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Assassination

Courtesy NPR

Assassination is a selfish, cowardly act.

Case in point: last night, a rhino was assassinated.

The term is usually applied to an individual of prominence, for fame or a political end, but I feel that doesn’t encompass the full depravity of the act. Assassination is murder for profit. Plain and simple. And Vince’s assassination is a prime example. It was for the ivory in his horn. Nothing more.

The rhino didn’t do anything wrong. It was just, you know, being a rhino.

And that’s why it was killed.

The assassins plan to profit from this murder. Ivory sells well on the black market. The nature of our capitalist society motivated these people to murder an innocent, unaware creature. Vince died confused and scared and bleeding out.

Does that seem right to you?

Imagine if the rhino were a person. They were going about their business. Maybe worrying about bills, or looking forward to a date, or making plans to find some way to a better future. Gunshot. Snap. Nothing more in this world. The corpse will feed the worms, the murder will feed someone’s financial or political greed.

Does that seem right to you?

Now imagine the person’s character being assassinated. Their body lives, but they are assaulted on a social and emotional and mental level. They are called all sorts of names, made out to be someone they’re not. The things said and done to them make them question their sanity. Their way forward is suddenly illuminated solely by gaslight. Without help, support, and love, they may go mad. Collapse in on themselves. They might even take their own life just to end the pain and confusion. And all the while, the people who did it to them profit from it. They look better, even righteous, by comparison. They get whatever they want from that person’s agony. Some of them might even laugh about it.

Does that seem right to you?

Superpowers are engaging in assassination on a regular basis. And worse, they’re getting more bold and blatant about it. Speak out against the state, get shot in the street. Express a contrary opinion, get reduced to a joke and rendered impotent and metaphorically disemboweled. Try to be the change you want to see in the world, die physically by way of bullet or blade, or die in the eyes of the public by slander and lies.

Worse, the systems in place to protect us from this are failing. Like the walls and fences of the zoo in France, the agencies that police malicious activity and are sworn to our safety turn a blind eye to the misery and death that plague the innocent. We’re left in the cold while those in power count their coffers and laugh at our pain.

To paraphrase Rachel Maddow, it’s becoming apparent that we have to take care of ourselves.

We have to be loud. We have to stand up for ourselves, and for one another. We have to fight back against the forces that would slay and disempower and belittle and rape us. We have to say “NOT THIS TIME” as clearly as possible. We have to insist on facts, not hearsay, not gossip, not slander, facts. And we have to do it every day, every hour if we have to.

The media has tried to romanticize assassins. Games, movies, other media; they like to portray and exemplify the righteous killer. But the truly righteous thing is not to fire the bullet. It is to take that bullet for someone who’d otherwise die.

Because if we do not put ourselves in the line of fire, nobody will be left to do the same for us.

I, for one, would rather choose to work hard and even suffer in order to secure a better future for the good of all the people around me, than be made to suffer for the selfish benefit of one short-sighted person.

I’m tired of living in fear. I’m tired of jumping at my own shadow. I’m tired of seeing wounds nobody else can see.

But I’m not done fighting.

And I won’t be for as long as I’m still alive.

Wednesdays I wonder at the world in which we live.

Seriously, DFTBA

Courtesy Nerdfighteria

I am not composed of cells and tissue. I am composed entirely of awesome.

So are you, provided you haven’t forgotten that fact.

It’s an easy thing to forget, really. We live in a sad, fettered world that’s all about the gains and advantages, the one-upmanship and quick victories, the lionization of the false self-image at the expense of demonizing the other, among other poison of the patriarchy, and all of the other things that makes people like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin into ‘world leaders’. And when that world is coming at you in all sorts of forms, from the latest round of bad news from across the globe to someone close to you buying into nonsensical gossip that completely ignores facts, suddenly, we forget to be awesome.

Our viewpoints get skewed away from making the world around us better, and towards more self-centered goals.

When I see it happening, I tend to get angry. Because we are capable of being so much better than that.

