoulder with them in combat, and became allies and friends. And I became grateful -- immensely, unwaveringly, and forever grateful for you.

Since then, the word "Kurds" in my home has meant something. It has meant "ally" and "friendship."

There are pictures of Iraqi Kurds alongside my husband and fellow soldiers in our home. I have a coffee mug with depictions of female Syrian Kurdish soldiers on it that I proudly use to remind me of you. My children play soccer in their Kurdistan jerseys.

The Kurdish people are not nameless, faceless people across the world. You hold a place of honor and respect in our home. It's important to me that all of you know that. I owe you so much. My husband is home safe today after years of fighting and I know you helped make that happen.

But now, I watch the news in horror. I see promises broken, progress destroyed, years of hard work and unimaginable sacrifice gone in a tweet. I see allies betrayed, their faces in my picture frame. While watching the news, my children turn to me and ask if those are our friends and I say yes. They have looks of confusion on their faces.

I can't imagine what your families are going through. I can't imagine their fear. I can't imagine these things because for the last 17 years you have fought to help us keep an attack off our soil, and I know that has now compromised your safety. It breaks my heart.

Where I come from, a person's word means something. Our honor and integrity are everything, as I know yours are to you. To read in international newspapers that the United States, my country, has abandoned the Kurds is absolutely heartbreaking.

Hasty decisions like this have not only put your people in terrible danger, they make the situation for our soldiers there on the Syrian-Turkish border much more difficult. My husband was with you on that border not long ago and I can't imagine what our soldiers' families are feeling right now.

And it's not just safety. It's hard to imagine how difficult it is for American soldiers to hear a partner and ally's calls for help and not be allowed to answer them. It's also hard to imagine you having to turn to Putin or the Assad regime for support because you could no longer count on Americans to keep their promise.

I worry for the safety of you and your families. I worry about the instability of the region and what that could mean for the future. I worry about the thousands of ISIS fighters we worked so hard to put in prisons, and who you must walk away from as you defend yourselves. I can't imagine the threat that now poses for us all. I see the look on my husband's face when he watches the news at the end of the day. The only phrase that comes to mind is "I'm sorry."

I write you today, on behalf of my family, to say thank you for everything you have done for us. Thank you for your friendship, for keeping your word and fighting alongside us, for staying the course year after year. Thank you for keeping my husband safe so he could come back home to me and my children. You have my sincerest prayers today that you too may safely return to yours. Thank you to your families that sacrificed without you, so you could make this partnership happen.

I pray we return to your side, that we stand by you, and that this has not all been in vain.

Forever yours,

A Grateful Wife

********

On Syria, Trump is pushing Republicans too far

Opinion by SE Cupp |Updated 10:00 AM ET, October 18, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: SE Cupp is a CNN political commentator and the host of "SE Cupp Unfiltered." This piece has been adapted from her Saturday evening show monologue. The views expressed in this commentary are solely hers. View more opinion articles on CNN.

(CNN) - Defending the indefensible has become a cottage industry for Republican lawmakers in the era of Trump.

In the days and weeks surrounding President Donald Trump's decision last year to enforce the separation and caging of asylum-seeking children at the southern border, Republican lawmakers were largely supportive of him.

In the days after a baffling news conference last year in which President Trump, standing alongside Vladimir Putin, parroted the duplicitous Russian position that it did not meddle in our elections -- even though his own intelligence community had said the opposite -- Republican lawmakers shrugged.

In the days and weeks after the release of the Mueller report earlier this year, which revealed multiple examples of the President's attempts to engage in obstructive conduct, Republican lawmakers were defiantly behind him.

And in the days after the news about President Trump's alleged attempt to coerce the Ukrainian president to investigate his political rival (Trump denied that was his purpose) -- news that unleashed a stunning flood of evidence, transcripts, testimony, texts, and whistleblowers and ultimately resulted in an impeachment inquiry -- the GOP circled the wagons around their President.

Those are just a few of the many embarrassing episodes from the past few years where Republican lawmakers had opportunities to condemn the indefensible, and many have chosen not to. Many, in fact, have decided to abandon their conservative principles, their ethical and constitutional obligations -- not to mention their sense of common decency -- to justify Trump's odious behavior and deleterious decisions.

One issue, however, has proven surprisingly perilous for the President, a rare pressure point that has caused Republican lawmakers to summon courage and roundly condemn him: Syria.

While President Trump hopes the announcement Thursday of a 120-hour ceasefire in Turkey, which Turkey says is "not a ceasefire," might appease his many detractors, much of the damage is already done.

In the days after President Trump's disastrous, immoral, inexplicable decision to pull US troops out of Kurdish-controlled Northern Syria, unleashing the Turkish army on an overwhelmed US ally, sending untold numbers of ISIS prisoners back into the Sahel to reorganize, and handing some of the world's worst actors the keys to a broke-down and dangerous palace, Republicans were quick to voice their disapproval.

Even his staunchest allies, including South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham, have freely rebuked him. Graham told an NBC News reporter that he would "become President Trump's worst nightmare" on Syria if he didn't reverse course: "This is a defining moment for President Trump. He needs to up his game."

It wasn't the first time he's drawn this reaction: When Trump first threatened to pull troops out of Syria in late 2018, defying his generals and security advisers, Republicans were stunned. Graham told reporters, "If Obama had done this, we'd be going nuts right now: how weak, how dangerous."

He and other Republican lawmakers, including Sens. Tom Cotton, Marco Rubio and Joni Ernst, signed a letter telling Trump to reconsider.

That episode, in fact, led two of Trump's most important figures in the Syria conflict, Gen. James Mattis and Brett H. McGurk, the American envoy to the coalition fighting the Islamic State, to resign their posts.

And now, as a quickly spiraling disaster in Northern Syria grows worse, Republicans have come together again in a rare reproval of the President. The House of Representatives voted Wednesday to condemn Trump for pulling troops out of Syria to allow for a Turkish invasion by a vote of 354-60, with 129 members of his own party voting in favor of the measure.

It's hard not to notice the glaring singularity of Syria as an issue that, sui generis, unlocks the Republican caucus from Trump's otherwise vise-like grip.

One cynical explanation for this is that foreign policy issues are usually a safer space for dissent, at least in the short term. Lawmakers assume constituents back home are more concerned about immediate and pressing domestic issues, especially during an election cycle, and many are likely gambling that Trump isn't going to unleash his primary attack apparatus against them over a Syria disagreement.

But the other explanation is that the consequences of Trump's impulsive, ill-informed, politically craven and incomprehensible decision to abandon our Kurdish allies, empower Turkey's Erdogan and Syria's Assad, dissolve our containment of ISIS and put hundreds of thousands of lives in the balance are just too much to stomach for Republican lawmakers.

They have little to gain at home for condemning Trump's actions overseas. Voters are generally apathetic to foreign policy issues. In a Gallup poll from earlier this year that asked what voters think is the most important problem facing the country today, issues like immigration, health care, gun crime and the environment led the lists. Foreign policy got just 1% of the vote, and both ISIS and Russia received 0%.

So the rebuke of Trump wins Republican lawmakers no points in their own districts, at least in the immediate future.

But the long gaze of history is far less forgiving.

When the fog of war clears, voters do tend to hold major foreign policy blunders against elected officials, even in their own party. See: the Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Republicans know that the actions Trump is taking today in the Middle East could haunt him and the GOP for years to come.