I take a lot of stress on myself in trying to understand the positions others are in when they say or do certain things. This is especially true if I have some personal knowledge of or experience with a given person. “So-and-so has said and done X in the past; why are they acting in this contrary way now?” The answer is never simple; you can’t cut a complex individual with Occam’s Razor. First of all, cutting people in general is cruel and downright rude (unless there’s some sort of consensual act occurring, in which case, please have some antiseptic handy, and check in with your partner often). Moreover, if we want to be imagined complexly, and not merely reduced to a caricature of our inborn traits or the perception of our rumored outward showings, we must imagine others complexly as well.

That’s been my philosophy for a long time. And in spite of everything that’s happened to me, I refuse to change it.

One thing I’ve really struggled to integrate into that philosophy is the cold fact that not everyone will appreciate my efforts, or even acknowledge them. Because this thing I do where I treat others the way I want to be treated means I don’t always assert myself or leave room for myself to be myself. That tends to give others the implicit permission to treat me in a reductive fashion — to take advantage of me, use me, in some cases abuse me, and in others, discard me like a broken thing that no longer serves a particular purpose.

You see, being reductive is easy. It requires less thought, less time, and less consideration of others. A particular person may be more interested in furthering a personal agenda; they might distance themselves from a perceived threat, be it a threat of person — “this is someone who could hurt me” — or a threat of position, i.e. “this person could make me look/feel foolish/ineffectual”. They might even get triggered by the hint of past trauma, or are too indoctrinated into a particular zeitgeist. In all of these cases, reductive perception is the quick way to resolve a situation. You get to keep your place in the groupthink, you have an easily influenced bunch of cohorts at your beck and call, and you can paint your perceived enemies with the same, broad brush. Simple! Easy!

I may be hard-wired to make things harder than they have to be for myself (more on that later), but I will be damned if I take the easy way out in this regard.

Come to think of it, I already have been, if you ask some folks.

They’re not bad people, though. They’re not evil villains out to destroy people like me.

They’ve just forgotten to be awesome.

Being awesome isn’t about winning. It isn’t about getting what or who you want. It isn’t about always getting your way. Your victories do not make you awesome. Your friends do not make you awesome. Your game collection, your bank account, your liquor cabinet, your list of potential booty calls, your Instagram — none of that, in and of itself, makes you awesome.

You know what makes you awesome?

Asking hard questions to get the facts. Making hard choices to make the world suck less for a stranger. Standing up for people who aren’t able to do so. Getting out of your own way enough to make room for others who are getting held back. Seeing something inside of yourself that needs to change, and no matter what, changing it. Doing things for yourself that are positive, happy, progressive, and constructive, of your own volition, with your own permission, that do not hurt others, and that stoke your own fires. Occupying the space you occupy without being afraid that you don’t deserve to occupy it. Being yourself and owning what that means, even if it means you’re going to make mistakes, because like it or else, you’re merely a human being.

But doing that stuff I just rattled off means you are the most awesome human being you can possibly be.

Try not to forget to do that today.

And if you do, that’s okay. Don’t forget the next day. And the next day. And the day after that.

The world needs you to be awesome.

So be the awesome you want to see in the world.

Tuesdays are for telling my story.

Reignition, Part 3

Art courtesy Steve Argyle
Art courtesy Steve Argyle

Spoiler
The following is a non-profit work of fan-fiction. Magic: the Gathering and its attendant characters, locations, terminology, and events are owned by Wizards of the Coast, Richard Garfield, Mark Rosewater, et al. All rights reserved. Please support the official release.


Previously…

The darksteel tendrils rattled and growled like living things as the prisoner struggled against her restraints. She’d woken up a bit earlier than usual, so Jor Kadeen was not only annoyed at the noise, but also the hour. He scowled as he walked into the wan light of the cave, looking up at the small prison several Vulshok had struggled — and some had died — to construct.

“It’s too early in the morning for this foolishness, Glissa.”

“Release me, fool!”

Kadeen shook his head. “I know you’re not an idiot, elf. You were captured by us, we’re not just going to release you on a whim.”

Glissa snarled, frothing at the mouth, infectious ichor oozing down her chin.

“I will feast on your throatmeat!”

Kadeen’s face went sour. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I see. Fine.” He drew his sword and, with a small effort of will, set it aflame.

Courtesy Austin Hsu
Artwork Courtesy Austin Hsu

“Let’s start over. Where have the Praetors gone?”

“Torture me if you wish, fleshling! All you will get from me is death!”

Kadeen’s mood darkened even more. Apparently, Glissa had used her most recent portion of rest to regather her resolve and put up a fresh front of bravado. Death had never held much fear for the elf, and now emboldened by her ‘perfection’ at the hands of the Praetors of ‘New Phyrexia,’ the corrupted traitor feared even less. Jor took a step forward.

“I won’t torture you. But I will tell you what I’ll do. I’m leaving, and I’m going to melt the Tangle.”

Glissa stopped struggling. She stared at the Mirran warrior.

“I will take my blade, which burns with the desire to see Mirrodin restored, and I will watch the copper branches and leaves of the Tangle blister and peel. The home you failed to protect will be utterly destroyed. Not ‘perfected’, not saved, destroyed. And it will be your fault. You’ll be even more of a traitor to your birthplace than you are now.”

“No.” Glissa strained against her bonds. “No! Release me!”

Jor turned and walked away from the darksteel lattice, ignoring Glissa’s screams.

“Was that really necessary?”

He turned, finding the slender form of Melira leaning against the cavern wall around the corner from the tunnel to Glissa’s chamber.

Courtesy Min Yum
Artwork Courtesy Min Yum

“We have to reach her somehow. Personal threats don’t work. I was hoping she still feels some sort of connection to the Tangle.”

“Even if she does, it would only be to corrupt it. To reshape it in Phyrexia’s image, even moreso than it is now.”

Jor shook his head. “Even if I meant to carry out my threats, it’s a dangerous place. I wouldn’t want to get stuck there.” He paused. “But we have to do something. I don’t like that the Praetors are moving in ways we can’t see. And Koth…”

“Oh, don’t start again.”

“We need action!” Jor’s anger flared. “We’ve skulked in the shadows long enough! The sooner we strike out at Phyrexia, the sooner we can draw the Praetors back out, and we can fight them and we can win! We’re well past the need for caution and circumspection!”

Melira looked at Jor evenly. “I’ll remind you that I lead here while Koth is away. Not you.”

“Then give me leave to do what must be done.”

“I’ve given you leave to question Glissa and gather intelligence. Not to reignite the fires of war.”

Jor gripped his sword more tightly. “You would have me sneak through the dark like some thief rather than bring my sword down on the necks of those who have torn apart all we hold dear… still, after everything we’ve been through…”

Melira wasn’t listening anymore. She was looking past Jor. He noticed, and turned to see a pair of amber eyes moving towards them in the dark. As the form approached, more molten glow appeared, in the hands and arms of the planeswalker Koth.

Courtesy Eric Deschamps
Artwork Courtesy Eric Deschamps

“If you want to rant about revenge and the necks of our enemies, do so at me.” Koth’s voice was weary, but every bit as strong as it had been when Jor had first met him, a voice that originated somewhere around the base of a mountain. “Melira has better things to do than pay you heed.”

Without another word, he walked past the pair into the tunnel. They followed. Koth stopped in front of Glissa and crossed his arms.

“Why are they going back to Dominaria?”

Jor and Melira blinked at Koth. Jor spoke first. “How did you…?”

“Later.” Koth thrust his chin at Glissa. “Speak.”

“They now have all they need,” Glissa hissed. “They have their guide. They have their knowledge. They have the perfected vector to return to the world that denied them, and make it their own, just as they have conquered this cold world of metal and simpletons.”

Jor scowled and moved to advance on Glissa. Koth’s arm did not seem to move — one moment it was across his bare chest, the next it was blocking Jor’s path, solid and unbreakable as darksteel. Jor took the hint.

“Explain.”

“If I did not tell your little blonde lapdog, why – ?”

“Because your body may no longer feel pain, but your soul does. And I can tear it out and scorch it.”

Both Jor and Melira stared at Koth. He continued as if he didn’t notice.

“I am a Planeswalker. I exceed any mortal power. And the Praetors, fearsome they may be, are mortal. As are you. Explain, before I remind you of that. This is a lesson you do not want.”

There was silence in the chamber. Then:

“They kept his corpse, Koth of the Hammer. The Spark was gone. But he remained. And like me, he was twisted, broken, reshaped, sent forth.” Glissa looked up. Her eyes were now haunted, not defiant. “They sent him home. And they follow.”