And it's not just the folly of war they're worried about. It's the significant humanitarian crisis this will manifest, adding to the one that already exists in that region. There's the long-term threat to our own national security when ISIS and other terror actors regain a footing in Europe and even here at home. There's the destabilizing effect this has on important US allies like Israel. And there's the breakdown of trust among our allies all over the world.

All of that is -- right now -- staring GOP lawmakers in the face.

It should tell us something that Republicans, who are usually so protective of this President, despite an ever-crescendoing wave of bad behavior and bad decisions, have spoken out so vocally and unilaterally against him when it came to Syria. That's how fraught, how devastating and potentially disastrous this issue is both politically and practically.

And that's a problem for Trump. Because if he decides not to listen, it's an excuse for Republican lawmakers, who may have secretly been looking for an opportunity, to break ranks, and at the worst possible time for the President -- when impeachment is actually on the table.

For all those reasons, Trump should be extremely concerned. He doesn't like to be told no, and he doesn't like defectors. But on this issue, perhaps more than any other, he would be wise to listen to the majority of his own party telling him to stop. Otherwise, it may just spell the end for his presidency.

Correction: An earlier version of this commentary incorrectly stated the duration of the ceasefire in Turkey announced Thursday. It is a 120-hour ceasefire.

*********

What Mick Mulvaney's stunning admission tells us about Trump

Opinion by Paul Begala | Published Oct 17, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: Paul Begala, a Democratic strategist and CNN political commentator, was a political consultant for Bill Clinton's presidential campaign in 1992 and served as a counselor to Clinton in the White House.

(CNN) - There is a bit of a brother-and-sisterhood former senior White House aides. Despite deep political and policy differences, I respect those who choose to serve. The White House can be a dream job -- it was the best professional experience and highest honor of my life. But it can also be, as President Clinton told me the first time I set foot in the Oval Office, "the crown jewel of the federal penal system."

My heart usually goes out to White House staffers. The hours are long, the challenges great. So it is with no joy that I offer this assessment of Mick Mulvaney's performance running Donald Trump's White House: it stinks.

Acting White House chief of staff Mulvaney needs to start acting like a chief of staff.

In his press briefing today, Mulvaney revealed himself to be a yes-man when this President needs someone who can tell him no.

The most important, most difficult, most loyal two words a White House staffer can use are: "No, sir."

President Trump is on his third chief of staff and diminishes and insults Mr. Mulvaney by making him merely "Acting" chief of staff. He's on his fourth national security adviser, his third press secretary, and his third defense secretary. Trump burns through people, it seems, until he gets what he wants. What's more important is what he needs -- what we all need. And that is a White House staff that will tell him to knock it off.

When the President wants to politicize national security, corrupting it for his partisan needs, the only acceptable response is "No, sir." When he seeks to take Ukraine policy away from Ukraine policymakers and give it to his unappointed, unconfirmed, unaccountable private lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, the only acceptable response is "No, sir." When the President acts as if he is above the law and beyond the Constitution, directing a global summit and millions of dollars to one of his golf resorts, the only acceptable response is "No, sir."

Instead, Mr. Mulvaney debases himself. When ABC's Jonathan Karl asked him about the clear quid pro quo in Mr. Trump's dealings with Ukraine, Mulvaney sniffed, "We do that all the time with foreign policy." That's the problem, Mick. The Corleone family used extortion all the time, too. Didn't make it right. Mulvaney was even more dismissive of those who decry political desires overruling security interests: "Get over it."

He was just getting started. Mr. Mulvaney, defending the indefensible grift of President Trump ordering that the G-7 summit be at his Trump National resort in Doral, Florida, laughably claimed of Mr. Trump, "He's not making money off of this."

Baloney. Trump's decision will flood his resort with federal funds for security, communications, and a host of other needs. Advance teams from around the world will fill the resorts' rooms for weeks, maybe months. Foreign governments will spend huge sums -- generating profits that will line Trump's pockets.

This is precisely what the Constitution forbids in Article I, Section 9, when it states that no one occupying federal office can accept an emolument -- which is profit -- from a "King, Prince or foreign State." (Incidentally, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist David Fahrenthold, of the Washington Post, has reported that revenue at Trump's Doral resort fell 13.8% from 2016 to 2017, and net operating income fell 62%.)

No sir. That's what you say. No sir, you can't shake down Ukraine for dirt on Joe Biden. No, sir, you can't withhold military aid if the Ukrainians don't embrace a nitty right-wing conspiracy theory. No, sir, you can't call on China to interfere in our elections the way you called on Russia to. No sir, you can't spend millions of taxpayer dollars at your own resort. No sir, you can't reap profits from foreign governments spending millions at your resort either. No sir, you're not above the law.

Those words never seem to emerge from Mr. Mulvaney's mouth. Far from being a public servant, the acting chief of staff revealed himself to be a throne-sniffer of the worst order. If he were any more of a toady, he'd be catching flies with his tongue.

It was instinct honestly and the Princess barely recalls acting; she saw the glint of metal and next thing she knew her body lurched in front of him to guard the demon. Guard the one that's always been guarding her. Surely he could have fended for himself or perhaps the spear would have done him in as she stares down at the spear embedded within her abdomen. Knees buckle as she falls, blinking. She doesn't feel pain. "...I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I disobeyed." So tired is she. "I love you..."

tw: violence + gore !

    stop the Inferno Train all by yourself as it speeds through the railway at unimaginable speeds and you’re legendary. with your skill and influence, catch the attention of Hell’s crown and they’ll appoint you as head of the PUNISHMENT DISTRICT. but fail to protect your pupil and you don’t need anybody to say a word as you brand yourself a failure. mouth agape as blood covers his features and arms turn numb to the weight that falls against his body, forcing him to stumble over and catch the remaining angel’s spear against the palm of his hand. the feathered fiend lock their eyes with his as his smile falters and their’s begin to form in a sickening display of fortuitous success.

    God is good. God is merciful. words of the forgotten church echoing in his mind as memories of chanting the very verses in a white dress and long red hair hugging accentuated features cause his lips to quiver with unadulterated loathing. a good girl can only take so much cruelty when the world causes her nothing but pain. ‘ take the gun ’ papa says and he tells her to shoot ; makes a soldier out of her. when love causes her heartache she forgets the man and looks after her family. when war takes her brother away she follows in his footsteps and when she returns to walk through the Ticker Tape parade all she can think of is that she has become a shell of the person she had once was. she’s a nobody ; a sinner ; a killer. from the beginning she’d had always been bound to go to Hell, nevertheless, the Happy Hotel was something she never thought she would be… possessive about. care is a rare thing within the Radio Demon but over time the idea of it —- something he’d lost along with his humanity has began sprouting within him in ways he had never imagined.

    something ignited in his veins. a fury so strong that those who would try to stomp out the fire in his eyes will be engulfed by flames before they have a chance at escape. claws strike fast, digging into white linen and silver armour. the iron burns but he digs and twists and watches in satisfaction as the angel’s face, now threatening to put their entire weight over the deer contorts in horror. the holy being’s knees buckle as Alastor tears that heart right out of their chest, damaging ribcage and muscle and crushes the beating thing in his grasp prior to shoving it into the angel’s mouth and down their throat. pristine fangs may attempt to bite down on the elk’s arm but the radio host takes the jaw next and tears it off its bony hinges, discarding the disgusting thing by his feet. his shadows make quick work of feathered wings as its twisted and torn of, thrown over his shoulders as he catches a glimpse of them flapping about desperately in his peripheral. the rest is ruthless evisceration as he strips the angel of its skin and crushes their bones beneath his heels.

    and when it’s all over he rushes over to his sunshine and rainbows now pale and convulsing as she dies on the concrete made up of angel feathers and blood. there’s no hesitation as he takes the girl in his arms, and brushes the blonde hair away from her sweat filled face and crying eyes. god, oh god. ❛ i’m here. ❜ he manages to croak out over a tight throat, assessing the damage. brows weaving together as crimson hues fill with tears. chapped lips quivering. shoulders shaking.

    ❛ i’m right here. ❜ pathetic. whimper. nothing matters anymore. appearances don’t hold up in situations like this. this is why he never wanted to get attached. this is why he preferred no company but his own and the shadows that have become a part of him over the decades. another dying love withering away in his arms as he survives and they leave. they always leave.

    ❛ charlotte, ❜ he whispers, rocking back and forth as he held her. ❛ my sweet charlotte. i’m right here. ❜ for he would forever wander the Nine Circles alone, but he would never abandon her in her time of need… even if it were the last.

Summary of K SEVEN STORIES Episode 1 「R：B ～BLAZE～」

Repost as I need ALL spoiler under the cut for edit later. The tumblr app isn’t helping exposing everything after I done a bit of text editing. Deleted the previous post. 

It’s finally here in cinema. The Idol K was shown as an appetizer and R:B ～BLAZE～ the main course after that.

Spoilers ahead. Pardon me for any errors. I tried to put in whatever I remembered.

The Idol K

Around 6 min. The scenes interchanged with normal (zoom in) and chibi (zoom out) forms of the characters throughout the mini episode.  

The setting was the same as K Project except that the characters are idols under Kokujouji Daikaku’s jurisdiction. The Silver Record was having a meeting about rice. Shiro decided to organise a charity event. Kuroh reminded him that they knew nothing about rice and agriculture and THEY ARE IDOLS. They are not suppose to deal with that. Shiro responded with “can’t they do that?” much to Kuroh’s dismay. Worse still, it was not kept among the Silver Record. Shiro wanted to involve the other entertainment companies much to Kuroh’s horror. Shiro would approach HOMRA Entertainment first and Kuroh warned him it would be very difficult to get them to agree to collaborate with them considering their passion. Neko claimed to be close with Anna (she would be easier to talk to). Kuroh highlighted that Anna and Totsuka Tatara were exception but it would be difficult to get the other HOMRA idols such as the one who just returned from America and that he is a walking furnace (hottest looking with his hair down) and an idol who was calculative (can’t remember the actual word used to describe Kusanagi).

But still since Shiro had decided, Kuroh would lend him a land and the scene ended with the three of them leaving for HOMRA.

Kiss kiss kiss was played as the ED.

R:B ～BLAZE～

Started off with a fighting between mafia and HOMRA.

Too much firepower. Bullets flying everywhere. Kamamoto must be an idiot to be running to the open and yelping over the bullets which missed him.

The Red King Suoh Mikoto melted it down. His Sword of Damocles appeared. It appeared to be in better condition obviously. He started to lose control and the sword started to crack like Shiro’s in S2. It was stopped when he heard someone called him, “King”. Totsuka made his appearance and Mikoto regained his sense.  

Discussion about the new Blue King who quickly rebuilt Scepter 4 and how impressive he is to be taking command at scene.

HOMRA has been expanding very fast since Scepter 4 disbanded. The newbies had been acting irresponsibly causing chaos under the name of HOMRA which was an issue. They will accept anyone who can pass Mikoto’s test.

The newbies had been causing troubles enough to gain Scepter 4 attention.

Kagustu Genji looks like this.

Habari Jin obviously will gain more fangirls. ^^

Mikoto had a dream of the previous Red King, Kagutsu Genji losing control and the former Blue King, Habari Jin trying to stop him and the scene of Damocles Down happened. Mikoto saw himself transforming into Berserker a monster and losing control before awakening in the room behind the bar. The HOMRA trio discussed about the newbies of HOMRA starting the fight with the mafia as someone wanted to deal with drugs. Mikoto started HOMRA as he wanted to oppose those who oppressed them.

Mikoto was frustrated as he was finding hard to suppress his power. He felt he was hopeless and want to go all out to have a blast and destroy himself.

He was in the park smoking when another person stood beside him for sometime (quietly) startling Mikoto.

Mikoto kept muttering he felt very hot.

Mikoto was feeling very hot (it was summer) and to see someone dressing in full uniform suit was unimaginable. He instantly realized he was the law abiding new Blue King, Munakata Reisi.

Mikoto was provoking him calling him newbie and he had come to greet him as a respect since he was a senior who became a King before him.

There was a short scene on the awakening of the new Blue King in a plane on fire with Awashima Seri onboard. They used to be ordinary civilians who didn’t know anything. Awashima has become his clansman since then and was helping him to train the new clansman to prepare for any clash with HOMRA. Munakata was wondering who he was and he only got it when he awakened as a King.

He came to Mikoto to ask for collaboration and Mikoto rejected as he didn’t want to follow anybody’s order. Mikoto wanted power to fight against those who oppressed them. Since when his power became a restriction.

Before Munakata left, he asked Mikoto his opinion about Kagutsu Genji. Mikoto merely replied he had not met him.

Mikoto and Munakata decided that they don’t see eye to eye with each other.

The slate kid had made an appearance.

Kusanagi leave Totsuka out to handle the newbie, Yamato Taichi (not Digimon) Yamata Daichi who just joined three months ago who was the source of the trouble.

Yata beaten a newbie up demanding for Yamata’s location. Fushimi was being sadistic. He threatened the newbie not to do anything and live like a corpse if not he would turn him into a corpse right there. Yata decided to take this on himself to find Yamata to teach him a lesson behind Kusanagi’s back. Fushimi agreed to be part of it. They did a knuckle bump.

They intended this movie to be a 2-part episode having the opening theme twice in the movie.

Next half of the movie started out with Yamata reminiscing on his past on his first encounter with HOMRA and Mikoto like Sarumi during their Middle School days. Think it was a reused scene of Mikoto and group walking in the street (Fushimi included).  

Mikoto spotted Totsuka in the street. Totsuka was looking for Yamata and Mikoto decided to stalk follow him.

Yata barged into a cafe (I think) where Yamata was and Scepter 4 arrived in the scene and Yamata escaped. Yamata didn’t understand why it turned out like that.

He was stopped by a butterfly flame and Totsuka appeared before him. He wanted to talk.

The newbies of HOMRA joined for the wrong reason. Mikoto reasoned this out with Yamata Daichi when he showed up behind Totsuka. Yamata was happy that Mikoto actually remembered him (how will you react if your idol remembers you?). A lot of trouble was caused under the name of HOMRA by this group of newbie. There was nothing wrong to bully people so he would not be bullied, to snatch people’s things so his would not be snatched but still, things he had taken from other would be taken from him one day for sure. Mikoto concluded that Yamata and the newbies joined HOMRA merely because of pride.

Mikoto wanted to disband HOMRA and Totsuka told him NO! His King who could not control his power need somewhere to dwell, somewhere to eat and sleep. Mikoto obviously couldn’t say no to him.

Scepter 4 arrived in the scene with Munakata Reisi. Munakara wanted Mikoto to hand Yamata custody over to ask some questions. Mikoto wouldn't budge in the name of he won’t follow anyone’s order. Mikoto decided to buy some time while Totsuka took Yamata and ran.

Munakata ordered Awashima to take the troop and run after Totsuka and Yamata while he would take Mikoto on.