Koth stood like the mountains of his home. Then, he turned and stalked out. Small molten spots marked his footsteps.

Jor and Melira followed hurriedly. “What did she mean?” Jor asked at the same time as Melira’s “Where are you going?”

“It means I have to go kill a friend,” Koth said. “I’m going to kill Venser.”

Mondays are for making or talking about art.

Credits: Magic the Gathering copyright Wizards of the Coast. Glissa the Traitor art courtesy Xoaba. Jor Kadeen art courtesy Richard Wright. Melira, Sylvok Outcast art courtesy Richard Wright. Koth of the Hammer art courtesy Richard Wright.

Code Monkey Flails At Code

Courtesy Plognark.com

*makes various ‘ook’ and ‘eek’ sounds*

*slaps paws against keyboard*

*throws monitor*

So over the last few months I’ve been learning a lot about myself.

In addition to exploring my inner mental and emotional landscape, coming to terms with seizing my own sovereignty, and doing my utmost to unlearn some nasty learned behaviors, I’ve made strides in returning to a dayjob that is rewarding in both a personal and financial aspect. A couple of weeks ago, I finally found one. I’m very happy to be here.

But ye gods and little fishes, is it frustrating sometimes.

I’ve discovered that I’m actually a pretty logical thinker. To me, A should lead to B which results in C. However, sometimes my head weasels try to derail that and take me from A to B by way of Z. That’s dumb, and I’m getting better at not doing it. Even if sometimes my boss has to say “Josh, are you making things harder than they have to be again?”

I’m still not sure where I picked up my habit of trying to play life on Hard Mode.

Since I started working here, I’ve had several jam sessions regarding programming logic and order of operations related to specific tasks and goals. It’s been difficult at times for me to comprehend what goes on under the hood of certain functions, as at first the logic seems to fly in the face of common sense. However, taking a step back to realize what the code is actually doing as opposed to what we want it to do has helped. I’m still frustrated, to be sure, but at least I better understand why the hell the thing I want to work is not working.

“Hey, am I just dumb, or is it this code that’s dumb?”

That’s in jest. I know I’m not dumb. I can just overlook a fact or miss an aspect of a function that makes a thing work the way it should.

We’re looking at moving on from using WordPress as our foundation for our products, and building something in more modern, secure, and malleable code structures. I feel that getting tossed into the deep end of the current workload here has prepared me for that sort of looking ahead. I know this work will be worth it.

Man oh man, it hurts sometimes, though.

It’s like going to the gym after you’ve skipped out for a while. Or getting back to long-distance running after taking the winter off because fuck that, it’s cold outside. It hurts. You ache, and you struggle to breathe, and why in the name of all that’s good and awesome am I doing this to myself. But it’s worth it. Soon it won’t hurt so much. And the results will be even more magical than they are now.

Until then, it’s poo-tossing time.

*ook ook eek*

Thursdays are for talking tech.

The Patriarchy’s Poison

Courtesy Zazzle

Given the current state of affairs at home and abroad, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to how we got here. When you get right down to it, the root of the problem is what needs to be addressed. As bad as things can seem with the in-your-face nature of the situation in the now, my head tends to look past the bluster and the bullshit. We need to strike at the heart of the matter, not just the gushing wound. We need to go deeper.

It’s great that not only are we as a society becoming more aware of the patriarchy’s role in shaping the world in which we live, but also that we are actively rolling up our sleeves to work against it. That being said, I feel that at times, we lose sight of fighting the patriarchy itself, and instead throw ourselves at the perceived vectors of it. I’m not saying this is inherently bad or wrong — no tactic in fighting the patriarchy is inherently invalid — but for my part, I want to focus my energy on drilling into the heart of the matter to find the source of this endemic rot. In other words, I feel I’m in a different division of the army arrayed against the system: some hammer against the walls, whereas I want do my utmost to undermine them. Both divisions are dedicated to the same goal, we just have different marching orders.

Anyway. On to my point.

The systems of the patriarchy have been in place for centuries, if not millennia. Among it’s toxic structures, learned behaviors, and pattern arguments is a fundamental method of conflict resolution:

“You must diminish another individual to accomplish your goals.”