Both Mikoto and Munakata underestimated each other’s ability or rather they were overconfident about themselves. It was a fight between two children granted with toys they shouldn’t have received.

Mikoto was thrown against a wall and he melted the wall down. Munakata insisted he would not unsheathe his sword and took him on. Mikoto stepped on Munakata’s sword which he used as a shield to block his kick declaring he would be on top. Munakata dodged and Mikoto was impressed by his movement.

Munakata noticed the damage their battle had caused and he “rationally” decided to retreat. He declared he would concede defeat to Mikoto leaving Yamata Daichi’s custody to him and thought he would like it. Mikoto was like “huh?”, “wtf?” and he got really pissed. They clashed again and Mikoto sent Munakata flying... Yes he went blasting off like a shooting star 😂😂😂. Awashima saw shooting star aka a man flying past up in the sky (it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no it’s her King. The whole cinema burst into laughter. Sorry, fans of Munakata) She came to Munakata who picked himself up leaving a dent on the wall of a building acting as though nothing happened when she asked him about the Red King. Munakata decided that he “would finish him off” with an straight face.

Yata and Fushimi had a run in with the alphabet boys of S4. They were saved from being arrested by Kusanagi as Totsuka called him. The alphabet boys retreated.

He made his way back to Mikoto by walking as though nothing happened to continue their battles. Mikoto wanted to make Munakata cry while Munakata wanted to make Mikoto grovel on the ground. This time they released both their Sword of Damocles and decided to go all out. Totsuka said he believed in his King. The fight went on until someone dropped a sword and stood on it to stop them. The man was Miwa Ichigen, the Colourless King. He was the mediator sent by Kokujouji Daikaku and he should have come to meet them earlier. Mikoto did not want to follow anybody’s order and expanded his sanctum but it was dispelled instantly by Ichigen and that gave him a shock. Munakata being a good boy put away his sword.

Mikoto and Munakata with their second-in-command had a family meeting with Kokujouji Daikaku and Miwa Ichigen. Kokujouji let them off this time. They were the chosen ones by the Slate and he would leave them to do what they wished as long as they abide to protocol 120 (he did not come up with that). Munakata asked him if they would be punished since they released their Sword of Damocles. Kokujouji suddenly clapped his hands and laughed to lighten up the mood much to Mikoto and Munakata’s surprise. (They did not expect the no-nonsense old man will make that kind of face a silly old man would make). They should make peace with each other.

Comment: When the two young kings met, it became a fight between two kids granted with powers they shouldn’t be receiving. Mikoto clashing on walls, Munataka blasting off into the sky *facepalm*. 

Mikoto’s facial expression can be more amusing.

Kokujouji clapped his hand laughing sheepishly like a certain younger Silver King to lighten the mood. Ok, Reisi is not getting any punishment from fighting with Mikoto today.

Ok they are all “OOC”.

I wish they could expand more on the incident with Kagutsu Genji. Perhaps we will get more insight about it in Episode 2 「SIDE-BLUE ～天狼の如く～」when it gets released.

Aftermath: Art in the Wake of World War One

Aftermath: Art in the Wake of World War I Tate Britain Until 23rd September 2018 Currently on at the Tate Britain is Aftermath: Art in the Wake of World War One. Marking the 100 year anniversary since the end of the First World War 'Aftermath' explores the impact that this infamously great war had on British, German and French art; exploring not only the physical but the psychological scars that this time left on Europe and its artists. World War I (often abbreviated to WWI), also known as the First World War, was a global war that originated in Europe and lasted from 28th July 1914 to 11th November 1918. It was described as the 'War to End All Wars', with more than 70 million military personnel mobilised in one of the largest wars in history. Over 9 million combatants and 7 million civilians died as a result of the war; it was one of the deadliest and gruelling conflicts in history, and precipitated major political changes. One of the triggers for the war was the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria by Yugoslav nationalist Gavrilo Princip in June 1914. As a result international alliances formed over previous decades became entangled and involved in the conflict. Within weeks the major powers were at war, and soon it spread across the entire world. After the war art was used in many ways, from the building of public memorials to documenting its destructive impact both socially and on the land itself. This heartbreakingly fascinating and moving exhibition shows how artists reacted to the memories and life the war created. William Orpen's 1918 'Zonnebeke' shows a dark and gloomy scene, displaying dead bodies strewn about the place, almost like dolls tossed aside by children done playing with them. Orpen drew on his own experiences elsewhere to express the horrors and destruction of war. The scene is truly horrific, almost causing viewers to feel slight guilt as they can't help but admire the beauty in the piece that contains such awful images. The horrors of the painting are even more unimaginable when viewers are reminded that it is not a scene taken from one's imagination, but rather one that was, sadly, a very real daily view for so many people. However, amongst all the darkness and dismay, Orpen has painted a small crack in the dark black clouds, where a blue sky peeps though, offering just a glimmer of light and a symbol of hope amongst all the death and destruction. One of the most inspiring artists featured is British artist Paul Nash. Immediately after the war Nash painted 'Wire' in 1918. Showing hoards of dead trees and nature, Nash documented the sad reality that was not only human life but all life was taken as a result of the war. Every inch of the painting shows destruction of the worst kind, from charred, blackened trees with barbed wire wrapped around them symbolising mutilated bodies, to the soil that once held life, now burned, blitzed and devoid of any living thing. Nash grew up in Buckinghamshire, where he developed a love for the land. Nash found much inspiration in landscapes with elements of ancient history and the artworks he produced during WWI are some of the most iconic images of the conflict. Shortly after the start of the war Nash reluctantly enlisted as a private for home service. Nash's duties, which included guarding the Tower of London, allowed him time to continue drawing and painting. In December 1914 he married Margaret Odeh, an Oxford educated campaigner for Women's Suffrage. He then began officer training in 1916 and in 1917 was sent to the Western Front as a second lieutenant. Based at St. Eloi on the Ypres Salient Nash has a reltivley quiet time. The desruction to the land was tremendous, however Nash was overjoyed when he saw that with the arrival of Spring the landscape was starting to recover from the damage inflicted on it. In May 1917 Nash fell into a trench and broke a rib and was sent back home to London. A few days later the majority of his former unit were killed in an assault. Nash considered himself incredibly luckily to have evaded death and adopted a new outlook on life. In November 1917 Nash returned to Ypres Salient as a uniformed observer, at this point however the war in this location was three months old and Nash often found himself under shellfire. Nash was horrified to discover the that the landscape he returned to was very different to the one he had last seen in Spring. The ditches and small canals had been all but destroyed by the constant shellfire, months of incessant rain had led to flooding and miles of deep mud. Nash was outrages at this desecration of nature, believing the landscape no longer capable of supporting life or recovering. This realisation led Nash into becoming angry and disillusioned with the war. Nash's anger, although painful, was a brilliant creative stimulus which led him to produce dozens of paintings a day, working with an angered frenzy that caused him to begin taking great risks to create his art which took him to the front line trenches. Nash's 'Landscape at Iden', painted sometime after the war finished in 1929, shows a surrealist farm yard setting. A huge pile of logs to one side represents the piles of dead soldiers from the war, while the snake coiling around the fence symbolises the rod intertwined with serpents that was held by Mercury as he accompanied the dead to the underworld in classical mythology. Many paintings show the graveyards that were created almost as monuments to the dead soldiers. They show the identical graves all in rows, stretching far and wide into the hundreds of thousands. These mass graves show the mathematical perspective of the carnage and body counts that the war bought. Christopher Richard Wynne Nevinson's painfully ironically named 'Paths of Glory' shows an unflinching depiction of soldiers whose bodies have been left to rot in waste land. The title is taken from the 1750 poem by Thomas Gray, 'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard', “...the paths of glory lead but to the grave”. This exhibition serves as a painful reminder to viewers that death didn't just happen on the front lines of war, but that it was taken home to the citizens and other that had witnessed the horrors of war and could not escape them. Such is the case with Wilhelm Lehmbruck who sculpted 'The Fallen Man' in 1915-16. The statue shows a man on all four, begging, pleading, distraught, devoid of anything but hopelessness. Lehmbruck could not recover from the horrors he had seen and experienced at war and ultimately he committed suicide. One thing each war artist had in common was the ability to show their revulsion of the war. Artists from all countries, some opposing, all showed the horrors as they truly were, there was no propaganda from any sides from any self respecting artists. Many artists also showed the dehumanising of soldiers, as they were all in the uniforms stood in rows waiting for death; each soldier just a number in the grand scheme of things, instead of a son; a father; a husband; a brother, just wanting to go home to the lives and their families. Conrad Felixmüller's 'Solidet in the Madhouse I & II' are representations of the psychological effects the war had on people. The use of sharp edges, distorted forms, and twisted, confined bodies represent the feelings anxiety and pain are a result of Felixmüller's time spent in a psychiatric hospital after he refused to join the German army after being drafted. He spent four weeks in the hospital and during this time he developed this distinctive fragmented style of art. Many people during this time took to religion, including artist Winifred Knights, whose 'The Deluge' shows citizens fleeing form a great flood in reference to the Old Testament flood. It shows people with sheer terror in their faces, as the flood is used as a metaphor for conflict and bombing. The painting exudes a dramatic sense of panic. Pablo Picasso also used religious references in his works after the war. 'Family by the Seaside' includes Christian imagery of the pietà, the dead Christ moourned over by the Virgin Mary. His painting shows a mother and child lamenting over a dead fathers body, displaying the melancholy that remained even after the war. Dorothy Brett's 1916 'War Widows' shows a group of women all dressed in black, surrounding a central woman who is pregnant. This painting is a result of the enormous death toll that affected the women of the war. Although not directly in the heart of the battles the women and children were deeply affected, suffering constant worries, pain and loss. This painting gives viewers the opportunity to reflect on the social bonds of bereaved women and how the war negatively impacted the next generation. Tucked away in corner of this exhibition is an area of colour and hope showing paintings of golden fields, and vibrant green countrysides that remain beautiful and untouched by war. These thriving areas, full of colour and bountiful life, offer a quite life away from the cities. Showing the hope and wonders to come after the war. They show the peace that so many longed for. The painted images of twisted, mangled bodies that lay in the blackened, hellish landscapes of senseless destruction do not do justice to what was experienced during the war. As viewers to these tremendous pieces of art we can not even begin to comprehend or imagine how life was during this time. These artists have given us these small, heartbreaking glimpses of life during the war, creating pieces of art that though horrifying and disturbing are beautiful in a twisted way.

Wonder Woman #49

Previously in James Robinson’s sad spiral into senility: Wonder Woman accidentally summoned +~teh D4rK g0dz~+, a group of alternate-universe Greek Gods who are allegedly extremely dark and gritty and terrifying. ROLL CALL!

Mob God: goddess of chaos, shit version of Eris

The God With No Name: loser who walks around with a sheet on his head

Savage Fire: auditioned for the part of sexy Satan, was disappointed to be cast as a war god instead; crotch is literally on fire

Karnell: evil love god who is ~tortured~ because insert generic fridging story here

King Best: calls himself that with a straight face; giant stone Darkseid knockoff

Written as devastatingly evil heavy-hitters, they mostly just succeed at invoking intense second-hand embarrassment.

Now, after being AWOL for an entire issue, Diana is back and ready to take the fight to the Dark Gods. It’s time for a showdown!

…ooooorrrr we could just fart around for twenty pages and end on the most obvious fake-out imaginable.

First off, we need to talk about Stephen Segovia’s cover because WHAT.

Segovia is often praised for his dynamic, action-oriented art, and it’s not necessarily undeserved. Action is clearly his strength, and he excels at fast-paced fight scenes.

But he also has a tendency to deliver pages like this one, or like the splash page in WW #46, where no one part of the (invariably female) character’s anatomy seems to connect to any other part. Absurd boobs-and-butt action shots are nothing new in comics, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen such egregious examples. 

Look at Sexy Satan Lady: what is happening to her arse in that scene? Her left shoulder seems to have slipped halfway down her torso, and god only knows where her hips have fucked off to. Diana’s upper torso, on the other hand, seems to be directly attached to her hips, and she’s missing half her left leg.

But moving onto the bad joke that is this entire issue.

Diana and Jason are preparing to take on Best Buy, who seems less interested in transforming the Earth into a glorious hellscape than he is in playing out his monster movie fantasies by making himself giant and stomping on houses.

I’m serious. When the Biggest of Bads eats the entire Justice League, giving him access to unimaginable power, and he chooses to use that power to animate an impractically large and stupidly-taxing-to-operate body, enabling him to go on a slow-moving rampage through DC, I can only assume that his motive is ‘RAAAAA LOOK AT ME I’M GAMERA!!’ Because he could legitimately have used that power to consume the entire continental US in flames if that was what he wanted to do.

Steve radios in, and Diana instructs him to give the readers an exposition dump. She actually flags it, as if she’s a news anchor interviewing a reporter on the scene: “What about the other gods? Where in the world are they and what kind of damage are they causing?”

So Steve tells us who the other Dark Gods are, where in the world they are and what kind of damage they are causing.

James Robinson has been professionally writing comics for almost thirty years. I think it’s past time somebody told him to stop.

Sexy Satan Lady is inciting all the nations of South America to war.

Mobglob has the population of Britain in a rapturous thrall, which seems a little outside her ‘chaos and rioting’ wheelhouse. People are just staring into the sky, not eating or drinking or noticing anything around them. Steve says that children, babies and the elderly are already beginning to sicken and die from dehydration and exhaustion, which is strange, since this has only been going on for a good ten minutes.

Kandy Krush has the entire population of China consumed in a violent orgy, and the Horse With No Name is inciting Russians to suicide.

“And none of this includes the acts of madness and violence happening everywhere else in the world just from the Dark Gods’ presence on Earth,” says Steve, finishing his news report.

Remember, aside from Steve’s second-hand updates, we’ve seen no evidence of the Dark Gods’ presence infecting the world with this wide-scale hysteria and violence, aside from two people losing their shit at Diana.

Robinson tries to correct this now: over three pages, he shows us snapshots of four individuals in each of the four regions under assault from the Dark Gods, as their ordinary lives are swept up and consumed by the violent, chaotic supernatural forces that are slowly reshaping the world.

It’s a familiar device, particularly in horror comics, and the best writers can use it to truly chilling effect — think Alan Moore in Swamp Thing, Neil Gaiman in Sandman.

Robinson is no Moore and he’s no Gaiman. His is simply a by-the-numbers effort, one that in illustrates the chaos on the ground in technical terms, without imparting any particular sense of horror or empathy for the characters.

Panel 1: Character is going about their ordinary life.

Panel 2: Character comes in contact with the Dark God’s influence.

Panel 3: Character is consumed.

It’s weak, bloodless writing that only serves to rehash the two-page infodump we just got from Steve.