It’s one thing to take corrective action, to take an individual aside and address a problematic behavior or a decision that had toxic consequences or hurt someone else. It’s another to demonize said individual merely on the face of their actions. The passionate pursuit of justice has become a defining aspect of today’s feminists, activists, and radicals. While this is admirable, there’s evidence pointing to a growing trend for some to use that aspect as a tool for self-advancement in a social circle or given zeitgeist. This is a vestige of the patriarchy, and it’s just as toxic and just as destructive as a problematic behavior or decision that needs to be addressed.

We cannot and should not excuse or explain away bad behavior or hurtful decisions, no matter how they were made or what the mental state was at the time. Actions have consequences, and when those consequences hurt or diminish another, the action must be addressed. But it must be addressed with a response, rather than a retort. A response is measured, direct, face-to-face, comprehensive, complex, and above all, done with love in one’s heart for oneself and the other alike. We’re all in this together, after all. A retort is knee-jerk, rooted in the heated emotion of the moment, triggered by fear or a previous harmful or toxic experience, and has far more to do with the person reacting than the inciting incident. It’s harder to respond, since it takes time, the clarity to imagine the other complexly, and the wherewithal to hold space for yourself as well as the other as sovereign individuals entitled by right to equality. It’s easy to retort — and the patriarchy is all about doing what’s easy.

Taking the thoughts and actions required to provide a measured response can be perceived as evidence of weakness, and even an invitation for abuse. There’s a delay that comes when we take a moment to think, if not merely to breathe. The ‘traditions’ of the patriarchy teach us that such delays are openings for us to get our points in, like daggers into a threat on our lives, regardless if whether or not the person in question with whom we’re trying to reason has turned their back to take a moment to gather themselves. We see the opportunity, and we stab one another in the back, and we feel justified, even vindicated, in the aftermath. We proved our point. We prevailed. Justice is done! The monster is slain! Everybody, check out this righteous kill and the utter hideousness of this thing that I stabbed to death! Go team!

I hope you can see why this behavior is toxic.

Courtesy LucasArts

That’s the point I’m getting at. The systems perpetuated in the spirit of the patriarchy have taught us the wrong things. We impulsively jump at the chance to prove our worth and our dedication to being an ally or smashing the patriarchy by punching whatever or whomever is in front of us right in the face. This is not to say we shouldn’t punch Nazis — I’m not an advocate for violence, but come on, punching Nazis — rather, I am suggesting that we not punch each other in the same way we punch Nazis.

I realize I’m mostly speaking within the echo chamber of ‘social justice’ folks and feminists. And that’s my intent. At this point, it’d be very difficult for members of the old guard to have this form of self-awareness or critical thought. Their learned behaviors are too deeply ingrained; their pattern arguments are too well-worn and comfortable. Addressing the nature of the fuel in their toxicity is another matter. Today, in this moment, realizing that we, too, have learned toxic behaviors and lash out with harmful retorts is something we all need to be doing.

I haven’t been as active as I would like to be in supporting the resistance. But I’ve been paying attention. And for every call for unity and collective strength in smashing the systems that put us where we are and allowed the ridiculous circus of narcissistic demagogues to seize power, there are those who wish to ‘weed out the weak’ among us. Yes, we need to address the harmful things we can say and do to one another in the midst of all of this stress and struggle. But we can do it without diminishing the other, but rather attempting to help them be and do better. We can help one another up without having to cast anyone down. And we certainly don’t need to perpetuate the broken and misguided goal of pushing ourselves forward by shoving somebody else back.

To prevail against our enemy, we must not think, speak, or act as they enemy does. We must know them, but not become them.

Each of us risks becoming the very monsters we desire to slay.

The true monster is the system, it is a thing. And people, regardless of the individual choices they make, in spite of the moments and retorts that fly in the face of their true natures, the people they could be — people are not things.

If we treat one another more like people, and less like things, even if the person in question has been acting more thing-like than person-like, we are already one step ahead of the enemy.

And that single step can make a world of difference for a person who’s just as worthy of love and liberty as you are.

Wednesdays I wonder at the world in which we live.

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