Diana and Jason take on Emperor Awesome.

“This planet will be unlike anything you could ever image after we’re done with it. Your hell. My heaven. Earth first and then the universe. Remade in horror.”

Again, so far you’ve done nothing but squander the power you’ve harvested on living out a kaiju fantasy, so I’m less than terrified.

Diana fluffs up her air, pushes in her neck, thrusts out her boobs and attacks tits-first.

“That’s it, brother! Hit him hard with the wind power of our father, Zeus…”

WHO TALKS LIKE THIS?!

This isn’t just lazy writing, it’s downright contemptuous. Do you think your readers are so absurdly dense that they’ve somehow forgotten that Jason has wind powers, which he inherited from Zeus, who is his father, and Diana’s as well because they’re twins? Because that’s the only justifiable reason to include such a stilted, pedantic line of dialogue in the middle of a Big Boss battle.

Jason doesn’t need reminding, and Diana’s not going to waste both breath and precious seconds. All she needs is three words: ‘Jason! Wind blast!’

(I’d argue she shouldn’t be saying anything at all here, since generally announcing each of your attacks to a larger and stronger opponent is a surefire way to get flattened, but then again, Jason is incompetent and in need of direction.)

There’s an unintentionally comical sequence in which Jason uses his wind power to lift Sir Excellent into the air and he and Diana manoeuvre the apparently unprotesting giant over the Atlantic Ocean, before dropping him in.

Thus, the scariest and most evil god that ever is or was is rendered temporarily helpless by a strong wind.

Obviously he won’t be out of the fight for long, because Robinson is nothing if not predictable.

In the meantime, Jason goes to have another crack at fighting Sexy Satan Lady. She gloats and he charges at her, while silently begging for Athena to give him the wisdom to best use the power of Dolos — Dolos being the personified spirit of trickery and cunning deception. Basically, he’s telling us that he’s planning to deceive the Dark Gods. Keep this in mind.

Diana has joined Steve for another multi-page infodump.

“We’re getting ready to deploy the Suicide Squad — multi-team, biggest version ever, actually. Plus the Titans and any Justice League reservists I can get my hands on… the trouble is, the gods keep turning the heroes, making them as insane as everyone else. The Ray, Zatanna, Damage, Beaumont and Sunny Jim in Britain, to name a few. The list goes into the hundreds. That, or as with the Justice League, they get absorbed by the gods who are made all the stronger for it.”

Hey, you know what’s more fun than watching superheroes team up to fight a world-ending threat??? Having a secondary character describe that happening from a safe distance!

Robinson has ample page-space to show us these things. The amount of time he spends each issue dicking around, rehashing things we’ve already been told and having characters deliver unnecessarily long infodumps, he could very easily devote to scenes like the ones Steve is describing here: Amanda Waller deploying a last-ditch, multi-team Suicide Squad. Other heroes and teams coming up against the Dark Gods and being overwhelmed. Magic users being consumed by the Dark Gods’ bloodthirsty and intoxicating energies. Heavy-hitters being made to turn against their own, or simply being devoured without laying a single blow.

And if Robinson is too lazy or too incompetent to write those scenes, then the very least he can do is shut the fuck up about it, instead of having Steve describe what sounds like a much more interesting comic.

Steve and Diana get word that all of the Dark Gods just vanished. (Actually, they get word that all of the Dark God just vanished, because nobody is editing this comic.) Then all five are sighted in the skies over Paraguay, where Jason had gone to fight Sexy Satan Lady. Diana rushes to Jason’s rescue aaaaaaand…

Jason: Looking for me, sister?! I have something for you— the lightning of our father combined with the fire of Hephaestus. Diana: Jason! NO! They can’t have driven you mad! I thought you’d be stronger— Jason: Mad? Why, sister, I’m saner than I’ve ever been. I see everything clearly. The Greek gods are nothing… ALL PRAISE THE DARK GODS.

In fairness, on its face this is a perfectly plausible twist, because Jason has continually shown himself to be weak-willed, incompetent and selfish — and has a track record of being tricked into the service of supervillain conquerors with only the lightest bit of prodding.

But since we’ve already been as good as told that this is a fake-out (two pages ago, when Jason announced his intention to deceive the Dark Gods), this cliffhanger just feels like more padding. There’s so little substance to this story, I can’t believe it’s gone on for this long.

Fortunately, next issue is the final one of this garbage fire of a run. I’m hoping desperately for Jason to die in the final battle, but I’m willing to settle for banished out of reach.

However, I’m pleased to note that my Jason’s-magic-armour-doesn’t-do-anything theory remains intact.

  April 1, 1945, was both Easter Sunday and April Fools Day. My father, a 20-year-old member of the 6th Marine Division, was aboard a troop landing craft, heading straight to the shores of the heavily fortified island of Okinawa. Approaching the beaches with a mixture of fear, eagerness and uneasy anticipation; these feelings intensified with the smells and sounds of a battle in progress. A young man whose future, whose very life, was now in the hands of an unknown fate. Far away from home, it would be a surreal experience for anyone. The battlefield in its full fury, flying bullets, exploding mortars shot from the batteries of ships out in the harbor, the anti-aircraft guns blasting charging kamikazes out of the skies, the screaming of the wounded and killed. The men charged, running headlong into the onslaught of projectiles, the lucky ones, dodging death in the chaos and confusion hoping to reach safety and shelter in this hostile place.

He would be tested in this, his first and only battle. Like many others he was suffering from a serious bout of seasickness, from the motion of the waves and swells, tossing and rocking the ship. The salty seas washed aboard, drenching the troops. The odor of sweat, urine, and vomit filled the confined craft as it made its way, an eternity to the shore.

Momentarily, to take his mind off the impending reality, he thought of his childhood friend, a man who would later become my uncle. Today was his 22nd birthday, and he was somewhere on the European front. They were both children of Italian immigrants that had settled in the south-eastern section of Detroit. He wondered what he was doing at that very moment. It was a connection that reminded him of home.

My father had enlisted in the Corps in 1943, he was initially sent to Chicago for inductment, from there he was shipped to San Diego’s Camp Pendleton for basic training. On completion, orders came for departure the next day. Denied liberty passes before their send-off, my father and a group of cohorts, decided to spend one last night out on the town. They went AWOL for a night of girls and drinking. They returned the next morning turning themselves in. They were detained to face court-martial. They were sentenced to 90 days in the brig. In a twist of fate, this act may have been a saving grace, as the departing troops had been bound for Iwo Jima.

After serving his sentence, his destination was to Guadalcanal for intense combat training as a machine gunner. The island had recently been captured in early 1943 and was used as a training and supply base. The Sixth Division was formed here in 1944 from groups of battle-tested veterans and new recruits; they came together from various battalions and regiments to create a new Division. They were preparing for the 6,000-mile journey to the Island of Okinawa, the last holdout of the Japanese Imperial Forces. Intense and serious fighting was expected for this, the Japanese last stand and last hope. It was to be a fierce and bloody 82-day campaign. The Japanese were determined to hold their ground in a last desperate attempt, they were well entrenched and heavily fortified. Prepared to fight to the end, to suffer and sacrifice rather than surrender, they had dug in settling in a series of tunnels, caves, and bunkers, known as pillboxes. They took their devotion to the Emperor very devoutly.

  Iwo Jima had been a crushing defeat, as they were losing more and more of their grip on the chain of Pacific Islands they once held. They would not make this battle an easy assault. They prepared what remained of their aerial and naval craft for support. This was the zenith of the kamikaze might. The term kamikaze translates to, divine wind. As a last ditch effort to inflict as many casualties as possible, the use of kamikaze began in earnest, in late October 1944, during the battle of the Gulf Of Leyte, in the Philippines. Okinawa would be their last and most glorious service. There was no shortage of volunteers. During the Okinawa campaign, the estimated damage they inflicted on the Allied fleet was 47 vessels destroyed, and an additional 10 damaged.

  In yet another desperate move: 1,870 middle school boys, between the ages of 14 and 17, were recruited or conscripted. They would be known as the Iron And Blood Imperial Corps. They sustained heavy casualties.

    The battle began April 1st and ended on June 22nd. For the ferocity of the fighting, the Japanese came to call the battle, the rain of steel or violent wind of steel. It was to become the largest amphibious battle of the Pacific. Okinawa is situated 340 miles west of mainland Japan. Once victory came, the plan was to use it as the base for air operations on the assumed upcoming assault.

The battle itself comprised of units from both the Army and Marine Corps. Additional naval and air support was conducted with Allied support, although they did not assist with ground troops. The strategy was a two fronted assault from the northern and southern parts of the island. The first move was a barrage by Naval ships that shelled the island, while fighter pilots defended the vulnerable fleet.

    Cliff where native jumped to their death.

  Ground troops followed. It would not be an easy victory. The battle to dislodge entrenched enemy combatants involved total warfare in all its ugliness. There was much at stake, both sides knew it. Once the victory at Okinawa was secured, the next and final target would be Japan itself. The ferociousness of battle was savage and intense. Both sides battle weary after four years. One side would emerge the victor, this blow to Japan was a humiliation. At times the ground was covered in mud from heavy rains. Bodies of the dead from both sides lying exposed, bloated and rotting crawling with maggots. A horrific scene, that was to haunt many of the hardest. The conditions in which the fighting took place including the terrain itself, the weather, the psychological impact of the carnage, the fierceness of the enemy, the horrors must have been unimaginable. These factors were catalysts, circumstances for the savagery. It led to conditions ripe for atrocities, the thirst for blood was potent, revenge overcame reason

  Soldiers that were entrenched in caves and tunnels were often blown up or burnt alive by flame throwers. The smell of burning and charred flesh filled the air. Many soldiers and natives committed suicide rather than be defeated and shamed. The residents fled to the caves and cliffs, many of them jumping to their deaths in the sea. The island’s civilian population was about 300,000. They were to pay a heavy cost in loss of life, and property. Ninety percent of the island was in ruins. A landscape of devastation. The Okinawan’s found themselves in an unfortunate position, victims of both sides.

  Losses sustained on both sides were significant. The Americans lost 20,195 killed; 55,162 injured. 110,071 Japanese and Okinawan’s who had donned the uniform were registered as dead by the Allied Forces. That number 110,071 is a significant one for the point of this story. That number being, the one.

  A Man I Did Not Know

The story was told to me at a young age, at the time I felt bad for the man. I asked my father why he did what he did. He told me I didn’t understand, I was not there. It was war. He had seen things. He was angry. He wanted revenge. Through the years, I frequently asked the question again. As time went by and I matured. I felt a deep sense of sadness for this dead boy.

My father and another soldier were together, they were separated from their unit. I don’t remember the exact reason for this separation, maybe it was during the confusion of battle, possibly they were on a reconnaissance mission. They came upon a solitary unarmed soldier. He was young, little more than a boy, maybe he had been recruited into the Iron And Blood Imperial Corps. He surrendered to them.

There was a discussion between my father and the other man, as to what they should do with him. I don’t know if the decision was a mutual one. My dad told the man to go, to run. He then proceeded to shoot him in the back. He was one of the 110,071 killed. I never could reconcile with what he had done. It was murder. My father!

I knew a man who killed another, that man was my father. The killing was an unconscionable act, to me it was not necessary. It was a judgment made with little thought or feeling, from someone who could not see a frightened fellow human being, one helpless, afraid and defeated. How do we become so callous to human suffering and return unchanged or untouched? The cruelty of men lies sleeping. It slumbers until shaken. It rages and ravages when awakened. A primal struggle, no one is immune, if given sanctity of the just. Legitimized by a rationale of necessity.

I am a legacy of that action that set forth my being. The sins of the father, I did not know back then. It is a burden that I have carried, that has troubled me deeply to the core. The shadow of his ghost has haunted me. That chain, that mystic cord connects me to his wandering soul. Cheated by a bullet, from a gun. Denied his chance of a future and a life. Gone in an instant. Fatally fallen, his life spilled out in all its redness, seeping into the good earth. That goodness spoiled and squandered.

War is a brutal business, a test of man’s morality and convictions. It produces mobs of violent, angry and aggressive men, that thirst for blood and revenge, of an impersonal foe, they call the enemy. For what reason they scarcely question. Led by distant commanders. Their bodies vacant shells molded into obedient killing machines, dutiful servants in the name of a noble cause. Rally to the call of patriotism. Individual accountability has no place on war-torn battlefields.

Abandoning any form of conscience or compassion. The better angels of our nature wrestle between and are overcome by taunts of the Devil, laughing nestled on our shoulders. He whispers the deed is validated and justified. The dead man is now dust in the ground, but his spirit knows no rest. He was also told, these men are your enemy, go forth and kill. When fate brought these two face to face, no one won, no one, but the Devil.

Do not question what you are told, go forth and do the bidding of thirsty men. Their unquenchable blood lust feeds the fires for the stirrings of war. Brave and honorable, the model soldier. Thoughts and ideas are colored and clouded by the passion of propaganda, disguised as patriotism. The waving of a flag, the holiest of symbols, a mere piece of cloth. Both side in conflicts hold their convictions to be sacred and just. Humanity’s misery becomes a victory.

Countless bodies, in rows and rows, stacked in piles, mountains of a wasteland. Bloodbaths of wars, filling oceans across time, can’t wash clean the dirtied hands that took up arms against another. In our imagined and instigated disputes, we resort to our most primitive and baser instincts. A great struggle to survive and dominate drives us to subject our foes, those we see as a threat, as competition. Lessons are not learned from previous mistakes. For every step we take ahead, we take another back. It’s been a never-ending cycle.

Options to resolve differences, to prevent conflict are tossed aside, once the taste for blood has been stirred. Our eyes suddenly lose sight, our ears, can not hear. Deaf to the cries of caution and concern. If you profess to be a Christian or a Muslim and hold the values and virtues so dearly and faithfully as claimed, there should be a moral dilemma, an inner conflict with the hypocrisy of the tenets that are so adhered to, with such passion and devotion. There should be a sense of humility and reflection when one holds that stance so vehemently. The ideology of a fraction of a few presents a skewed and biased misrepresentation. The statement, “freedom isn’t free” has been effective. It’s become a common and accepted in our lexicon, but upon examination, what does it mean? There’s been a deliberate impact to divide. It’s always been an effective means to an end.

The courage and sacrifices of the victims become diminished. Perhaps in hindsight time and circumstance will afford a different perspective. The distances separating participants memories and those of innocent eyes will disagree about conflicts and the merits of necessity. Survivors, innocent and damned on every side, pass down the consequences of their actions, further casualties who seek solace and understanding. I can’t make amends for that long ago stolen life. I feel a link, a bond to an unknown man, one who was not my enemy.  If I could, I would reach out my hand. I feel remorse, and guilt that is deep. That man never had children, but hear I am a child of the victor. The man I knew as my father. I never knew his true feelings, if he struggled with what he had done, was he sorry? Did he temporarily lose his humanity due to the extremity of his circumstances that I could never understand? Did he ever see his face, pleading back at him or hear his voice in his dreams? Did he ask for forgiveness? I ask for it.

Photos from Google searches. If any photos can be credited or infringe on copyright, please contact me.

I would like to see every single soldier on every single side, just take off your helmet, unbuckle your kit, lay down your rifle, and set down at the side of some shady lane, and say, nope, I aint a gonna kill nobody. Plenty of rich folks wants to fight. Give them the guns.

Woody Guthrie

Every miserable fool who has nothing at all of which he can be proud, adopts as a last resource pride in the nation to which he belongs; he is ready and happy to defend all its faults and follies tooth and nail, thus reimbursing himself for his own inferiority.”― Arthur Schopenhauer

“Those who promise us paradise on earth never produced anything but a hell.”― Karl Popper

Where there is power, there is resistance.”― Michel Foucault

Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear. Bertrand Russell

“The need is not really for more brains, the need is now for a gentler, a more tolerant people than those who won for us against the ice, the tiger and the bear. The hand that hefted the ax, out of some old blind allegiance to the past fondles the machine gun as lovingly. It is a habit man will have to break to survive, but the roots go very deep.” ― Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey

©2017 Kathleen Stefani and Combing  The Catacombs. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express written permission from the site’s author is strictly forbidden.

Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to, Kathleen Stefani and Combing The Catacombs, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

  I Knew A Man April 1, 1945, was both Easter Sunday and April Fools Day. My father, a 20-year-old member of the 6th Marine Division, was aboard a troop landing craft, heading straight to…

By Doug Henwood. This article was first published on LBO News.

How much longer can this go on? As I write this, PredictIt gives 71/29 odds that Trump will last the year, but it’s mighty tempting to buy the “no”—especially after the revelation that he asked Comey to shut down the Flynn investigation. (Disclosure alert: I bought 100 shares of “no” at $0.28.)

What is the endgame of the people, mostly Democrats, pounding the drums most heavily? Do they want to impeach Trump, which seems a long shot given Republican control of Congress? Do they want to bruise his weak ego so badly that he resigns? Clearly the job is much harder than he ever imagined—and, by the way, what reasonably sentient person over the age of 8 ever thought the presidency wasn’t grindingly hard? But he also wants adulation, not the relentless volleys of shit he’s gotten. It’s not impossible to imagine him just walking offstage, especially if his legal situation gets seriously dicey.

What then? President Pence? If Pence were president, the entire Republican dream agenda would sail through Congress in like three weeks. Pence spent a dozen years in Congress (Tea Party branch) and four years as governor of Indiana; he’s an appalling figure but he knows how things work. He might not be able to overcome his party’s internal divisions, but he probably could do a better job than Trump, and every day would not be a circus as it is now.

Pence is a horror—fiscal sadist, misogynist, homophobe, lover of the carceral state. He’s repeatedly described himself as “a Christian, a conservative, and a Republican, in that order,” though given today’s modern GOP, it’s not clear there’s much of a difference among these features. (He should have said he’s a reactionary Christian; there are plenty of other kinds.) He’s a creationist who rejects climate change, thinks stem cell research is “obsolete,” and once actually said that “smoking doesn’t kill.” His anti-abortion law was the most extreme in the country. His cuts to Planned Parenthood led to a rural HIV epidemic. Like Sessions, Pence is a maximalist on drugs, including weed. He’s hot to privatize Social Security. He likened the Supreme Court’s upholding of Obamacare to 9/11.

Should Trump get pushed out, the orchestrated campaign of healing would be painful. It’s not far-fetched to imagine leading Democrats channelling Gerald Ford’s “our long national nightmare is over.” There would be something of what Wall Street calls a “relief rally” on the transition, and it would perversely grease the way for Pence to make the U.S. more like the Indiana he left behind. We should be fighting to keep him in office, as fatally damaged goods.

Several things seem to be driving this campaign to squeeze Trump out, aside from the obvious fact he’s an unstable ignoramus. Dems still can’t get over the fact that they lost to the most unpopular candidate in the history of polling, but instead of blaming their own terrible candidate (the second-most unpopular candidate in the history of polling) and the slavers’ legacy, the Electoral College, they want to blame Russia. (Time was they blamed Comey too—remember when Paul Krugman said that “Comey and Putin installed a crazy, vindictive can’t-handle-the-truth person in the White House”? But he’s since been rehabilitated.)

But that’s not all: a large part of the political class (Hillary prominent among them, along with John McCain), the security establishment, and their contract-hungry patrons in the military–industrial complex all want desperately to make Russia the enemy, and are reviving zombie tropes from the Cold War to promote their cause. Trump may well have friends in the Russian mob, but his resistance to elite hostility towards the country is one of the few non-awful things about him.

It’s been stunning to watch liberals cheering on the security state’s war-by-leak against Trump. He’s odious, but he is the legally elected president—under an absurd electoral system, but that’s the one we’ve got. (Makes you wonder what they would have done to Sanders, if by some unimaginable fluke he’d won.) And yet we’ve seen months of praise for the CIA and the FBI as the magic bullets who could deliver us from the short-fingered vulgarian.

The defenses of the CIA began with Trump’s disparaging remarks about the Agency before taking office, which were taken as near-blasphemous. For an amateur like Trump, such attacks were extremely risky. In early January, Chuck Schumer presciently warned (on the Maddow Show, of course): “Let me tell you: You take on the intelligence community—they have six ways from Sunday of getting back at you.” You’d almost think that he knew what would come next: an endless series of leaks portraying Trump as Putin’s towel boy and, as an extra-special bonus, a pervert (the piss tape)—all applauded by liberals, with little regard for the CIA’s 70-year history of lying, assassination, and coups.

Then came the Comey firing, and suddenly the FBI was a noble organization as well. It’s far from that, and has always been. As Mark Ames reports in his little history of the Bureau, it has no legal charter; Congress didn’t want to authorize a secret police so Teddy Roosevelt created it by executive fiat. Much of the Bureau’s history was been about persecuting communists—and gay people—and smearing its enemies. It spent the 1960s and early 1970s trying to ruin Martin Luther King, the Black Panthers, and and the New Left. In other words, it’s been political from the very first, and all these current worries about “politicizing” the FBI are Grade A bullshit.

Which brings us back to the endgame issue. Democrats look to be extending the strategy of their failed 2016 campaign by being the not-Trump and nothing more—it’s all they’ve got. They are making no visible effort to come up with an appealing agenda as an alternative to the deeply unpopular one the GOP has on offer. In fact, they’re annoyed at Bernie Sanders for trying to get the party to talk about policy, which is somehow seen as an act of narcissism in the Beltway worldview:

But the senator, who’ll be 79 the next time the New Hampshire primary rolls around, is continuing to put himself at the center of the conversation. He’s introduced a Medicare-for-all bill this week that he hopes will force others to sign on.

Imagine that! Pushing a bill to expand health insurance coverage at a moment when Republicans are trying to take it away. The ego of that man.

The party’s strategy can’t be counted a success on conventional measures; Gallup reports that the Dems have lost 5 approval points since November, leaving the two parties with near-identical approval ratings (D: 40%, R: 39%).

  During the early days of the Trump administration, it seemed like a serious left opposition might take form. That‘s a hazy memory now that so many liberals and even leftists are taking dictation from the security state and throwing around words like “treason.” We can do better than this, can’t we?

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